While Greg had been in hospital, I had not used his car at all, only mine, and so the battery in his car had gone flat. He seemed very keen to get the car up and running the very minute he came home. He obviously wanted to be independent and not have me ferry him around everywhere. Quite why he so urgently wanted that independence, I was not sure, but was naturally suspicious that it might entail a trip to the shops to get something in a bottle. Never mind all the mail that had piled up in his absence and needed his attention. Never mind concentrating on convalescing. He became almost obsessed with sorting out the blimmin car battery. He was too weak to lift the battery out of the car and had to charge it up in daylight hours from a lead running out of the garage into the open bonnet outside. Obviously, because the electric lead was out in the open, he could not charge it in rainy weather, so the charging took place over several days. As soon as the battery was topped up and he was mobile again, I began to get nervous each time he went out of the house. On his return, I would search his pockets with my gaze to see if they were bottle-shaped. I would hide behind the curtains to watch him get out of his car to see if he tried to hide a bag under the seats. I would follow him around like a hawk, my eyes always one step ahead to see what he might do. I felt like a private detective. I hated doing it but I needed to know. Was he drinking again?