There is horror in green. For some of us, the green of a spring leaf or grassy meadow holds more terror than all the scarlet and crimson of war, or the sucking blackness of dark spaces. Green is the colour of death. It is the colour of fear. And for those of us who are left to tell the tale, it is the colour of loss.

Miriam could have lain propped on her pillows, one hand trailing over the edge of the plastic cot, mesmerized by the small sleeping form beneath the blue blanket for hours, were it not for the constant stark interruptions. If it wasn't her son stirring and mewling for his feed, then it would be one of the other newborns in the small side-ward, each with their distinctive and jarring cry; or the midwives going about their duties or accompanying a doctor on his rounds; or a flushed and animated visitor, talking too much, asking too many of the same inane questions, placing a fat finger into the curled palm of an infant to test his or her grip, drawing tenuous and spurious comparisons between the physical appearance of the new arrival and some relative a generation removed. When the visitors left, it was time for snatched sleep, for hobbling to the lavatories or for a bath, and occasionally for a conversation with a neighbouring mum...

Before you read any more of this, I need you to think for a moment about how this was for me. Can you do that? I mean can you really do that? Is it even possible for you to imagine how isolated it made me feel? I was in a dark place. Looking at the world from the bottom of a deep well and simply not knowing what to do about it. All those things in my life which had been so important to me beforehand now became junk. I couldn't talk about it at Church. I couldn't exactly bring it up at the tennis club. And as for family? Forget that one from the start. Mom had cried when I told her about that one time I'd voted Democrat. There was no way I was going to get her to accept this...

Jessimine felt sick. She had definitely over-indulged and was on her sixth, or was it the seventh pint of lager. She'd also smoked a joint a little earlier, which seemed alright at the time but now was making her feel extremely nauseous. That last dance hadn't helped either, but she was a great dancer and loved to throw herself into the gyrations of the music...

We'd had a fight again. Which ended in the same way it always did. I got cross and hurt, and Charley just sat there, staring into space. This time it was about trying to get her out of the house. Earlier on it had been about brushing her hair. Before that it had been about getting her out of bed...

Detective Inspector Peter Legge listened while his car door clunked solidly behind him. It was satisfying sound and its novelty hadn't yet worn off. It was a clunk that assured him that his money had been well placed. After years of making do with a flimsy Nissan, he had a car that clunked properly...

"What the hell is going on!" I screeched with anger. I was shouting so hard that the back of my throat had started to sting. My eyes grew wider as I glared at the long line of cars in front of me. I glanced at the clock: 18:24pm. "Typical!" I said to myself. The one night I leave work early to go out, I get caught up in traffic. I was supposed to meet Ben almost half an hour ago. I'd tried to call him to say that I was going to be late, but the blasted signal on my phone was dead. Stupid phone, stupid cars. "Move! For Gods sake!" I yelled, but it was no use, we were stuck and weren't going anywhere. I reached over to the glove compartment, fumbled around and eventually pulled out a crumpled packet of Marlboro Lights that had been stuffed away for use in emergencies. There was one left inside and I really needed to calm down. I wound down the window. Summer heat and the sound of humming engines poured into the car. I lit up and took a long drag from the cigarette...

It must be at least ten minutes since the front door clicked gently shut. The roaring inside my head has subsided, so I can at least tell for sure that all is quiet in the flat. This is not good. This is not good at all. My chest and stomach are in contention to see which can clench tightest. I think I’m going to heave. Deep breath. Swallow hard. The night sounds are clear now; I can hear vehicles passing intermittently, the tyres on the wet street like waves breaking on a starlit beach. Nothing else. He must be gone. I’m going to throw up. I gulp again to quell the sensation...