bedroom.
‘How’s she been?’
‘Very good,’ replied Anna, smiling. She was alwayssmiling, thank goodness. ‘She had her dinner and then I read her a few chapters.’
She held up
Bleak House
. Nicola had always loved Dickens –
David Copperfield
her particular favourite – so they were working through his back catalogue. It was a project, something for Nicola to achieve, and she seemed to enjoy the stories with their plucky heroes and diabolical villains.
‘We’re just getting to the exciting bit,’ Anna continued, ‘and she wanted to read on, so I gave her a couple of bonus chapters. But she’d pretty much nodded off by the end of it – you might have to recap a bit tomorrow. Make sure she doesn’t miss anything.’
Tony suddenly felt very emotional, moved by the tender care Anna lavished on his wife. Fearing his voice would falter, he patted Anna’s arm, thanked her quickly and sent her on her way.
Nicola was his childhood sweetheart and they had married young. Their life was set fair but two days before her twenty-ninth birthday, Nicola had suffered a massive stroke. She survived it, but the resulting brain damage was extensive and she was now a prisoner of locked-in syndrome. She could see and was aware, but was only able to move her eyes, due to the paralysis that gripped her body. Tony looked after her lovingly, patiently teaching her to communicate with her eyes, dragooning in family or hiring carers when he had to work, but still he often felt he was a bad husband to her. Impatient, frustrated, selfish. Inreality, he did everything he could for her, but that didn’t stop him castigating himself. Especially when he’d been out having a good time. Then he felt callous and unworthy.
He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead and then retreated to his bedroom. Even now, two years after her stroke, the fact that they had separate bedrooms still hurt. Separate bedrooms were for couples who’d fallen out of love, for show marriages, not for him and Nicola. They were better than that.
He couldn’t be bothered to get undressed, so he settled down on the bed and flicked through
Bleak House
. In the early days, when they were still dating, Nicola had read passages from Dickens aloud to him. He’d been uncomfortable with it at first – he’d never been much of a reader and it felt pretentious – but in time he’d come to love it. He would close his eyes and listen to her soft Home Counties voice playing with the words. He was never happier and he would have killed now to have a recording – just one – of her reading to him.
But he never would have, and pipe dreams get you nowhere, so he settled down with the book instead. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now.
18
The lights of Southampton docks glittered in the distance. The port was used 24/7 and would be a hive of activity even now, giant cranes unloading the containers that arrived from Europe, the Caribbean and beyond. Forklifts would be racing up and down the quay as men shouted insults at each other, enjoying the camaraderie of the night shift.
On Eling Great Marsh all was still. It was a cold night, an arctic wind blasting up the river channel, buffeting the car that stood alone in the bleak emptiness. The driver’s door hung wide open and the interior lights were on, casting a weak light over the lonely scene.
Holding his ankles firmly, she began to pull. He was heavier than he looked and she had to use all her strength to manoeuvre him over uneven ground. The going was soft, rendering progress slow, and they left a snail-like trail behind them. His head caught on a rock as she pushed him over the lip of a small ditch. He stirred, but not enough – he was too far gone for that.
She cast around quickly, checking once again that they were alone. Satisfied, she placed her bag on the ground, unzipping it to reveal its contents. She pulled out a roll ofduct tape and broke off a stretch. Pushing it down firmly on his mouth,
‘How’s she been?’
‘Very good,’ replied Anna, smiling. She was alwayssmiling, thank goodness. ‘She had her dinner and then I read her a few chapters.’
She held up
Bleak House
. Nicola had always loved Dickens –
David Copperfield
her particular favourite – so they were working through his back catalogue. It was a project, something for Nicola to achieve, and she seemed to enjoy the stories with their plucky heroes and diabolical villains.
‘We’re just getting to the exciting bit,’ Anna continued, ‘and she wanted to read on, so I gave her a couple of bonus chapters. But she’d pretty much nodded off by the end of it – you might have to recap a bit tomorrow. Make sure she doesn’t miss anything.’
Tony suddenly felt very emotional, moved by the tender care Anna lavished on his wife. Fearing his voice would falter, he patted Anna’s arm, thanked her quickly and sent her on her way.
Nicola was his childhood sweetheart and they had married young. Their life was set fair but two days before her twenty-ninth birthday, Nicola had suffered a massive stroke. She survived it, but the resulting brain damage was extensive and she was now a prisoner of locked-in syndrome. She could see and was aware, but was only able to move her eyes, due to the paralysis that gripped her body. Tony looked after her lovingly, patiently teaching her to communicate with her eyes, dragooning in family or hiring carers when he had to work, but still he often felt he was a bad husband to her. Impatient, frustrated, selfish. Inreality, he did everything he could for her, but that didn’t stop him castigating himself. Especially when he’d been out having a good time. Then he felt callous and unworthy.
He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead and then retreated to his bedroom. Even now, two years after her stroke, the fact that they had separate bedrooms still hurt. Separate bedrooms were for couples who’d fallen out of love, for show marriages, not for him and Nicola. They were better than that.
He couldn’t be bothered to get undressed, so he settled down on the bed and flicked through
Bleak House
. In the early days, when they were still dating, Nicola had read passages from Dickens aloud to him. He’d been uncomfortable with it at first – he’d never been much of a reader and it felt pretentious – but in time he’d come to love it. He would close his eyes and listen to her soft Home Counties voice playing with the words. He was never happier and he would have killed now to have a recording – just one – of her reading to him.
But he never would have, and pipe dreams get you nowhere, so he settled down with the book instead. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now.
18
The lights of Southampton docks glittered in the distance. The port was used 24/7 and would be a hive of activity even now, giant cranes unloading the containers that arrived from Europe, the Caribbean and beyond. Forklifts would be racing up and down the quay as men shouted insults at each other, enjoying the camaraderie of the night shift.
On Eling Great Marsh all was still. It was a cold night, an arctic wind blasting up the river channel, buffeting the car that stood alone in the bleak emptiness. The driver’s door hung wide open and the interior lights were on, casting a weak light over the lonely scene.
Holding his ankles firmly, she began to pull. He was heavier than he looked and she had to use all her strength to manoeuvre him over uneven ground. The going was soft, rendering progress slow, and they left a snail-like trail behind them. His head caught on a rock as she pushed him over the lip of a small ditch. He stirred, but not enough – he was too far gone for that.
She cast around quickly, checking once again that they were alone. Satisfied, she placed her bag on the ground, unzipping it to reveal its contents. She pulled out a roll ofduct tape and broke off a stretch. Pushing it down firmly on his mouth,
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