There was a series of clicks and hums and I was about to put the receiver down when a breathless voice said, ‘Tim...’
‘Judith?’ I said incredulously.
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Listen, just listen. I don’t know who else to ask, not at Christmas... Gordon’s ill and I’m alone and I don’t know, I don’t know...’
‘Where are you?’
‘India... He’s in hospital. They’re very good, very kind, but he’s so ill... unconscious... they say cerebral haemorrhage... I’m so afraid... I do so love him...’ She was suddenly crying, and trying not to, the words coming out at intervals when control was possible. ‘It’s so much to ask... but I need... help.’
‘Tell me where,’ I said. ‘I’ll come at once.’
‘Oh...’
She told me where. I was packed and ready to go, and I went.
Because of the date and the off-track destination there were delays and it took me forty hours to get there. Gordon died before I reached her, on the day after Christmas, like her mother.