One hot June day she met Annie Beelock in the lane as she was on her rounds in the village.
“He’s getting worse,” Annie said glumly. He won’t let me into the sitting room to clean unless he’s there. And he’s doing a lot of muttering to himself.” She shot Sylvia a worried look. “I’m starting to think he’s not safe to be alone up there at night when I go home,” she said.
“No word on Matthew coming home yet?” Sylvia asked.
Annie shook her head. “No. I wish they’d hurry up and finish discharging.”
Sylvia pulled a face back at her. “Wishing won’t make them quicker. I’ll call in, shall I? I’m nearly done down here.”
“If you would. At least he talks to you. All he says to me is to not disturb his books.”
Sylvia hadn’t spoken to anyone about his delusions. It seemed too private, as well as b
