Homecoming by Adib Khan

awake to meet your…ah, friends.’
    Reluctantly she accepted the piece of steak and chewed slowly. Then a sly look spread across her face. Martin tensed. She closed her eyes, leaned towards him and spat out the food. ‘Yuk!’ She banged on the armrests of her chair. ‘Yuk!’
    Martin grabbed a handful of tissues from the table beside her bed. He was careful not to demonstrate any sign of agitation. Calmly he began to clean up the mess. The partly masticated food was like splattered shit. It mottled the carpet, the tray and the lapel of his jacket. She watched him hawkishly
    He controlled the urge to walk out of the room, more as agesture of weary capitulation than anger. Unload a burden and never come back again.
    Perhaps the fairies were much better companions, more tolerant and patient. Whatever lived in the mind could be more accommodating than humans.
    ‘Martin?’ She sounded like a forlorn child.
    Am I using her to punish myself? he wondered. He thought about the word ‘atonement’. The reconciliation of God and man through Christ. Did reconciliation also embrace mandatory suffering? He dabbed at the spat food and pondered the coordinates for locating God. And Christ. Were they the pages of texts? Within the confines of a church? On top of mountains? Perhaps in the imagination, living alongside fairies. In some ways Nora’s world was infinitely more secure. Creative chaos was all that mattered to her.
    ‘Martin, will you punish me?’
    He reached out and stroked her hands. They were cold and limp. ‘Of course not. It wasn’t really your fault.’ He threw the wad of tissues in the wastepaper basket. It had been much easier to walk away from difficult situations in his younger days. ‘Would you like some caramel custard?’ He heard a resigned note in his voice—a recognition of the liability that he could not possibly evade ever again.
    Nora nodded, eager to please.
    He picked up the dessert spoon from the tray and plunged it into the plastic bowl. The custard was runny. She ate several spoonfuls, her eyes on his face. He dabbed the corners of her mouth with a paper serviette.
    ‘There’s one very handsome fairy in the garden.’ Nora looked at him coyly.
    ‘What’s his name?’
    ‘He wants to marry me. Take me away.’
    ‘Congratulations.’
    She refused the next spoonful. ‘You never loved me!’
    Martin did not respond. Twilight slid across the room. He felt unsettled and empty.
    If Nora’s accusation encapsulated romantic love in all its blinding passion and impermanence, then it could not be refuted.
    ‘Sebastian loves me.’
    ‘Is that his name? You are fortunate to have such a good friend.’
    Nora smiled tolerantly as if she were sympathetic towards his struggle to understand her.
    ‘Not a soul
    But felt a fever of the mad, and played
    Some tricks of desperation.’
    ‘What?’
    She looked out of the window and stifled a giggle.
    Martin offered her a drink of water. He sat quietly on the edge of her bed.
    It was impossible for him to judge if there was still a strong bond between them. He sensed his own dependence on her. An element of concern did intensify the pity that motivated his visits. But he didn’t search for any strands of feeling that might run through the ruin of what had been. He was unable now to distinguish between affection and love. So he skirted around the unavoidable questions. How long could a relationship operate on gratitude alone? Or stagger along on guilt?
    There was nothing more that he wanted to say. A night attendant knocked and entered the room. He switched on the overhead light and greeted Martin. Nora began to hum Greensleeves.
    ‘We are in a good mood today!’ The man laughed.
    She turned to the attendant. ‘Do you love me?’
    ‘With all my heart!’ The attendant winked at Martin. ‘Nearly time for the cartoons.’
    Nora laughed and clapped her hands. She pointed the remote control at Martin and pressed the power button several times. ‘It’s no