We saw one of his brothers coming out of the flat he shares with his mother yesterday morning. He was carrying the recycling waste and was on his way to the shared bin site with them. I asked about him. He grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. I don’t think he will see Christmas, he said. They took him to hospital in Swansea and he will remain there. We didn’t know. I’d wondered why I hadn’t seen him at his window or heard the TV late at night. He told us that they’d been going to amputate his leg due to gangrene but have decided against it. He must be bad then, we said. Yes, he said, though he was accepting of it. They saw him the day before. He was still chatty, he said. They were leaving that morning and he was taking his mother home with him. I think of him all alone in the hospital, with no access to his beloved cigarettes. Perhaps he no longer wants them. Poor love. Poor man. I shall and do miss him.
