Frankie stood in the rain. It had started out mild, but a driving wind had kicked up, and now he was freezing cold. He stared at the building, looked up and across the windows, wondering which room she was in. He’d rehearsed what to say a hundred times over, but that had been in his head, in his imagination. The nursing home had been built in the sixties, straight lined, pebble-dashed— no character. In the rain the building looked grim. The idea of going inside was daunting, and for the past hour his courage had failed him. He dug his hands into his pockets. He’d bought new clothes especially for the occasion, a pair of black jeans, a chestnut brown sweater, and some leather shoes, not trainers. He knew she’d like the shoes, polished and smart; but they didn’t look smart anymore. It was silly standing there getting wet with no umbrella and his waterproof left in the car. He was supposed to go straight in, only it wasn’t happening as he’d planned. His nerve had failed him.