Andy Martin looked at the bed and saw his father, on the day he died.
Phil Martin had been in his early fifties when the cerebral haemorrhage had struck him down, without warning, in his stand seat at Parkhead, ten minutes from the end of an early season Celtic vs. Aberdeen league match.
He had been rushed to the Southern General Hospital, but not even the skills of Scotland's finest neurosurgeons could save him.
His son had arrived at the hospital late in the evening, having been flagged down on his way back from a day on the beach by a police colleague warned to look out for him.
He had been shown into a small room, not unlike this one. He had seen a still figure lying beneath a single sheet. Then he had been told the prognosis by the consultant neurologist.
Finally, after a heart-rending discussion with his mother, he had given his permission for his father's ventilator to be switched off, and with it, his life.
He had been to neither church nor confession since the day of the funeral, but now, looking at his friend, he remembered his own decision and offered up a prayer that Sarah would not be forced to do the same thing.
`How's he doing?' he whispered, taking the seat beside her. `His pulse is still firm and stable, but it isn't coming down fast enough for my liking.'
`What does the surgeon say?'
Oh,' she sighed, 'he says I shouldn't worry about it. He says the shock was pretty severe, and that it's still only twelve hours or so since he came out of surgery. He's right, of course, but still.. She glanced up at the bank of monitors, her young face pale and drawn.
'I just don't like it, that's all.'
Andy took her hand. 'Sarah, my dear. You need a break from here.'
`No!’ Her mouth drew into a tight line. 'I'm staying with him.'
He nodded. 'Fine, I understand that. All I'm saying is that you should go home for a couple of hours. Have a bath, see the baby, and have something to eat, then come back. Alex has a meal ready for you. I'll sit with him while you're away.'
She looked at him, wavering. There were dark circles under her eyes.
`Go on,' he said. 'There's a traffic car waiting for you downstairs. It'll take you home, and have you back here before midnight.'
She shook her head, still reluctant. 'No. What if something… happens?'
`Sarah, I promise you that if his condition changes, either way, that police car will have you back here in ten minutes.' He took her arm, and standing, drew her to her feet with him. Now on you go. There's another fellow back home needs you as well.'
Finally, she nodded. 'Okay, but you will call if anything changes!'
I promise. But everything'll be okay, you wait and see.'
Her mind made up, she kissed him on the cheek, and left the Unit — hurrying, almost, lest her resolve should crack.
The door had barely closed behind her when Bob's arm moved on the cover, trembling perceptibly. His fingers twitched as if he was reaching, in a dream, for something familiar which had disappeared.
Instinctively, Andy took his hand, and grasped it tight. The tremor stilled at once.
`There, there, Big Man,' he whispered. 'It's all right, she'll be back. The reserve team's on for a few hours, that's all.' He gazed at his unconscious friend, and saw the slightest flicker of his right eyelid.
`Christ,' he said. 'I wonder what's going on in there? Knowing you, though, it'll be about police work!'