One Hundred Names (Special Edition)

head on the bed, embarrassed that Constance was seeing her like this, embarrassed to be behaving this way when her friend was so sick and had more important things to worry about.
    ‘Shush now,’ Constance said soothingly, running her hand gently through Kitty’s hair. ‘That is an even better ending than I originally wished for. Our poor caterpillar got to fly after all.’
    When Kitty lifted her head, Constance suddenly appeared exhausted.
    ‘Are you okay? Should I call a nurse?’
    ‘No … no. It comes on suddenly,’ she said, her eyelids heavy and fluttering. ‘I’ll have a short nap and I’ll be all right again. I don’t want you to go. There is so much for us to talk about. Such as Glen,’ she smiled weakly.
    Kitty faked a smile in return. ‘Yes. You sleep,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be right here.’
    Constance could always read her expressions, could dismantle her lies in seconds. ‘I didn’t like him much anyway.’
    Within seconds Constance’s eyes fluttered closed.
    Kitty sat on the windowsill in Constance’s hospital room, looking down at the people passing below, trying to figure out the route home where the fewest people would see her. A flow of French snapped her out of her trance and she turned to Constance in surprise. Apart from when Constance swore, in all the ten years she had known her, Kitty had never heard her speak French.
    ‘What did you say?’
    Constance seemed momentarily confused. She cleared her throat and gathered herself. ‘You look far away.’
    ‘I was thinking.’
    ‘I shall alert the authorities at once.’
    ‘I have a question I’ve always wanted to ask you.’ Kitty moved to the chair beside Constance’s bed.
    ‘Oh, yes? Why didn’t Bob and I have children?’ She sat up in the bed and reached for her water. She sucked the tiniest amount from a straw.
    ‘No, know-it-all. You’ve killed every plant you’ve ever owned, I can’t imagine what you’d have been like with a child. No, I wanted to ask you, is there any story you wish you’d written but for whatever reason never wrote?’
    Constance lit up at the question. ‘Oh, that
is
a good question. A story in itself perhaps.’ She raised her eyebrows at Kitty. ‘A piece where you interview retired writers about the story that got away, ha? What do you think? I should talk to Pete about that. Or perhaps we should contact retired writers and ask them to write the story that they never wrote, especially for the magazine. People like Oisín O’Ceallaigh and Olivia Wallace. Give them their opportunity to tell it. It could be a special edition.’
    Kitty laughed. ‘Do you ever stop?’
    There was a light knock on the door and Constance’s husband, Bob, entered. He looked tired but as soon as he laid eyes on Constance, he softened.
    ‘Hello, darling. Ah, hello, Kitty. Nice of you to join us.’
    ‘Traffic,’ Kitty said, awkwardly.
    ‘I know the feeling,’ he smiled, coming around and kissing her on the head. ‘It often slows me down too, but better late than never, eh?’ He looked at Constance, her face all twisted up in concentration. ‘Are you trying to poo, my love?’
    Kitty laughed.
    ‘Kitty asked me what story have I always wanted to write but never have.’
    ‘Ah. You’re not supposed to make her think, the doctors said so,’ he joked. ‘But that’s a good question. Let me guess. Is it that time during the oil spillage when you had the exclusive interview with the penguin who saw everything?’
    ‘I did not have an exclusive with the penguin,’ Constance laughed, then winced with pain.
    Kitty became nervous but Bob, used to it, continued.
    ‘Oh, it was the whale then. The whale who saw everything. Told everyone who so much as inched near him about what he saw.’
    ‘It was the captain of the ship,’ she threw at Bob, but lovingly.
    ‘Why didn’t you interview him?’ Kitty asked, arrested by their love for one another.
    ‘My flight got delayed,’ she said, fixing her bedcovers.
    ‘She couldn’t find her passport,’ Bob outed her. ‘You know what the flat is like, the Dead Sea Scrolls could be in there, for all we know. The passports have since found their home in the toaster, lest we forget again. Anyway, so she missed her flight and instead of Constance’s great exclusive, the captain spoke to someone else who we shall not name.’ He turned to Kitty and whispered, ‘Dan Cummings.’
    ‘Oh, you’ve done it, you’ve killed me now,’ Constance said dramatically,