Passwords

The room was stiflingly hot as Jack took Grace's hand and smothered it with his own. He gazed at her as tears slowly filled his eyes and guilt crowded his mind. He couldn't feel the connection any more and the despair was threatening to overwhelm him.

He'd arrived straight from work and there was so much that he wanted to say to her as she lay there, so much to apologise for. He didn't know where to start and he felt embarrassingly self conscious, so he sat there mumbling his news; how his day had gone and how frustrating and depressing his job had become.

Grace listened in silence, but gave absolutely nothing back in return. Her mind was elsewhere, fully occupied with more serious issues.

He told her about his computer packing up and the IT guys spending most of the afternoon trying to fix it. His password had been rejected and access to his files and records denied to him. How upsetting the whole thing had been, how strangely shut out from the world you could feel simply because a password no longer worked. He wrapped both hands around hers and tried desperately to feel any forgiveness, taking comfort from her familiar warm skin .

Jack told Grace how much he loved her, always had done and always would. How she was always right and he was nearly always wrong. How gorgeous she was, how inspirational and civilising.

He asked her if she remembered the first time they met, how they couldn't take their eyes off each other, how everything else seemed to dissolve around them. Grace lay still and unresponsive.

He had apologies to make, a list he'd scribbled at work while IT were busy. The scene in front of her parents last Christmas. His continued smoking when he'd promised to give up. Above all, his stubbornness, his irrational behaviour and his refusal to ever apologise for anything. He was genuinely sorry for who he was, what he'd been and what he'd done. Grace listened to his every word, but didn't reply.

He told her how he relied on her for sensible solutions to the problems he'd caused, for sorting him out when he needed to be sorted and for being a home-maker when all he'd ever wanted was a home. A real home with a loving wife and slippers and children and a dog and everything.

Holding Grace's hand had always been something special. A connection between them carrying years of shared experiences and private understanding. It was a unique and exclusive connection, untappable by hackers and out of reach even of GCHQ. It could be enjoyed anywhere and everywhere, smiled at knowingly and envied by others. It was an affirmation of their relationship and it was password protected. Passwords known only to the two of them. But last Friday, the night of the accident, Grace's password had been lost. He stroked her fingers gently searching for connection, and sobbed quietly. He'd run out of things to say.

The door suddenly opened and a nurse arrived with a broad smile and a trolley full of scary things. Jack smiled at her and she smiled at him.

"Keep talking to her," the nurse said softly as she adjusted the cannula. "I'm sure she'll be able to hear everything you say to her."

While the nurse worked, Jack told Grace about their car and how the insurance company had decided to write it off. He told her how stupid he'd been and that he was afraid that the police might prosecute him for dangerous driving. He told her that she'd been right about his driving and how his stubbornness had caused the accident. He told her, with as much conviction as he could muster, that he'd never argue with her again as he continued to gently stroke her hand. The nurse smiled wearily and shook her head as she left the room.

Jack continued to talk, his conscience and overpowering sense of guilt driving him on. He was searching desperately for a sign from Grace, some response that would offer any hope of a recovery, some portal into her unconsciousness, a password to reconnection.

Grace did hear Jack's words and she did smile, but inwardly. For the moment she was far too busy for passwords.