Chapter 17

 

 

Teddy, like most people who had access to it, had become sucked into an internet world. Again, for most, it was a welcome distraction from work, chores, duties, the general ennui of life. In Teddy’s case it was a distraction from death. He had accepted his fate as much as any can, notwithstanding the bouts of bitterness in knowing that no matter how well we have played it (not that Teddy had) it is life itself which cheats us in the end. His simple acts of resistance were each day, with the help of his nurse, to get out of bed and hobble across the wooden parquet of his dining room floor, now polished to a high shine, and sit in a wicker-work chair from the turn of the 18th Century, at a round, black marble topped Empire table from around the same time. His battered, old blue Lenovo laptop sat on top, the battery of which had long ceased to function, and now had to be plugged in to work. A heavy jar or glass or book had to be placed just so against the lead component,