I call the hospital ward a few times during the day and get told each time, “no change.”I call in at the hospital on my way home convincing myself...it is just to drop off her clothes, I mean, there is no reason for me to care about what happens to the old lady, is there?”That in a nutshell, seems to be my routine for the rest of the week, get up at oh, oh, christ hours in the morning, go and be hot and miserable for twelve hours before going to the hospital to sit with an unconscious old woman. He was not running anymore, for he knew that the hour was at hand. ~It was not until lunch – Marks and Spencer’s sandwiches eaten on a grubby grass bank at the edge of the car park at one of many indistinguishable motorway services – that Jane was able to speak to Mariana privately again. Phil had gone to the toilet, and Vicky had moved some thirty yards downwind to have a cigarette. “So, where are you taking me, Mariana?” asked Jane with, admittedly, a touch of aggression in her voice.“The. More

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