The Gloamings Nursing Home was a substantial old building of red sandstone which had been inelegantly extended to either side with square, ugly wings covered with roughcast.  The house stood a little way out of the drab main village in a garden of grass and sycamore.  A lane between the Gloamings and a similar, unextended house led to farmland on the low ridge beyond; an electricity substation lay on the other side of the home, pylons humming over the flank of the hill.  The Gloamings looked out over more fields on the other side of the road.  I took the ramp that led to the front door rather than the steps.

'Yes?' said the harassed young woman who came to the door.  She wore a blue overall, like a real nurse, and had wildly frizzy black hair, large round red glasses and a distracted appearance.

'Good day,' I said, tipping my hat. 'I'm here to see Ms Zhobelia Whit, née Asis.'

'Zhobelia?' the girl said, her face screwing into an exasperated expression.

'That's right.  May I come in?'

'No, I'm sorry, dear,' she said, 'ye canny.' She had a high, nasal voice.  Her glasses went up and down with each word.  She glanced at her watch. 'It's past time, so it is.'

I gave her my most tolerantly condescending smile. 'I don't think you understand, young lady.  It is very important,' I said. 'Allow me to introduce myself; I am The Blessed Gaia-Marie Isis Saraswati Minerva Mirza Whit of Luskentyre, Elect of God, III.'

She looked blank.

I continued. 'I believe I am expected.  Our lawyers did send a letter to that effect.  You haven't heard anything?'

'Naw, ah'm sorry… ah'm just here masel, no one's told me anything.  But ah canny let ye in, see, 'cos ah'm just here masel, ye know?'

'Please,' I said. 'I really must see Ms Zhobelia this evening.  I regret to say that if I have to, I am instructed to authorise an interdict to be issued which would require that you give me access to her, but obviously the proprietors of this establishment - and indeed I - would rather avoid such legal action if it can be avoided.'

'Aw, wait a minute,' the lass said, looking so tired and hurt that I felt a pang of guilt at subjecting her to this nonsense. 'Look, ah'm no allowed tae let ye in, hen; it's as simple as that.  It's more than ma job, ye know what ah mean?  They're dead strict wi' the staff here, so they are.'

'All the more reason to let me-'

There was pale movement in the dark hall behind the girl.

'Is that my Johnny?' said a weak and faltering old voice, and an ancient face, like translucent parchment stretched over bleached bone, peered round the girl's shoulder.  I could smell antiseptic.

'Naw, it's naw, Miss Carlisle,' the girl shouted. 'Get back tae yer seat.'

'Is that my Johnny?' the old lady asked again, her thin white hands up near her face fluttering like two weak, chained birds.

'Naw, it's no your Johnny, Miss Carlisle,' the girl shouted again, in that flat, even raising of the voice that indicates one is talking not in anger or for emphasis but to somebody who is deaf. 'Now, you away back tae yer seat; ah'll be through to put you to your bed soon, all right?' The girl turned Miss Carlisle around gently with one hand and carefully blocked her from the doorway, half closing the door.

'Look,' the girl said to me. 'Ah'm awfy sorry, hen, but ah canny let ye in; ah just canny.  Ah've got ma hands full here as it is, ye know?'

'Are you sure it's not my Johnny, dear?' said the faint, shaky voice from the hallway.

'Well,' I said, 'I'm just going to stay here until you do let me in.'

'But ah just canny.  Honest.  Ah just canny.  Ah'm sorry.' There was a crash from the background, and the lass glanced behind her. 'Ah've got tae go now.  Ah've just got tae.  Sorry…'

'Look; you're risking civil proceed-' I began,- but the door closed and I heard a lock snick.

I could just make out the muffled words from behind the door. 'Naw, Miss Carlisle, it's no…'

I decided to wait.  I would try again later and see if sheer persistence paid off.  I wondered if this girl was the night shift or if she would be replaced.  I put down my kit-bag on the step and sat on it.  I fished out my copy of the Orthography and read a few passages by the slowly fading light from the still clear sky.

I couldn't settle, though, and after a while got up and walked round the house.  There was a locked gate to one side but a clear passageway on the other.  Tall wheeled rubbish bins in grey and yellow were lined against the roughcast wall beneath a black metal fire escape.  The back garden was full of white sheets and grey blankets, hung out to dry and dangling limply in the still air.  I walked round the back of the house.  I tried the back door, gently, but it was locked.

Then I heard a tapping noise.  I expected it was going to be the girl in the nurse's uniform, shooing me away, but it was the same old lady who'd appeared behind the nurse earlier:  Miss Carlisle.  She was wearing a dark dressing-gown, standing at a small window to the side of the wing that overlooked the farm lane.  She tapped again and motioned to me.  I went over and stood under the window.  She fiddled with something at the bottom of the window-frame.  After a while the window cracked open, pivoting horizontally about its centre line.  She lowered her head.

'Ssh,' she said, putting one thin, milk-coloured finger to her lips.  I nodded and mirrored the gesture.  She motioned me in.  I looked around.  It was getting dark and hard to see well, but there didn't appear to be anybody watching.  I pushed my kit-bag through first, then scrambled over the sill.

Her room was small and smelled… of old person; of bodily wastes that were somehow genteel because the failing system had done little processing on their raw materials, so that the offensive became unobjectionable.  There was a faint scent of something pleasant, too; lilacs, I thought.  I could make out a wardrobe, drawers, a dressing table and a small chair.  There was a narrow single bed, its covers disturbed as if she'd just got up.

'I always knew you'd come back, dear,' she said, and gave me what was probably meant to be a fierce hug.  She was tiny and so frail; really she just leaned against me and put her arms round my back.  Her tiny head was against my breast.  I looked down into translucent, wispily white hair; as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could see that the skin on her scalp was very pale pink, and covered in little faint brown patches.  She gave a sigh.

I put my arms round her and gave her the gentlest of hugs, fearful of crushing her.

'Dear Johnny,' she sighed. 'At last.'

I closed my eyes, holding her lightly to me.  We stayed like that, holding each other for a while, until it gradually dawned on me that she had fallen asleep.

I pulled carefully back, unclasped her hands from the small of my back, and laid her gently down on the bed, pulling out the covers to slide her feet and legs in, adjusting her trailing nightie and tucking her in properly.  She gave a tiny snore and turned onto her side.  From what I could see, there was a smile on her face.

I opened the door.  There was a light on in the corridor; no noise.  There was a faint smell of institutional cooking.  Miss Carlisle's door had number 14 on it and a little plastic apparatus at about eye level which contained a slip of white cardboard with her name on it.  I relaxed a little.  That ought to make things easier.  I looked back into the room.  Through the window, I could see the girl in the nurse's uniform in the garden, bringing in the washing, grabbing the sheets and blankets off the line and throwing them into a wash basket.  I hoisted my kit-bag and went silently out into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind me.

I checked all the names in that corridor; no sign of Zhobelia.  There was a fire door with a glass and wire-mesh window to one side off the corridor, leading to the main house.  I peeked through to a dimly lit hall.