So whose papers were these? And why had she never shown them to me? I carefully picked up the exercise book, opened it - and opened up a window into another world. A sheet of foolscap covered in love-hearts and scribbled notes fell from the centre pages and into my lap. I quickly scanned it, then slowly read it, over and over. In shock and confusion I stared right through the ranks of coats and frocks hanging before me and painfully replayed her last night on earth.

I rubbed my eyes, yawned, stood slowly, stiffly, then turned and quietly left her bedside. I stopped at the door and took one last look at her: so peaceful, serene - angelic almost, greying hair arranged like a halo around her head. I didn’t want to leave her, but I needed a break. They said it could be any day, anytime and, in order to cope, I needed to look after myself. I couldn’t simply sit there and wait, I’d waste away, in body and in mind.

‘Why don’t you go home? There’s nothing you can do.’ The doctor met me in the doorway and rested her hand reassuringly on my forearm. ‘She doesn’t know you are here.’

‘Yeah, I might. I ought to… but I’m OK. Makes me feel like I’m doing something… though I know it’s more for me than...’ I nodded towards the bed.

‘Eat well, sleep well… well, as best you can. You’ll need all your strength to get through this,’ she advised me as she peered over her glasses and into my bleary eyes. Still, I felt guilty leaving her, even though she was sleeping soundly. I took a deep breath and sighed. I’d take a walk, stretch my legs, grab some food in the refectory, read a paper over a coffee. Wash my face, refresh myself.

I stepped carefully along the polished corridor, out of the ward and into the lift area, where twenty or so people were waiting impatiently. Afternoon visiting was over. They diligently scanned the red LED numbers reporting floor levels and lift direction that glowed above each pair of sliding doors. I eschewed the lift and headed for the stairs. Six flights down to floor D and the refectory. Surely most of them could manage the walk down? I shook my head and forced my first smile of that long day as I passed through the crowd of homeward-bound visitors, most of them too habitually lazy to think of using their legs. Not me. I’d always prided myself on my fitness and youthful appearance, but, as I negotiated the first flight, the toughened glass of the stairwell reflected a different story. I was shocked by my sorry and crumpled state that was so at odds with my mental image: untidy grey hair; creased though expensive suit; tired eyes and pale skin. Despite all my efforts, the tribulations of the last thirteen weeks had taken their toll. I looked rough. The tedious hopelessness and the monotony, the worry and the apathy, the smell of disinfectant and death, all permeated me and conspired to age me. I still tried my best to look good for her, for what it mattered: she never even opened her eyes now.

Then I saw her. I stopped. Huddled in the corner. Young girl. Tanned, bare arms