VISITOR from hell
Quietly opening the door, I slipped into the bedroom I normally shared with my wife Sarah and put a cup of tea down on the bedside table.
‘How are you feeling, love?’ I asked her gently.
She looked up at me with swollen eyes, her cheeks flushed bright red.
‘Awful,’ she groaned.
Poor Sarah had come down with the flu. Sometimes when people say they’ve got flu, they mean a bad cold, but Sarah was properly poorly. I took her to the doctor, who prescribed antibiotics, but she didn’t get better. In fact, she got much worse. At night, she’d toss and turn, alternately kicking the
