near the bed. Charlie pulled it closer and as he sat she extended her hand, to be held. Again it was in full view of everyone. Charlie said: ‘How are you, then?’
‘Going into Salisbury on the bus on Friday,’ said his mother, who had been bedridden for almost a year. ‘Do some shopping.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ said Charlie easily.
‘With George.’
‘George?’
His mother made a vague gesture towards a group of mostly men near a grey fir, on a far lawn. ‘George,’ she said. ‘Only just arrived. He likes me.’
‘Careful you don’t get into trouble,’ warned Charlie.
‘I need company, with your father gone and all.’
‘Sure you do,’ said Charlie. The skin of his mother’s hand felt thin, like paper.
‘He was very fond of you, your dad. Remember when he used to take you fishing, on that river down there? And to football matches?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Charlie, to whom none of it had ever happened.
‘William,’ said the old lady, producing a name like a rabbit out of a hat. ‘Always William: never Bill. Nice man. Worked on the railways.’ She began to pick with her free hand at the cellophane wrapping of the chocolate box and Charlie helped her, opening it fully. She touched several with a wavering finger, as if she were counting, before finally making her choice. ‘Those others didn’t bring any chocolates,’ she said.
Charlie looked out at a group of old people by the drooping fir tree, curious if there really were anyone called George. He said: ‘Matron says she’s very pleased with you. How you’re getting on.’
‘Tells lies,’ his mother insisted at once. ‘She doesn’t like me. Hits me for not eating cake with nuts in and you know I don’t like cake with nuts in. Told you in my letter.’
‘I don’t remember that bit,’ said Charlie.
‘They said they’d tell her but I don’t think they did. How’s Edith?’
‘Edith’s dead, Mum.’
She chose another chocolate, nodding in recollection. ‘I remember now,’ she said. ‘Never knew anyone die of flu before.’
‘Flu that became pneumonia,’ said Charlie. He was surprised she recalled the explanation he’d produced, instead of the numbing truth: that Edith had been blasted apart in mistake for him by a trigger-happy mob from the CIA avenging their Director he’d disgraced, along with his own, for being prepared to sacrifice him on a border crossing during the Berenkov pursuit. Charlie said: ‘Quite a while ago now.’
‘Liked Edith. Posh but she never had any side to her. Never looked down on me. Often wondered what she saw in a scruffy bugger like you.’
So had he, since she’d been dead, reflected Charlie. He knew a lot had in the department before that and certainly when they’d got married.
‘The men asked about her,’ said the woman. ‘I tell you some thing! Edith wouldn’t have let you go around like that. Look at you! Bloody tramp. You never wore shoes like that when I was responsible for you. John wouldn’t have allowed it. Heart of gold, your dad. Very proud of you, John was. Good to me, too.’
Muddled about some things. What about others? He stroked her hand and said: ‘What men, Mum?’
‘Told you,’ she said with ancient belligerence. ‘Didn’t bring any chocolates. I didn’t like them. Kept asking me questions…’ She plucked out a chocolate shaped in a half moon and said: ‘I can’t find that on the chart that tells you what they are. Is it a hard or a soft one?’
‘It’s soft,’ said Charlie. ‘That square shape is a hard one.’ Charlie had the impression of a distant warning, a far-away bell almost too muted properly to distinguish. He smoothed his mother’s hand some more and said coaxingly: ‘These men: was that the new man who likes you? And a friend of his, perhaps?’
The woman splayed her hand with the wedding ring Charlie had noticed when he first arrived. ‘George gave me that,’ she said. ‘That is how I know he likes me. Calls me Judith. I don’t know why but that’s what he calls me. Judith.’ Her name was Mary.
‘Was it, Mum? Was George one of them?’
‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded suspiciously.
‘I want to know about these men who didn’t bring you chocolates or complain to matron about the cake with nuts.’
She looked suddenly, sharply, at him like a disturbed bird. ‘Course it wasn’t George, you silly sod. They were visitors, like you…’ She smiled, showing the real teeth she possessed. ‘No one’s had more visitors than me, not for weeks! Matron said, so there!’
‘Who were they?’ said Charlie. He didn’t look at her as he spoke, making it all sound casual.
‘Men were always fond of me,’ she said, drifting off. ‘Popular. That’s what I was. Always enjoyed a good laugh.’
‘Have they been before?’
‘Course not. They’re important. Official. Told me. From a Ministry…something like that…’
The bells were louder now, easier to hear. ‘What did they want?’
‘All sorts of things. Asked about Edith…you… lots of things I can’t think of now…’ She suddenly tightened her fingers upon his. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong, have you? Been up to thieving or something like that.’
‘No, Mum,’ said Charlie gently. ‘I haven’t been thieving. How many were there?’
‘Two,’ she said at once. ‘Dressed nice. Not like you, scruffy bugger. They wrote things down.’
The matron, Ms Hewlett, had written about pension changes in her letter. He was abruptly anxious to talk to the woman. He said: ‘How did they speak?’
She giggled, engulfing him in chocolate breath. ‘Like every else speaks, of course!’
‘I mean how did they sound? Did they sound English or foreign?’
She frowned and Charlie thought how unlined his mother’s face normally was, apart from this momentary effort at recall. ‘Properly,’ she decided. ‘Not foreign.’
There were always fantasies about men who liked her but he’d never known her maintain a pretence as consistently as this before. He said: ‘Did they tell you they’d come back again?’
The frown stayed. ‘You haven’t told me you like my hair.’
‘I was going to,’ said Charlie, irritated at forgetting. ‘It looks good. You’re very pretty.’
‘Went into Salisbury yesterday to get it done.’
‘On the bus?’ anticipated Charlie, deciding momentarily to break the single-track questions.
‘Don’t need to go by bus,’ she said. ‘George drives me, in his car. He’s got a car, you know? You can’t see it, though. It’s around the back of the house, in a garage. It’s green and it’s got a radio.’
‘Did they have a car, the men who came to see you?’
The old woman nodded. ‘Black. It had lots of things to make a radio work.’
Two aerials: would the second have been for a telephone or a two-way radio? ‘What about them coming back?’ repeated Charlie.
Once more there was the furrowed-brow effort at recollection, then a shrug. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Try and help me, Mum,’ pleaded Charlie. ‘Try to think of something they said, the way they said it. Just one thing.’
‘Is this a hard centre?’
It was an oblong shape described on the chart as a praline surprise. ‘It should be,’ said Charlie.
‘You couldn’t get chocolate during the war, you know? I could, though. I knew this American army sergeant…’ Her face twisted. ‘…Can’t remember his name right now. Hershey bars, they were called. You remember all that chocolate when you were young?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ said Charlie, who didn’t. He looked around, trying to locate the matron.
‘Not bitter chocolate, though. I like bitter chocolate best,’ said the woman. She suddenly brightened. ‘I might get more money!’ she announced.
