I was tired. I had to work late that night so didn't get to the hospital till around ten.

I had always hated hospitals with their shabbiness, their air of death and hopelessness, the sad patients, inmates if you like, shuffling around with the aid of various mechanical devices.

I knew the way by now with my eyes shut. Well I would do, I'd been coming here almost every day now for, how long was it, around six weeks I guess. The sixth floor. I always walked up, welcomed the exercise. Reach the top of the stairs by the lift, turn right through the swing doors, left down a corridor and second door on the right was her ward.

The Elizabeth Hope ward. A sick joke that name. For hardly anybody ever came out of there in a vertical position. Cancer, the non operable kind. Shit creek and definitely no chance of a paddle. I wondered who the hell Elizabeth Hope had been. Some benefactor I expect. Poor old cow whoever she was, did she know her name was being used for the Hopeless ward? Would she have appreciated the irony?

Third bed along, on the left side. The ward, like the whole damn hospital, was done out in NHS magnolia from above four feet off the ground with a dull green colour covering the lower part. Why did they always use these colours in hospitals? The colours of death.

The sister in charge of the ward looked up and smiled at me. I said hello, had seen her many times since I started visiting this almost final resting place. She looked a nice sort. Not a great beauty but somehow inviting, like when you're very hungry and you see a half decent looking place to eat.

I walked over to her bed. She looked exactly the same as last night and all the previous nights in here before that. Tubes and wires were hanging off her but she was not conscious. I sat down, took her hand. Looked at her face, white, ghostly, like maybe she was already dead. I didn't know whether or not she was aware of my presence. I spoke to her like I always did. No response. Maybe she could hear me but simply couldn't respond.

I had loved her for a long time. And I knew she had loved me. But then, maybe five years ago, bit by bit, it had gone wrong. It was not as if she had someone else, I was certain, well as certain as you can be, that she did not. But the little rejections mounted. The occasional "headaches" became more frequent. Then she would consent sometimes but she would not kiss. Like some lousy two bit hooker. Made out she was doing me a favour. I suggested talking to somebody about it but she refused, said I was obsessed. Well I hadn't been but her constant reaction was driving me that way. Our marriage had become a sham.

Then she had fallen ill. Brain tumour. The bit in between is boring so that brings you up to date with me sitting here now.

Her eyes were still shut. I continued with my attempts to communicate with her, just as I had for the last six weeks.

I put my mouth close to her ear and I whispered similar words to those I had on all my daily visits. "You foul disgusting bitch, you ain't got long to go now. It makes my day every night to come here and see you rotting away, payback time girl."

I stood up and looked at her again, then made my way out. The sister looked up, asked if I was okay. "Not too bad considering" I told her. I was happy again