“He has barely slept. But he is determined to make the most of the morning. He has already called the station and spoken to Usaf, who is on his way to a meeting. Did he see the grandmother yesterday? No, Usaf tells him, he will call in this afternoon. Martin is irritated; what could possibly be more important? Why doesn’t Usaf go there now? He tries to stay calm; he has never been so aware of time passing. But there is no point in getting worked up. He tells himself, he will wait; he must wait. ...His ribs are still sore; any sudden movement reminds him of his injuries; his bruises are like watercolours on his body—splodgy shades of tapioca, ochre, pale grey. On his leg the scab is growing thick like bark on a tree. When he woke, he felt dizzy, a sensation almost like travel sickness; he wonders about an aneurysm—it is quite possible—and pictures a balloon of blood floating in his head. He should probably see a doctor, have the scan. He stands at the kitchen window drinking his third cup of coffee of the morning.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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