dribble as it spills out of my mouth and plops on to the tiles in front of me. I can make a sort of gargling sound.
There's a couple of grunts but now the sound starts to fade as I begin to slip away from everything.
Then something important. The last thing I can hear. Three words, echoey and strange as if they're from a long way away. Like he's whispering them to me from the end of a long pipe, like my friend saying hello down the vacuum-cleaner tube when we were kids.
I need to tell this, I think.
He says goodnight. Night-night…
It's almost silly, what he says. Sweet-sounding and gentle. A word I've heard again since.
A word I heard when I woke up and was like this. A word that says pretty much everything about what I am.
TWENTY-TWO
When Thorne woke up it was already dark. He looked at his watch. Just after seven o'clock. He'd been out of it for two and a half hours.
He had no way of knowing it, but two hours more and it would all be over.
Anne had gone. He got up off the settee to make himself coffee and saw the note on the mantelpiece. Tom, I hope you're feeling better. I know how hard it was for you to tell me.
You mustn't be afraid to be wrong.
I hope you don't mind but I'm going to see Jeremy tonight to tell him that everything's all right. I think he deserves to feel better too.
Call me later.
Anne. X
He made himself the coffee and read the note again. He was feeling better and it was more than just the couple of hours'sleep. Talking about what had happened all those years ago had left him feeling cleaner. Purged was probably putting it a little strongly but, considering that his case had gone to shit, he had no friends and he was headed for all manner of trouble with his superiors, he might have felt much worse. Tom Thorne was resigned.
It wasn't so much that he'd been afraid to be wrong. He hadn't even considered it. Now he had to do a lot more than consider it. He had to live with it.
Anne was going to see Bishop to tell him that he was out of the frame. That was fair enough. He'd never really been in the frame, if truth were told. Only in Thorne's thick, thick head. It was time to face a few harsh realities. Anne was doing a good thing. Bishop deserved to know what was going on. He deserved to know how things stood. He was not the only one.
Thorne picked up the phone and dialed Anne's number. Maybe he could catch her before she left. Rachel answered almost immediately, sounding out of breath, annoyed and distinctly teenage.
'Hi, Rachel, it's Tom Thorne. Can I speak to your mother?'
'No.'
'Right…'
'She's not here. You've just missed her.'
'She's on her way to Battersea, is she?'
Her tone changed from impatience to something more strident. 'Yeah. She's gone to tell Jeremy he's not public enemy number one any more. About time as well, if you ask me.'
Thorne said nothing. Anne had told her. It didn't matter now anyway.
'How long ago did she-'
'I don't know. She's going shopping first, I think. She's cooking him dinner.'
'Listen, Rachel'
She cut him off. 'Look, I've got to go, I'm going to be late. Call her on the mobile or try her later at Jeremy's. Have you got the number?'
Thorne assured her that he had, then realised she was being sarcastic.
He tried Anne's mobile number but couldn't get connected. Maybe she had it switched off. She wouldn't have a signal anyway if she was on the tube. Then he remembered that she was on call and guessed that she'd probably be driving. He had her bleeper number somewhere… He picked up his jacket. He'd do what Rachel had suggested and get her later at Bishop's. This time he wouldn't have to withhold his number. how late Alison Willetts could receive visitors. He was wearing one of the crisp white shirts he knew she liked so much. He'd stared at himself in the full-length mirror as he slowly did up the buttons. Watching the scars disappear beneath the spotless white cotton. Now he looked at his watch as the car cruised sedately north across Blackfriars Bridge. He was going to be a little late. She would be on time as always.
She was very, very keen.
He was meeting her outside the Green Man as usual. It was a bit of a slog to drive all the way across the river just to turn round and drive back south again, but he'd rather do it this way than let her get on the tube or bus. He wanted to be in control of things. If she was late or missed a bus or something it could throw the timing of everything off.
When he'd told her that they would be going back to his place, he knew that she was thinking, Oh, my God, tonight's the night. He could almost smell the rush of teenage estrogen and hear the cogs in her silly little brain whirring as she tried to decide which perfume to dab between her tits and which knickers would turn him on the most.
Well, yes, it would be a night to remember for certain. Back at his place.
It might be a little crowded…
On the drive to Queen Square, Thorne didn't really need to think. He'd worked out what he was going to say to Alison Willetts. Now he just needed to be a little more relaxed in order to say it.
He popped out the Massive Attack tape and slid in Merle Haggard.
Getting relaxed enough to apologise.
' Tommy?'
' Yes, and to you too.
After circling the square for nearly ten minutes, swearing loudly, he double-parked and stuck a dog-eared piece of cardboard with 'Police Business' scrawled on it in the front window of the Mondeo.
The evening was turning chilly. He wished he'd grabbed a warmer jacket on his way out. As he walked quickly towards the hospital's main entrance, he felt the first drops of rain and remembered making this same journey in reverse two months earlier. It seemed a lot longer ago, that day in August when he'd first met Alison Willetts. He'd run through the rain towards his car and found the note. He'd begun to understand the nature of the man he was dealing with.
Today, on the same spot, with the rain starting to fall, Thorne was coming to terms with the fact that he still had no idea who that man was.
Nearly eight o'clock. The latest that Thorne had been inside the hospital. It was a very different place after dark. His steps echoed off century-old marble as he strode through the older part of the building towards the Chandler Wing. There were few people around and those he passed, nurses, cleaners, security staff, looked at him closely. They seemed to be studying his face. He'd never been aware of such scrutiny during the day. Somewhere in the distance he thought he could hear what sounded like somebody weeping softly. He stopped to listen but couldn't hear it any more.
Even the modern part of the hospital seemed spookier. The lights that normally bounced off the bleached wood in the Medical ITU reception area, had been dimmed. The only sounds were the muted tones of a faraway conversation and the low hum of distant equipment of some sort. It might have been cleaning carpets. It might have been keeping somebody alive.
He looked at the row of payphones in Reception. He'd try Anne again as soon as he'd been to see Alison. He'd forgotten to bring his mobile..
