The Uninvited

make you spaghetti. Out in the kitchen.’He hesitates and says in a small voice,‘OK.’He looks disoriented as he picks hisway past his mother. He doesn’t stop tolook at her or glance back. He is pantingslightly by the time he reaches the bottomof the stairs. He glances from side to side,as if unfamiliar with his surroundings.‘This way.’ I put my hands on hisshoulders and march him into the kitchen,where a message interrupts the Strauss inmy jacket pocket: you are now numbertwenty-nine in the queue. I startcalculating, then give up. I don’t knowenough about the local healthcareinfrastructure to guess what numbertwenty-nine might mean, in waiting terms.‘Stay here,’ I tell Freddy.