Страница 25 из 78
Maura thought about the dark flat awaiting her, considered the prospect of cheese and biscuits eaten in front of the flickering light of the telly, and suddenly rushing home didn’t seem all that appealing.
She knocked back the last of her Scotch, her eyes watering, and set her glass down on the table with a thump. Some small part of her mind wondered if it was only the whisky talking, but she found she didn’t really care.
“Okay,” she said. “Why not?”
Wi
She’d been surprised to learn that Fa
“How long were you in hospital?” Wi
“Six months, although I don’t remember much of the first part. GBS comes on very suddenly, and they still don’t know the cause. I am getting better, though,” she’d added brightly. “It’s just that… sometimes it’s hard to be patient.”
Wi
Silently, she’d tucked Fa
She’d located the biscuits, on the low table that held a toaster, an electric kettle, bread, tea, and most of the other necessities that allowed Fa
“We drank cocoa when I was a child, but after I got sick I couldn’t tolerate the caffeine,” Fa
Wi
“Oh, well… we talk about her work, and the hospital – it makes me feel I’m still a bit involved – and about the daily household things, you know, what we need from the shops, what to have for supper. Sometimes we watch telly together.” Fa
“Mind things?”
“Oh, you know. She’d get her feelings hurt easily… if someone said something at work or if she felt she’d been passed over. And sometimes she’d take against people for no real reason, like-” Fa
“Like me, you mean?” asked Wi
“I don’t think it was you personally. More the church in general.”
Wi
“I thought she was begi
“I’m flattered,” Wi
“You’ve done too much as it is.” Fa
“Good idea. I’ll fetch it for you.”
Having been directed to the drawer in the kitchen, Wi
She suspected this type of medication was addictive. Was Fa
The room had grown dark. Harriet lay on a narrow bed, still half dreaming, disjointed images flitting through her mind.
Beneath her, a musty, sour smell rose from the mattress when she moved. It made her think of the time her friend Samantha had come for a sleepover and had wet the bed, and of old Mrs. Bletchley.
A spark flared in her mind. Mrs. Bletchley’s, that’s where she was. She’d overslept for school. But no – the images came crowding back, fuzzy and jittering like an old newsreel she’d seen in history class.
Her dad – she remembered seeing her dad, and ducking down to slide into the backseat of his car. Her backpack had caught on the door frame, and the lady in the front seat had looked back at her and smiled.
She drifted again, riding a current of flickering movement – her dad saying something – she could see his lips moving, but she couldn’t hear the words.
More darkness. A lamp globe made of swirly orange glass swam into view. Coffee, she’d smelled coffee. It made her think of their flat in the morning, of her mother getting ready for work… but no, that wasn’t right…
She struggled to pull herself out of the dream. Not home. Starbucks. The lady had taken her to Starbucks. But where was her dad?
Movement again, the world tilting. Another car ride – no, a taxi. She remembered the shiny black door. A man’s face asking a question, his blue eyes kind. She felt the warmth of a body against hers, heard a woman’s voice saying, “She’s not feeling well… bit of a bug…”
Walls rose, taller than she could see, blocking out the light. Gray brick, topped with broken glass and strands of wire that curled.
Then a gate – or had it been before? Her mind fixed on it, trying to hold the image. A silvery arch, like a keyhole, filled with black flowers. And through the keyhole, a flash of green.
The bright color receded and winked out, as if a door had closed at the end of a tu