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Lulu entered, wringing her hands. “Dylan, I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. She was standing behind him, her head hung in shame.

“Not now, Lulu,” he murmured. “Will you get her undressed? Please.” He leaned over and undid my ponytail, freeing my hair. “That should make you feel a little better.” He caressed my cheek with his knuckles and then he was gone.

Lulu sat down beside me. “Oh, Emily. I’m so sorry,” she said.

I shook my head, which now felt leaden.

“Come on. Sit up. Let me help you into your pajamas.”

With renewed purpose, she stripped me and I let her. I was utterly compliant, detached and numb. She found my father’s faded Killers T-shirt under my pillow and dressed me quickly and efficiently.

“This is far too big for you,” she grumbled under her breath.

I laid back against the pillow, exhausted.

“I’m so sorry, Emily.” She gently stroked my hair, smoothing some wayward tendrils off my face. Dylan returned carrying the rocking chair from his study. He set it down beside the bed.

“I’m going to sit with her for a while,” he explained to Lulu.

“Do you want me to go?”

“Only if you want to. Stay if you wish.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

Dylan closed the shutters and came over to sit beside me in the rocking chair.

“You’ve cut your feet,” Lulu exclaimed in horror. Dylan looked down, but I couldn’t see his feet.

Grazed feet.

From running. To catch me.

Hell.

Lulu disappeared and returned a moment later with a bowl of soapy water and a towel. She knelt down in front of Dylan where he sat in the rocking chair and proceeded to roll up his jeans and wash his feet. She ripped the top off an antiseptic wipe, and he winced as she cleaned his foot.

“I’m so sorry, Dyl,” she whispered.

He leaned down and kissed her briefly, sweetly, his hand caressing her face. She rose, gave me a tentative smile, and left the room with the bowl.

I observed them like a voyeur, as if they were part of an intimate tableau that had nothing to do with me. My detachment was complete; the white noise was loud, Numb was back, and I watched them fuss over me, then Lulu fuss over Dylan, as if I wasn’t there, as if I didn’t exist.

But then I shouldn’t exist.

I should be with them.

“Do you want something to help you sleep?” Dylan asked, bringing me briefly back to myself.

I found the strength to nod.

“Lu,” he called.

She popped her head around the door.

“Please can you fetch Emily a glass of water and the sleeping tablets? They’re on the top shelf of the middle cupboard in the kitchen. The zopiclone. Actually. How much did you have to drink?”

“She had three glasses,” Lulu said.