TWENTY-EIGHT
There was a quiet knock at my door about a half hour before dawn. It didn’t wake me, exactly; I had woken early and was lying very still, trying hard to go back to sleep. I peered blearily at the darkness outside the window, rolled over to check my travel clock, and then slid out from beneath the covers. Cold pricked at my bare feet in the moments before I slid them into slippers. I belted on my dressing gown and shuffled over to open the door.
Geordie stood there, fully dressed but looking exactly as peaky as he had when I’d left him.
‘The bite won’t kill him,’ he said without preamble. ‘But he is infected. When he does die, he’ll have to be cremated.’
It took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. ‘Oh! Geoff! You’ve been to see him?’
He nodded. ‘While he w
