SUSAN

20th February, Princess Diana Memorial Hospital

Still no sign of brain activity from Carlton. I’m not giving up though. I don’t care what W says, I’m sure there’s something left in there, I can feel it.

I know that’s not very scientific; W would have a fit. But I can, I can feel it: a gut instinct, we can get him back somehow. I mean, he’s lasted this long, he should be dead by rights.

I find him immensely intriguing. It’s more than that, though. Can’t put my finger on what it is, but there’s something special about him, something personal, like I’m drawn to him… or he’s drawn to me. Totally unprofessional, I know. There’s no way I’m going to let it interfere at work. But it’s there alright.

I must admit, I do find him attractive. Those teak-coloured eyes, that light brown skin. I checked his records. He’s mixed race, Scottish father, Jamaican mother… well, Jamaican descent, her grandfather came from Jamaica, part of the Windrush generation.

It’s funny, but the thought of a lot of black people crowded together on a ship gives me a strange sense of déjà vu. Doesn’t make any sense considering I’m a blue-eyed blonde.

Oh well, better get some sleep while it’s quiet… if I can.