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day.
    ‘Believe you’ve met the new doctor.’
    ‘Indeed.’
    ‘He’s supposed to be very experienced, worked all over the world, I understand. But, then, you can tell that about him, he looks like a man of the world.’
    ‘Are all men not of this world?’
    ‘Now, Ellie, you know what I mean. Don’t go taking advantage of me being less educated than you.’
    Again she says this without expecting a response. We have over time developed an acceptable banter between us. She knows I don’t mind her talking about her grown-up children or ‘himself’, and she turns a blind eye to my indifference. For Bridget, her family give her an identity, something that comforts her, protects her. When she talks about them, part of her lights up, although it’s different when she talksabout ‘himself’. When she talks about ‘himself’, it’s as if she is talking about a broken-down washing machine.
    I never get dressed while Bridget is in the room; she respects my privacy, but she does expect me to get dressed soon after she leaves. If I didn’t, I would let her down and she might lose some of her bonus hierarchical duties, so I always comply. Part of our understanding is in the repetition of our encounters. She always arrives on time, and always with a cheery disposition. She talks to me as she keeps herself busy emptying the bin, sweeping under the bed, dusting down the chipped window panes, making conversation that is neutral but upbeat, then standing like some wise old woman at the doorway saying her few words before she leaves. She always says these words in a tone that is slower and softer than any previous conversation, and today is no exception.
    ‘Dr Ebbs, he called me by my name this morning. Only in the door and he knows my name is Bridget, would you credit that?’
    I smile because I know she wants me to. Bridget always has hope, which is what I like and dislike about her.
    I wait until I hear her farther up the corridor before getting out of bed. When I do, I cannot avoid the tiny mirror. It is in shade now, the sun has passed on its way. I need to look at it to clean my face. I use a small pink facecloth that is the same shade of pink as the window frames. Practically everything in here is either pink or grey. I brush my teeth using water from the sink. Once I am done, I stand looking for just a second and again I see that person looking back at me, the lost person. I cannot look for long, but I look, I cannot help myself.
    Once done, I know I have but the briefest of moments before I must head down to Living Room 1. I use this time differently each day. Sometimes I just sit on the bed and try to manage all my ‘non-thoughts’, piecing them together until I am as close to nothing as I can possibly be. Some days this causes me little pain; other days are different. Today is going to be one of those different days. I don’tknow why, but I feel uneasy, agitated. Perhaps it’s the new doctor. Perhaps it’s my latest habit of staring into mirrors. All the days here have been a chore in different ways, but if I am being truthful, for the most part I like knowing what to expect. Today I don’t know what to expect and the lack of predictability unsettles me.
    I chastise myself. There is no point worrying about the good doctor. I have met his type many times before. But there is something new hovering. It is only when I dress and walk over to the window that I know for sure what it is, and that it has bothered me since yesterday.
    The leaves are falling from the trees, some of them have already become that dry, crisp texture that makes them crunch underfoot. It has been a mild autumn. By now I am an expert on such things. As I stand here I think about the previous day, how I was caught unawares when I found myself smiling. To most that would be nothing, but to me, it is disturbing, because smiling is not something that I do.
    It does not bother me that it is a long time since I have had a happy memory. Happy