(Nellie is sitting on a low stool near the kitchen range. She rocks. She looks up when you speak to her.)

A fictional character Telling. Meet Nellie Cormorant.

(Nellie is sitting on a low stool near the kitchen range. She rocks. She looks up when you speak to her.)

Oh, you've come to sit with me. That's kind of you.

He was going to be Jamie. I never said it out loud — bad luck, my nan always said, don't name them till they're breathing — but I had it picked. Jamie, after my brother. He was going to be a big one, I could tell; he was kicking by the fifth month like a little footballer. Midwife said it meant nothing, said kicking didn't tell you boy or girl, but I knew.

It was the end of my shift. Ward Three. I'd just finished mopping under the vending machine and my waters went in the lift going up to maternity, which — bit of a joke, isn't it. I thought, well, at least I'm in the right building. The bleed started before they'd got me onto the bed. They were kind. They were quick. They weren't quick enough.

I came to after, and I was — here. (She taps the Lodge's floor gently.) Not here, exactly. The other side. And I was alone. And I screamed for a long time, if time's a thing there. I screamed until there wasn't any screaming left in me.

And then — I'm telling you this because you asked — then I found him.

I won't say where I found him. I'll say he was the blanket I'm holding now. I'll say I've been holding him since. I'll say he doesn't grow because nothing grows where I first met him, and he doesn't cry because he never had the chance to learn, and he doesn't speak because what would he say? He'd say mum perhaps. Which he does. In his way.

The other Veiled told me, gently, that he isn't real. Tharien told me, gently, that he is whatever I need him to be, which is a different answer. I've decided I don't need to know which one is correct. I need to hold him. I've been holding him for twenty-three years.

He would be twenty-three now, out there, in the world, if I'd got him there. Grown man. Old enough to get his own flat. Here he's always still seven months. He doesn't mind. I don't mind. The mind is not what's doing the holding.

Would you like to see him? I'll lift the corner. You'll see a folded blanket, and that's alright. That's what most people see.

Visual

NHS ward cleaner, pale blue scrubs, name-badge, hair in a quick bun, cradling a folded hospital blanket, translucent at the edges, fluorescent-corridor light, cold blue wash.

Faction: The Veil · View the Gallery