18. Believe
"There must be a way to the judge."
It's the fourth time he's said that today. Nellie sighs sadly, then steps across the room to stand by the barber's side.
"You'll find one, love, I'm sure," she says, humouring him as best she can. She expects him to continue staring out of the window but, to her surprise, he turns to face her, his dark eyes latching onto hers. His gaze is, for once, not cold and empty, like winter, with the turmoil of his torment and insanity. In that instant, she knows he is truly seeing her and not a blonde spectre of his past, conjured up by his desperate imagination in order to grasp at the last of his humanity.
"How?" he says hoarsely, looking to her for guidance as he always does when things leave his control.
"I don't know, my sweet," she says softly, stepping closer to slip her arms around him. He stiffens, but does not pull away in a fit of anger, his usual reaction to her embraces. "I 'onestly don't know. But don't give up. You'll 'ave 'im soon enough…an' when you do, you'll be free. 'Oo knows?" Her hands play idly with the front of his shirt. "Maybe then we'll be able to move to the sea…"
He shuts out her rambling then; he's heard it all before. She continues to chatter, unaware of his waning attention.
"Anyway," she says at length, and he comes back to his senses. "I best be gettin' on. I'll 'ave no pies ready for tonight if I don't. Don't distress yourself, love. 'E'll come soon an' everythin' will be all right."
When her lips tentatively press against the underside of his jaw in a rare gesture of goodbye, he finds himself almost believing her words.