217 Babel Street | Apartment 7
“My tea's gone cold. I must have slept." Margaret wriggled to a sitting position.
"I'll make you a fresh cup, love."
He was sitting beside her. She must speak now.
"Wait. Harry, there are things we need to talk about."
Harry rubbed his forehead. "I know you don't like Typhoo but I tried to get Yorkshire and they didn't have it."
"No, no. Not that. Not the teabags. Harry, listen to me. I'm not getting better."
"But you will, love. Sometimes Dr Vine doesn't know what he's talking about. He told Jennifer she'd never have children and she's had three, hasn"t she? We'll get someone else from the surgery to come out next week."
"But, Harry. There isn't time for me now. I'm worse than I was even last week. I don't think I can -"
"Shh. Margaret. Be strong."
Harry padded into the kitchen, put the kettle on.
Margaret was strong. She just wished Harry could be. At this rate, they'd never talk properly.
Harry returned, a few minutes later, with tea.
"I didn't see him out there today," she said, absently.
"Shall we look together? He might still come."
"It's getting dark."
"Is it?"
"Seems dark to me."
"Let me read you a bit of Donna Townes."
"I'm not sure, Harry, about this one. Donna wasn't acting her usual self in the last chapter. There's something strange about the way she's behaving. I hope SJ isn't planning to kill her off or anything. I couldn't take that now."