first, Colin two paces behind her. At the swing doors they would pause and look back, and find it difficult to distinguish the little hump of bedding that was Mrs. Sidney from all the others in the long silent row.
“Do you think she’ll know if they move her?” Sylvia asked.
“I can’t see how. I mean, she doesn’t seem to notice her surroundings, does she?”
“She used to be in that bed. Over in the corner.”
“Yes. Then she moved two beds up, didn’t she? That was in 1979.”
“Of course, I don’t suppose she had a change of bed really. I expect it’s the same bed, and they just wheel them.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
They fell silent.
“It would be a big change,” Colin said, after a while. “Moving down the corridor. Think, I mean, if you’d been on the same spot since 1979. Moving down the corridor would be like me getting a job in Port Stanley.”
“Why Port Stanley?”
“I don’t know—I mean anywhere foreign and a long way off, that would be a big upheaval. Why are you so obtuse? I always have to explain myself.”
“Then why are you so obscure?” Sylvia whispered. “You say things without rhyme or reason. Please don’t start a row in public. You embarrass me.”
“It’s hardly public.” He turned and looked around the ward.
“Don’t stare at them. They’re not all cabbages. Some of them have feelings left.”
“Sorry.” Colin readjusted his gaze, returning it to his knees. Another silence fell. Sylvia looked at her watch.
“Go in a minute, shall we?”
“Okay.” Colin eased back his chair on its rubber feet. Another visit was coming to its close. “I expect she’ll—” He broke off. “Sylvia?” he said. “She moved.”
“What?” Alarmed, Sylvia stood up. “Where? Where did she move?”
“Her hand, I thought…just a twitch.” He had jumped up too and now leaned eagerly over his mother. “Hello, Mum, can you hear me? Are you there?”
“Of course she’s there,” Sylvia said. “What a daft question. Where do you think she is? Hong Kong?”
“Why Hong Kong?” Colin straightened up. The old lady was not even blinking. Her no-colour eyes, which had once been hazel, stared straight at the opposite wall. Her skin had turned to leather, though she had never been the outdoor type; her mouth was only a crack, wide over long-empty gums. Colin thought he could see, buried in the crinkled folds of her neck, a pulse beating; there, just over the top button of her nightdress.
“Well, I should hope so,” said Sylvia, when he pointed this out. “She must have a pulse, mustn’t she?”
“I think she’s excited. I think perhaps she’s heard what we’ve said about moving, and she’s excited.”
“I’m afraid that’s wishful thinking. What is it to get excited about?”
“Perhaps we ought to tell the nurse.” They stood over her for another minute, watching her. “I daresay you’re right,” Colin said at last. “I must have imagined it.”
“Come on.” Sylvia touched his elbow. “Don’t upset yourself.”
He felt almost heartened, at this tender gesture from her. Possibly she did care about his feelings; possibly he was something more to her than a household object, at her disposal. Oh, the relentless optimism of the man! He squeezed her hand. “Why don’t we stop off on the way home? Have a drink, just unwind a bit? It
“I don’t want to be out when Suzanne gets home, she’ll wonder where we are. I don’t know what she’s coming for, I didn’t expect her till the weekend. She sounded funny on the phone.”
“Oh, she’ll fend for herself,” Colin said, “there’s food in the fridge. It’s probably boyfriend trouble.”
“Could be.”
“You know how it is, first year away from home. She has to learn to stand on her own two feet. I remember when I first went off to university—”
“Shut up!”
“What?”
“Shut up,” Sylvia said. “Stand still. Watch her.” She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the figure in the bed, her tongue between her teeth; as if she were defusing a bomb. “She did move,” she said quietly. “You were right.”
“Well, thank you,” Colin said. At once his indignation evaporated; sobered and awestruck, he stared at the old lady. Slowly, fractionally, the walnut head was moving; drooping on the chest.
They held their breaths. For a long moment Mrs. Sidney rested, looking up slyly from under her eyelids. You were told I was showing signs, her expression seemed to say. A stiff broken-winged flutter brought her arms to her sides. Knobbled, stick-thin; the wasted muscles remembered leverage. Fraction by fraction she rose upright in the bed.
“Here, Mrs. Wilmot!” the nurse called. “Come and look at this!” She waddled off down the ward in the direction of the men’s block. “Come here, Mrs. Wilmot!”
Sylvia gripped Colin’s hand. Minutes passed by the ward clock. There were times when she seemed to stick, but there were times when, comparatively, she seemed to hurtle. Finally the sheet fell away. Nothing but a nightgown
