Matthew's feelings when his mother finds him in his hospital bed.
Whatever he is feeling at the moment that she appears at the foot of his bed- blank, probably, wasted, apart from the physical pain- he is neither expecting nor ready to see her there. For one thing, he thought she was in France. Mary had said that no one had known where to reach her. And suddenly she's just there, with no grand announcement or warning. His mother.
At first, the surprise, the shock, is all he is aware of.
Then there is relief. At bleaker times, even with both Mary and Lavinia at his side, he'd wondered if he would live to see her again. When it became clear that he would, in his more dry, sarcastic moments he wondered if she would return before she died herself. He wondered if she had been told what had happened; and if she had been whether or not she would be able to leave her work with the Red Cross to come and see him. But that was a ridiculous thing to think, he realises: this is his mother; the woman who reportedly made it most of the way across Manchester, when he was three years old, in taxi cab in under ten minutes because the message reached her that he had taken ill. It emerged that he had just developed a slight cold, and when the fee for the cab was paid an apology was also delivered to the driver for his passenger's having shouted at him to driver faster the entire way.
And then, then there is a feeling of being utterly lost, of not knowing what to do at all. It is almost painful to him to see the love in her eyes, the relief to find him alive. She does not really take in his crippled legs, the cuts on his face or the grey hollows around his eyes. She sees them, but diverts them to a second level of priority: partly because she is so relived to find her boy still living and secondly because they make no difference to her. She loves him just the same, crippled or not; she accepts him instantly in a way that he is still struggling to accept himself.
"Mother."
It is all he can do as her name- what has always been her name to him- leaves his lips. He cries because he doesn't know what else to do. He feels braver with her there, and he is finally able to cry.
"Shh, Matthew. It's going to be alright."
She sits down beside him on the bed, turning to place her arms around him. She is instinctively protective. He closes his eyes, hearing the tears in her voice too now, and lets the things she says wash over him. Things he already knew, had already been told, but sounded so much more believable coming from her.
"It's going to be alright, Matthew," she repeats, "Nothing more is going to happen, I promise. It's over now. You're safe."
She brushes the vaguely dirty hair away from his face without a hint of disgust, or even displeasure, her face does not crinkle, though she is surely close enough to smell the reminder of vomit on his pyjamas. Her face damp with tears, but resolute in its expression, she gently touches the cuts on his jaw, with her soft nurse's hands.
"Oh my little boy. I love you."
"Mother," with a great effort, he reaches up and takes hold of her hand, stopping her, "There can't be any children."
He is telling her for her sake, not his. He knows she always had her own private hopes in this field, and now they cannot ever be realised. She cannot hide the momentary surprise on her face, and he catches it before she can brush it away. But she manages a faint smile a second later.
"It doesn't matter," she tells him, "I'm grateful to have you alive."
Please review if you have the time.