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even.” She takes a sip at
the hot dark brown liquid. “I’ll be going against the grain. Normal
people don’t like it when you do something different, something
they don’t understand. I’m going to have to be careful how I do
this. Keep it private or at least subtle. What do you think,
Pickles?”
    The cat
blinks at her, twitches its tail, its opinion kept firmly to
itself.
    Grace
finishes her drink, scrapes out the ring of melted marshmallow and
sooks it off her fingertip.
    “ Waste not, want not.”
    Now she
has to clean her teeth, else the sugary residue from the
marshmallows will do its dirty work while she sleeps.
    But the duvet is so warm and cosy...
    A quick
brush, a rinse and a pee, and back to bed. Out goes the light. The
bedside clock glows a ghoulish green in the dark, digital numerals
showing ten past nine. The night is young, but she is
exhausted.
    In the
ward, with all the comings and goings and the noise, meaningful
sleep was a rare commodity often out of her grasp and she has a lot
to catch up on, although she’ll probably be wakened again in an
hour or so when Alec gets back from the cinema with his boyfriend,
the too gorgeous to be true Denny.
    Why are all the nicest, fittest, most handsome, most
domesticated men, all gay?
    She
knows their routine by now. They’ll have a bit of supper, probably
a glass or two of wine, and then retire to Alec’s bedroom, which
happens to be next to hers, and through the thin walls she will
hear every squeak and moan and groan of their lovemaking. To them
sex is a pure pleasure, and both are totally uninhibited as they
bang each other senseless. Having someone able to hear them
probably enhances their pleasure.
    Lucky
bastards.
    How long
has it been since she’s had a decent shag? A proper one mind, not
the sort that came with a side order of cigarette burns and
bruises?
    She
slaps her palms onto the covers, scaring Mr Pickles. He hisses and
springs off the bed, seeking sanctuary beneath it. “For God’s sake,
stop feeling sorry for yourself you daft cow, sex isn’t everything
and love is an illusion. You don’t need either. Now do what Mal
suggests, go find your happy place and your pretend
friend.”
    She
pounds her head into her pillow and closes her eyes. “Where would I
like to go? Back to that beach of course. Soft sand, palm trees,
lovely blue water lapping at my feet.”
    She
tries to form the image, a tropical white stretch of sand, blue sky
above, azure water shading into a deep jade. No. Not working. Try
harder.
    Nothing.
It seems the harder she tries the further away the image goes, and
the tighter her inner tension spring coils.
    “ Bugger it! You’re trying too hard. You have to relax. Try
again. Do the breathing exercises.” She shifts herself, settles
again. “Okay, here we go. Breathe in and… toes relax.” And out.
“Legs relax.” And in. “Body relax.” And a deep, slow blow. “Mind …
let go…”
    Gradually an image comes to her, forming as if emerging from
a morning mist. She breathes gently as if a stray breath will blow
it away again.
    The
colours deepen and strengthen, and her surroundings solidify. What
she sees, however, could not be further from the beach she is
looking for.
     
     
    It is
day again, and the sun is warm on her eyes. Soft white clouds float
over a sky of cobalt blue, teased along by a light
breeze.
    She is
standing at a wall. Tall and imposing, it runs away left and right,
as far as her eye can see, in an unbroken stretch of solid stone,
thickly coated in green ivy and brambles. Too high to see over, and
no footholds for her to use to climb up.
    Out of
curiosity she turns around to see what lies behind her, to see
where she has come from … and she is back in her bedroom, in her
bed, Mr Pickles on the pillow beside her, gazing at her with his
bright green eyes.
    “ Well, that was … odd,” she murmurs.
    Mr Pickles concurs with a flick of his tail and a
knowledgeable miaow .

Chapter 5
     
     
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