Sickbed.

Don’t go. Why, why would you go? Why would you ever leave? What could there ever be that is more important than this? I need you so much.

The third night of fever and his temperature has risen again in the last hour. One dose of painkiller at nine and then at ten-thirty he woke again from being too hot, so I have brought water and taken off a layer and read him a story. Now I'll see if he sleeps.

I am not crying now from pain or a need for attention, as I confess I have cried in the past. I am crying because I want you to take this pain away from me. I don’t understand why you won’t. You can do everything. That is what you are here for. So, please, take this pain away.

I would take his pain away. I would give anything for that power. But I can’t do it, and the realisation of my impotence almost makes me weep. I tell him, we are so proud of you, you’ve been so brave. We know this is hard, but you have to go through it and come out the other side, so that when you do, this disease will never be able to hurt you so badly again.

His tiny hand reaches for mine across the counterpane, and furls within it. With the other hand he caresses the mane of his stuffed lion. He does all of this without looking, because he knows where my hand and the lion are; he depends on them being there in the nocturnal geography of his pain. He will know if I withdraw my hand through the cot-bars.

I am tired, but I cannot fall asleep in case you leave. I try to stay awake. I check constantly that you are there, that you have not left.

I am honoured to be sat here, falling asleep with my face against the bars, to be as needed as a toy lion.  

You are trying to leave. The crack in your knee-joint gave you away. Now I watch you, holding you with my eyes. I sob a little and turn away, grief-stricken.

He’s sleeping so lightly, I woke him up. I’d better stay a little longer. These few minutes might help him sleep. I know it’s wrong to allow him to manipulate me, but these are special circumstances. Who can say the difference it makes to have someone there when you’re a child and don’t understand why it hurts and won’t stop hurting, what difference it makes to your understanding of love? When you strip away all the other stuff, that’s all there is: people and the question of how well they loved.   

You sit down again and hold my hand. I am glad you are here, glad you are with me.

He has fallen asleep.