The drive of the hospital passed through forest shadows before opening out to an empty lawn. The white, white palace waited at the end of it, like the final destination in a fairy tale. The building had been the country villa of a Romantic writer, Robert Wyndham, and I had spent Friday night in bed and online, reading his accounts of evenings in the garden. There were visits from royals and ambassadors, and from Byron. There were statues of nymphs on the edge of the woods, designed to move in the dusk light. There were reports of pagan ceremonies and a great abundance of food and wine. These ironies were unacknowledged on the hospital website, and the statues had been removed.

There was a clump of smokers by the entrance, craning into the shade like flowers in reverse. A framed note explained that the interior had been refurbished last year, and had been painted in colours which promoted wellness. Wellness, it transpired, was white with a shot of pastel, and pink shirts at the reception desk. ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I’m here to visit my brother, Gabriel.’

‘Surname?’

‘Gabriel Gracie.’

‘I’m afraid that Gabriel’s occupied,’ the receptionist said.

‘Occupied?’

‘He has another guest.’

‘Who?’

‘That isn’t information which I’m able to disclose.’

The receptionist smiled pleasantly.

‘Can I join them?’ I said. ‘I’ve come a long way.’

‘Our policy is to allow one group of visitors at a time.’

‘Really?’ I said, and still the receptionist smiled.

‘You’re welcome to wait.’

I waited. The smokers traipsed past, lugging the smell of it. I turned the pages of a stale magazine, which seemed to be about houses and plastic surgery. An old fan turned behind the desk, moving the receptionist’s hair.

Half an hour in, a man passed by, walking like he was heading somewhere more important. In the light of the reception, his skin was pallid, with the sheen of raw meat. Clothes stained at the collar and cuffs. When he was above me, he smiled, as if he knew me well. As if he had been expecting me. He had immaculate teeth: a last pocket of health, preserved from the general decay. ‘Thank you,’ he said, to the receptionist. ‘As ever.’

Then he was outside, shielding his eyes against the afternoon.

‘You’re up,’ said the receptionist. ‘He’ll meet you here.’

Gabriel came inconsequentially down the corridor. His face was clean and pale and preserved, like an undertaker’s interpretation of my brother. He wore cotton trousers and mismatched socks, and a long, long shirt, buttoned to the neck. He gripped the sleeves, like they would roll away from him. Next to me, he removed his glasses, and smiled at a space close to my eyes, his pupils roving for the right spot.

‘You found me,’ he said.

‘With a little help from Delilah,’ I said. ‘Yes. How are you feeling?’

‘That’s a dangerous question, around here. Can we go outside?’

‘I don’t know. Can we?’

‘I’m not asking you to help me escape, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

We stood together, and I offered him my arm. I was surprised when he took it, and leaned against me. We moved as one cumbersome creature down the corridor and towards the sunshine. ‘No further than the end of the lawn, please,’ said the receptionist, and Gabriel chuckled.

‘Do people actually escape?’ I asked.

‘Apparently. There are rumours that the whole forest’s full of bodies – all of the sad, lost souls, you see – but I think they usually call for a taxi.’

‘Do you want to sit down?’

‘No. Let’s walk.’

‘One lap?’

‘Let’s try for that.’

He had lost most of his hair. The last clumps were shaved to the scalp. He pulled thick sunglasses from one pocket and a stick of gum from the other. ‘Don’t look at me too much, Lex,’ he said. ‘It’s the medications. I’m a fucking mess.’

I wondered if he felt the same way about sunglasses as I did: the childish notion that you become invisible when you put them on. I had left mine in the car; I would have to allow him to see me, for now.

‘Are you here for Ethan’s wedding?’ he asked.

‘No. Because of Mother. The wedding’s not for a few months.’

‘It’s nice, isn’t it,’ Gabriel said, ‘that he’s so happy.’

He laughed, but without much savagery to it. There was self-deprecation in all of Gabriel’s laughter, which made you reluctant to laugh with him.

‘You had another visitor,’ I said.

‘Yes. A friend. He comes every so often. Delilah, too.’

‘I’m glad that you’ve kept in touch.’

‘It’s been on and off, over the years. She tried to keep me on the straight and narrow. And these last few weeks – she’s been good to me, Lex. Once you get over the Jesus shit – she’s been good to me. In the hospital – the real hospital, I mean – she was the only person I could think to call. I was hacked to bits, and she didn’t bat an eyelid.’

‘Well. It’s hard to surprise Delilah.’

‘Her husband’s come with her a few times,’ Gabriel said. ‘But he always waits in the car. Anyway. Do you know what he calls her? “The Roach” – the last thing standing on earth.’ Gabriel laughed. ‘She told me it,’ he said, ‘like it was the greatest compliment she could have received.’