‘My partner had some swelling round his throat,’ she said putting her hand there to indicate where she meant as if her words were insufficient.
‘Glands?’ I said.
‘They took him in the other day and found a lump at the back of his throat,’ she said. ‘Actually in his throat,’ she pointed into her now open mouth. ‘He’d come out and then he complained, which he does a lot of by the way, he couldn’t swallow or eat anything without it hurting, so they took him back in and they just phoned me.’
The lift arrived. We both got out. Still talking…
‘Is he going to be alright?’ I asked, weakly…this is a major conversation with her…
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘They called me in so I’m going there now when I’ve dropped this shit off,’ shopping in bags.
‘Well,’ I said, preparing myself, ‘I hope he’s okay.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘So do I.’
We spoke once before but since, nothing.
They fight, shout at each other. He’s thrown her out of the flat and she threatened to cut his throat…the one she was just telling me about.
Today, I started the conversation in the lift, saying, ‘Getting chilly.’
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