Day 21

Chapter Four

January. It’s always the same. After weeks of bright lights and glitter, days of overeating and drinking, too much Bond on tele and shops creaking at the seams with possible gifts – January arrives.

Everything looks grey. Shops resemble places that have suffered a plague of locust. Unwanted trees lean awkwardly against bins. Bins overflow waiting for the Council’s special collection rota to kick in. Within a few days it is ‘like it never happened.’ And we are counting down the days until the next time we do it all over again.

The hospital seemed empty, maybe even the viruses were still on holiday. There was no sound. The normal hum of the cars on the motorway was a distant memory. Birds were still asleep in their nests and everything seemed dimmed – the sound, the lights, the wards.

Until a howling sob pierced the tranquillity. “Patrick, oh, Patrick. My Patrick.!”