Chapter 21
6.10 p.m.
The appointment letter lay crinkled but flattened on his desk. So clinical. Just like the words spoken to him two hours earlier. He sat in his wheelchair, the consultant’s perfectly white lab coat, his bulbous nose, the way he licked his front teeth every time he started speaking, reliving in his mind. So. He would make a full recovery. He’d known all along that the doctors were talking total rubbish when they’d said he may never manage to walk properly again, if at all. But the other… It would be a slow, painful death. Years, gasping for air, until his lungs finally said no.
He picked up the letter. Glared at it. He lit a match and held it to the corner of the paper. The orange glow spread into a curve of black, but he never let the match catch hold of the paper en
