them, had been driven in to the West End to see a film. Dorothy couldn’t remember the title but she hadn’t fancied it.
Some Victorian-based thing, she’d said.
‘You should have gone, Mum’ Talbot said. ‘You might have enjoyed it.’
She shook her head.
‘It didn’t sound very exciting,’ she told him. ‘Anyway, you know me, I like a good Western. Like the ones I used to take you to see when you were little.’
Talbot tried to hold her gaze but found that he couldn’t.
Guilt, perhaps ?
‘You took me to see all sorts,’ he said, chuckling as brightly as he could.
‘We saw Planet of the Apes four times when I was ten. You hated it, I remember you saying. But you still went back with me.’
She reached out and touched his hand.
‘What’s wrong, Jim?’
Could she read his fucking mind too? See inside him?
He forced himself to look at her, noticing that she looked pale, a little drawn around the eyes.
He thought about asking her if she was in pain.
‘There’s nothing wrong,’ he lied.
‘Is it work?’ she persisted. ‘You should try and get a rest, and I bet you’re not getting enough sleep.’
‘Mum, I’m fine, you’re the one who’s ill …’ The sentence trailed off.
She squeezed his hand more tightly, gripped it with surprising strength.
He met her gaze and held it.
‘Jim, I don’t want to die in here,’ she whispered.
‘Mum, you’re not going to die.’
‘Doctor Hodges told me how far advanced the cancer is.’
‘You’re not going to die’ he said, angrily, as if his fury would somehow reprieve her.
But you know she is.
‘These bloody doctors they don’t know shit,’ he snapped.
‘Just don’t let me die in here, that’s all I ask.’
He could face her no longer.
Talbot got to his feet and walked across the day room, looking out into the immaculately kept gardens beyond. The sun was shining. He could hear birds singing.
It was a beautiful day.
Yeah, fucking brilliant.
He cleared his throat but didn’t turn to face her.
‘Have they given you anything?’
‘I take some tablets, I can’t remember what they’re called,’ she informed him.
‘I’m not even sure what they do. Doctor Hodges did tell me but I can’t remember.’ She laughed humourlessly. ‘I think I’m going senile as well.’
‘Are you in pain?’
There, now you’ve said it.
‘No.’
‘You wouldn’t tell me if you were, would you?’
He turned to face her, saw she was sipping at her tea again. As he looked at her, Talbot felt more helpless than
he had ever done in his life. Helpless to ease her pain, helpless to comfort her.
How often did she help you?
He walked back and sat down beside her.
‘I’ve been reading in the newspapers about those children,’ she told him.
‘Isn’t it terrible? It made me think about what your father did. How he hurt you.’
‘Forget it, Mum. That’s in the past.’
‘But it never goes away, does it, Jim? The memories never go. I hated him for what he did to you. I hated myself for not stopping him.’
‘You tried. Every time you tried.’
‘I should have killed him. After the first time he did it to you I should have killed him.’
He saw her eyes misting over.
‘I didn’t even have the guts to leave him,’ she said, softly. ‘To take you away from him.’ She gripped his hand. ‘Jim, I’m sorry.’
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
‘Jesus Christ, Mum, you’re not the one who should be sorry,’ he told her, watching as she wiped the tear away with a hankie.
It should be me. For putting you in this fucking place.
As she shifted position in her chair he saw a flicker of pain on her face.
‘Are you OK?’ Talbot asked.
She smiled and nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘All I’m asking is that you let me come home, Jim,’ she pleaded quietly.
He sucked in a breath and got to his feet.
‘I’ll speak to the doctor,’ he said.
Fucking liar.
Talbot embraced her.
She kissed him on the cheek and smiled up at him.
‘I love you,’ she said.
‘I know’ he told her and she watched as he walked towards the exit, turning to wave as he left.
Dorothy Talbot winced, held her breath against the pain, waiting for the spasm to pass.
It didn’t.
She reached into her handbag for the morphine.
Talbot strode down the corridor towards the main entrance, slowing his pace slightly as he reached the door which bore the nameplate dr m. hodges.
He paused.
Go on, you bastard. Go in.
He raised his hand to knock.
Do it.
He wheeled away from the door, almost running from the building to his car, leaning against the Volvo, eyes closed.
It was a long time before he moved.
Fifty-six
Maria Goldman heard the knock on the office door but continued reading, her attention fixed on the piece of paper before her.
When the second knock came, more insistent this time, she finally managed to mutter something which passed for an invitation to enter.
The door opened slightly and Nikki Parsons stepped inside.
‘Maria,’ she said, quietly, looking at her colleague who was still staring at the report she held.
When she finally lifted her head, Nikki saw how pale she looked.
‘I’m sorry, Nikki,’ she said, softly. ‘I was miles away. Sit down.’
The younger woman did as she was asked, peering towards the stack of papers on Maria’s desk.
‘The doctor’s reports?’ she said, although it sounded more like a statement
than a question.
