"Jill?"
She opened her eyes slowly. With her body still tightly curled up, gripping the cushion, she tipped her head back to look in the direction of the voice, though she recognised it immediately. She let out a gasp as her eyes fell upon the figure in the doorway, confirming her suspicions. "Gordon..." She breathed his name. It was as if the previous day hadn't happened, the constable hadn't told her the life shattering news. There was her husband, standing in the doorway, living, breathing, gazing at her, his eyes holding the same concern she remembered, the special one reserved just for her. And his voice, the way he said her name, the intonation, all exactly the same. She could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, beneath his white shirt and black suit jacket, the same ones she'd seen him fold so neatly in his suitcase on Friday. Her mind couldn't create all that detail, could it?
"Jill? Are you alright? What's happened?" He was advancing towards her, his hand reaching out to touch her.
She leapt up from the settee then, preventing him from reaching her. She backed away until the back of her legs came into contact with the coffee table. She shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face without recognition, wishing him to stop, but still he kept closing the distance between them. Her eyes flicked between him and the doorway, calculating her move. Once he was far enough away from the door, she darted around him, giving him a wide enough berth so as not to touch him, and made her escape for the hallway. She spun around, walking back quickly, almost tripping over herself, stopping only when her back met the wall. She wasn't entirely sure the exact reason for running away. It might have been preventing him from touching her, destroying the illusion she had created; she would know he wasn't really there when she didn't feel his hand, thereby forcing her back into her devastating present and making her confront once again the loss of her husband.
Her gaze was riveted to the doorway, holding her breath, waiting for him to appear once again. It seemed like hours, but was in fact only a few seconds before he once again came within her sight, again, advancing towards her. His eyes held the same concern, but now accompanied by bewilderment.
She shook her head violently again, pressing her back firmly against the wall. "No!" She screamed desperately, sobbing before screaming once again. "No! Please, s-stay away. P-please." Tears continued to stream from her red-raw eyes as her whole body shook, destroying the little composure and strength holding her up, sending her crumbling to the floor. She tears continued, the trembling accompanied by sobs wracking her body, the noise forcing itself painfully from her throat.
"Jill?"
A new voice reached her, a distinctly female, once she immediately recognised. "M-Matron?" She managed to splutter before once again descending into sobs.
"Jill. Whatever is the matter?"
A new figure came within her eyeline, wearing the unmistakable deep blue uniform of Matron. The figure knelt beside her, a hand touched her shoulder. Jill immediately grasped it, she could feel it, the thin skin covering complex bone structure. With her logic, Matron was real, she wasn't a figment of her imagination. "Matron." She whispered, clutching the older woman's hand tightly. "Is he there?"
"Who Jill?"
"Gordon. Is he really there?" She gazed up at Matron's confused eyes, her own face marred with grief.
"I don't understand."
"Please." She sobbed. "Just tell me."
"Yes, of course he is. Gordon," She redirected her voice. "Come here."
"Jill? What is it sweetheart?"
She stared at her husband through tear-filled eyes as he crouched in front of her. She kept a tight hold on Matron's hand, not daring to touch him, just in case.
"Jill, please. You're scaring me. Talk to me, please." His tone took on a hint of desperation; he glanced to Matron, worry and helplessness written in his expression.
She took a deep breath, trying to gather some strength from somewhere within her, she had to find out either way, she couldn't go on like this. Her right hand still grasped Matron's, but she lifted her left hand towards him, stopping just short of making contact. "Touch me Gordon." She managed to choke out between sobs. "Take my hand, please."
Confusion joined the myriad of emotions on his face, but he reached out his hand towards hers nevertheless. She held her breath; it seemed an age before his fingers finally brushed across hers, moving to curl themselves around her smaller ones. His grip was warm, solid, her hand fitting against his exactly as she remembered. Dizziness engulfed her, her confusion being replaced by confusion of a different kind, but it was replaced quickly as relief swept through her, pushing aside her grief. He was here! Gordon, her husband, was really crouching in front of her holding her hand, not a mere figment of her imagination, an actual solid presence. She exhaled, breathing his name in a rush of air. She moved away from Matron, leaning towards her husband, her free hand clutching tightly onto his shoulder, feeling the muscles through the familiar softness jacket. It took a moment, no doubt due to his confusion she was doing nothing to elevate, but he finally wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer to him, providing the final contact she so desperately needed. She pressed closer to him, tucking her head beneath his chin, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, allowing his unique smell to fill her.
She felt him place a kiss in her hair as he eased himself into a sitting position, not releasing her. Once he was settled, he gathered her even closer to him, cradling her against his chest. One hand stroked her back, no doubt in an attempt to sooth her; her tears still fell thick and fast, trembling still had a hold of her body, interrupted by the occasional involuntary shudder of emotion.