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Quebec and together we cleared out his bungalow. One of the souvenirs I took with me was a freak of geology known as a thunder egg which Maman kept on her dressing table: a perfect, fist-sized sphere of flint which passed down her family, along with the eccentric story that if someone sat on it for long enough, it would hatch. Maman was much attached to the thunder egg, and now I am much attached to it too, though not for the same romantic reasons. In addition to the regulation personal alarm all staff carry, and in defiance of the hospital's strict regulations, I keep the stone ball in a hanging pouch under my seat, in case of emergencies, along with my miniature spray-can of photographic glue - also illicit - which I've been reliably told is as effective as mace. But if I can't react fast enough, and Bethany reaches for a sharpened pencil and stabs me, how long will it be before Rafik - still busy - intervenes and activates his alarm? Trapped as I am, I'd be a lot quicker to kill than Mrs K.
    Almost as though she has read my thoughts, with a swift movement - too sudden for me to react - Bethany has reached out and grabbed my wrist with her small, surprisingly muscled hand. Her skin is clammy, her grip too tight.
    'Let go of me, Bethany.' I take care to say it quietly and levelly, to hide the inner scream. Rafik has jumped to intervene but I signal to him that I will deal with this for now. Still gripping my wrist, Bethany turns my hand over so that the palm is facing upwards, and puts her finger on the pulse. I feel it begin to race under the pad of her skin. 'Let my hand go, please, Bethany.'
    But she is somewhere else. Her face has a mesmerised look. 'So someone died,' she says, in her baby voice. 'Someone died a horrible death .' My breath catches roughly in my throat. 'There's no point telling me he didn't,' she continues excitedly. 'Cos, fuck! I can feel it in your blood!' She narrows her eyes. 'I died once, so I know. I recognise the symptoms. Death leaves a mark. Did you know that blood has its own memory? It's like rock, and water, and air.' I look down at my pinioned wrist. I know my arms are stronger than hers. But when I start to pull away, she tightens her grip and I think with an inner lurch: perhaps they're not.
    With a practised movement, Rafik has swiftly grabbed her other arm. 'Easy, Bethany. Let go of Miss Fox now.' Smoothly, he pulls off the cap of his belt-alarm.
    'And you never got to know him properly, did you?' Bethany is whispering. A flashing light in the corridor outside indicates the emergency call has worked. They'll be here in seconds. Again I try to pull away, and fail. Rafik has a firm hold of her shoulders now but she's gripped a handle of my wheelchair and barnacled herself to it. The fingers of her other hand, which Rafik is trying to prise away, now tighten further on my wrist, pressing deep into the pulse. 'It wasn't fair, was it? It was just the beginning of a beautiful relationship!'
    'Off her now!' mutters Rafik, tugging so fiercely at Bethany's arm that my wheelchair threatens to capsize. I try not to scream, try not to think, an upturned beetle.
    'Yeah, a beautiful relationship, right? The best ever!' Bethany's head is next to mine now and she's whispering in my ear. I watch the lights flashing outside and listen for footsteps running. I don't hear any. 'But you never found out how the two of you would be together. That's your problem. You got emptied out. You had two hearts and one was gone. Hey. That sucks. The poor tragic cripple!'
    Finally, Rafik has pulled Bethany off the chair, released my wrist and forced both her hands behind her back. Roughly, he shoves her against the wall and struggles to keep her in position while waiting for backup.
    I reach my hand under lily seat and flex my fingers round lily thunder egg while the pressure swells in my head. For a few seconds I am too disoriented to speak. I look out of the window. The turbines spin their slow rotations on the horizon,