goodness the kids' stickers in Sparky's had been ruining my image. The hospital car park was crowded. I thought about sweet-talking my way into a parking spot inside the grounds but decided not to. It's not my style. I cruised round until a place became vacant and slotted into it, narrowly beating a taxi carrying a family of Asians. Three people were getting out of a top-of-the-range Rover a couple of spaces away. The man was wearing a camel overcoat with an astrakhan collar. The younger of the women was tall and stooped, but the other one was quite small and elderly. They walked towards the hospital as I went to collect a ticket from the machine. The driver of the taxi hadn't the right money, so I changed a pound for him.
First of all I visited Casualty and had a word with the sister, to thank her for their efforts, and gave her the box of chocolates. She told me that Annabelle was still seriously ill, but as strong as a swan's wing. Now she was in Ward 4B, upstairs.
I followed the signs and found the ward. Each patient was in her own little room, with open fronts on to a central corridor. I wandered along, looking in at various stages of suffering, but didn't find Annabelle. As soon as a nurse appeared I asked.
'She's in here, sir,' she said, gesturing, 'but no more than two visitors to a patient, please.' The three people from the Rover were already in there, which was why I'd walked by twice.
They looked up as I entered. 'I, er, didn't know she had visitors,' I said. Nobody spoke. 'How is she?'
'She's asleep,' the man answered. He was leaning forward in his chair, elbows on knees and hands together. The old lady was arranging a bunch of mixed flowers, with her back to me.
I gazed down at Annabelle. She looked peaceful, and all the tubes had been removed except for the drip, but an impressive array of instruments were still flashing and beeping alongside the bed. 'Good.
That's good. My name's Priest, by the way. Charlie Priest.'
'Newton,' said the man, hardly taking the trouble to look at me.
'Right. Well, I'll, er, come back later.'
I was drifting aimlessly down the corridor, still carrying the roses, when a voice shouted: 'Excuse me!'
I turned to see the younger of the women coming after me, and suddenly realised who she was. Rachel was about ten years older than Annabelle and the bone structure was the same, but a different disposition had moulded her features to the wrong side of plain. Maybe she'd always lived in her kid sister's shadow, always been regarded as the unattractive one. Fate can be cruel.
She didn't introduce herself, just launched straight into what she had to say. 'You're the policeman Annabelle was with when this happened,' she told me.
'Yes.'
'And apparently you didn't see a thing.'
'No.'
'So meanwhile he walks free while you do nothing.'
'We're doing everything we can,' I said, feebly.
'Well, it just isn't good enough. First thing tomorrow I'm having words with a friend at Scotland Yard. I'll get something done if you can't.'
She turned on her heel and stalked off. I said: 'And it's nice to meet you, too, Rachel,' to her retreating back and recommenced my wanderings.
I knew which was their car, so I sat in mine and waited for them to return. According to the radio it was the coldest August day for a hundred years, so I used the car heater a couple of times. Drivers kept assuming I was about to go, and queued for my space. I shook my head at them and sank down into the seat. I was there two hours.
When they came back it's fair to say I wasn't in a good mood. I got out and retrieved the roses from the passenger seat. Newton was carefully folding their coats and placing them in the boot. I didn't have one, and it was a long walk to the front entrance. Flurries of rain splattered on the windscreen. The women saw me, and words that I couldn't hear passed between them. The little old lady looked from me to Rachel and back again, before she started towards me. I waited for her, holding the flowers and feeling foolish.
She was very old, with a white face and a little red button of a nose.
I gave her the best smile I was capable of.
'You're… Charles,' she stated. 'Rachel has just told me who you are. We've… kept you waiting all this… time.'
'You've come a long way,' I said, as if that excused bad manners.
'Well, yes, I… suppose so. And they… did have to pick me up… in Northampton.'
She had difficulties with her breathing, and I had to wait for her words. 'Don't get cold,' I said, partly because I was shivering myself.
'I'm so… sorry I didn't speak to you… earlier.' She held out her frail little hand. I took it between my thumb and fingers as she said. 'I'm Mary… Wilberforce.'
I blinked and stared at her. 'So you're ' 'Annabelle's… mother-in-law.' ' Peter's mother.'
'Yes.' A smile lit up her face. 'Annabelle told you… about Peter?'
A gust of wind, straight from the Arctic icecap, blew across the car park, cutting through my jacket. I moved round and bent over her, to shelter her from it. 'Yes, she did. I don't think I ever saw her happier than when she was telling me about Peter and their time in Kenya,' I said.
'That's lovely… of you… to say so.' Her eyes were watery, perhaps with the dust blowing about, perhaps with memories of a son who rose to be a bishop but died before his time. She gripped my hand in both or hers, 'And now I'd like… to tell you something.' She paused and took a deep breath. 'Annabelle… comes to stay the weekend… every few weeks. She came… two weeks ago. I thought she had… something on her… mind, so I asked her. She… told me that she would always… love Peter; that he would always be… special to her. But now she had met someone else who was… special. She wanted to know if I… if I minded.'
She seemed impervious to the cold. I pulled the front of my jacket together as she continued: 'I told her to… snap you up, before someone else… did.'
I wanted to tell her how much her words meant to me, but my teeth were chattering and nothing intelligible came out.
'And now, when Annabelle is… better, you'll both be able… to visit me.'
I nodded. 'I'd like that'
A nurse admired the roses and placed them in a vase beside Annabelle's bed, relegating the other bunch to the windowsill. Annabelle was still sleeping. Once or twice she stirred restlessly and shook her head from side to side. I jumped to my feet, ready to fetch help, but she settled down again within a few seconds. The drip bag was nearly empty and I hoped that someone would come to change it soon.
All I could do was sit beside her bed and stroke her long fingers. She still wore a wedding ring, a thin silver band, possibly the best they could afford on their meagre African incomes. I wasn't jealous of Peter for being married to her, but I wished I'd met her when we were both broke, so we could have built something together. I envied him for that.
'You look tired,' she whispered, very softly.
I looked up from her hand, into those eyes. She smiled, and her nose crinkled in the way that cuts the legs from under me and paralyses my tongue. I squeezed her hand, and when the power returned to me I said:
'Welcome back.'
She tried to speak again, but her throat was obviously sore from all the tubes that had been poked down it. I put my finger to my lips and shushed her. 'Don't talk,' I said. 'There'll be plenty of time for that. Just get better first.'
She sank back for a few moments, but was not content. 'Charles?' Her voice was a faint croak.
'Sssh.'
'We were… at a concert.'
'Sssh.'
'Did I have an accident?'
'Yes, something like that. But you're safe now, and you'll soon be well again. Then, if you'll let me, I'm going to look after you better than you've ever been looked after before. That's a promise.'
She squeezed my hand. 'Do I look a mess?' she asked.
'As if you've been dragged through a hedge. Longways. But that's still lovely.'
