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his emotions. Fleetingly he looks NurseCathy in the eye and then he stares at the floor again.
He opens his mouth to speak, and says nothing.
His eyes well up with tears. Unable to hold them back any longer he quickly pulls a hankie from his pocket, catching the tears before they make a bigger mess of his already messy face.
NurseCathy didn’t need to ask. Immediately, she can see what’s happened. Below his left eye there are contusions, some badly ruptured blood vessels. Physical trauma. It’s not a black eye yet, but it’s obvious that he’s been hit.
Hit hard, and he’s probably suffered several blows, only ten or twenty minutes ago.
“Come with me to sick bay, I’ll get somebody to let Sylvie know you’re here.”
As they reach the Grand Corridor, Mr Rafone and Hayley are stepping out of one of the activity rooms.
Shielding HayWire from Hayley’s direct line of sight NurseCathy says, “Mike, tell Sylvie to come to sick bay.”
Whilst Hayley obviously wants to know what’s going on, Mr Rafone instantly takes her hand and guides her away from HayWire, heading purposefully towards the office.
Within ten minutes, HayWire and AuntSylvie are sitting alone in her office. The door is closed, they have tea and biscuits, and Mr Rafone has been sent away to organise the whole evening with or without HayWire and AuntSylvie.
The office is quite large with an exceptionally well crafted, classic wooden desk and an elaborate leather trimmed chair. Clearly not nineteenth century originals, but they look like the work of a master cabinet maker. Behind AuntSylvie’s chair are some well stocked book cases.
Most of the room is more like a small lounge than an office. Arranged with a walnut coffee table at the centre, three Edwardian style dining chairs near the desk, and three big comfy chairs on the opposite side. An amiable, mild scent of pot pourri fills the room
“You don’t have to tell me anything.”
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