We have whispered, very short conversations. He doesn’t want to wake his Mum, I guess. It can’t be that he thinks she will understand, can it?

As a result of the whispering and the shortness, I never know quite what is happening.

PaC is not out of hospital. I suggested it was because he was to ill to which I got an affirmative and “I’ll tell you tomorrow”. But I did get that he’s very bad now.

Meanwhile, the delivery of the cabinet didn’t happen. So now I’ve organised, through F, for someone to come with a van and sort it. It will be Sunday. I await the time.

And, as expected, I have had the message of “can I have the rest of the money?” to which, stupidly or not, I have said yes. It galls me as nothing has changed. Not with him nor even with my pathetic attempt to say “no” which, of course, stays in my head and on this blog but never quite makes it past my lips or through my fingers to him.

So, now I have a nasty taste left. Sunday, I hope, will have everything sorted! Unfortunately, I had to bother F to get it moved but I tried to bother him as little as possible.

Anyway, come Sunday, the final bits will be mine and that chapter will be over.

Or, will it?

It’s excruciating.