Lorimer gave a quick glance at the wall to see the signs for the various wards then, stopping to give his hands a rub from the fluid dispenser outside the swing doors, he looked along the corridor leading to where he hoped to find his mother-in-law.
She was in a room of her own and sitting up in bed, propped by a bank of snowy white pillows, her eyes bright and shining as she recognised him. Lorimer tried hard to conceal the dismay he felt at the down-turned side of her mouth as she attempted a smile. And the traces of a bruise could be seen from under that dressing on her forehead.
‘Mum’s not up to talking tonight.’ Maggie turned towards him from her place beside her mother’s bed, a clear warning in her eyes. ‘So we’re expecting lots of stories about your day.’
Drawing a chair up, Lorimer affected a grin. ‘Don’t know how much I can tell you. Confidential stuff, you know.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘But I did run into an old friend.’
It was amazing how much of a one-sided conversation could be drawn out of his meeting with Kate Doherty (now Clark) and his attempt to brighten up the atmosphere by giving a little description of each member of the Greenock investigation team. He balked when it came to a thumbnail sketch of Rhoda Martin; instead he simply mentioned that a female DI had greeted him on arrival. All through his watered-down account of his first day at K Division, Lorimer was aware of Maggie relaxing by his side. She must have had a hell of a day, being called away from school and seeing her mum like this.
The bell to signal the end of visiting time came and with it a sense of relief that he didn’t have to continue to fill up the empty space between the two women any more. He planted a swift kiss on Mrs Finlay’s papery cheek. ‘Take care now, you. Remember guid folk are precious,’ he told her with a wink.
Maggie’s fingers found his and held them tight as they walked together down the corridor.
‘How is she, really?’ he asked at last.
Maggie looked up at him, her eyes brimming over with unshed tears. ‘Oh, I don’t know. They’ve still to do more tests. But it seems to have been quite a bad one. Her whole side is paralysed and she can’t talk at the moment. She was talking before…’ Maggie broke off and Lorimer put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her against him. They were halfway down the stairs and had other visitors at their back, so he had to make do with holding her close by his side as they headed for the exit.
‘So she was better when you first came in?’
Maggie bit her lip to stop the trembling before she answered him. ‘Well, she wasn’t exactly lucid but she was able to make me understand her if I listened really carefully. Now, though — oh it’s horrible to see her like this! But she’s so tired. Maybe it’ll come back. There’ll be a speech therapist in to see her tomorrow, they said. So that’s surely a good sign. And they’re going to do more ECGs and stuff to check on her heart.’
‘Any idea what set it off?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘No. She thought she had a fall. They did tell me that she’d managed to crawl to the phone and call an ambulance, bless her. But she’s still a bit hazy on the details.’
‘Here, you’re shivering,’ Lorimer said as they left the building. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’
‘No. Wasn’t hungry,’ she mumbled into his jacket. ‘But I’m starving now.’
‘What d’you say to us murdering a fish supper, eh?’
‘Ah!’ Maggie breathed, making a white mist against the dark shadows in front of the hospital steps. ‘With pickles?’
As they finally drew up outside the house, Lorimer heard Maggie give a sigh. ‘Oh, I needed that,’ she told him. ‘Nothing like fish ’n’ chips, is there?’
‘Standard comfort food and mandatory fare for surveillance teams,’ he told her, trying to inject some levity into his tone.
It had been a difficult evening, not just the visit to the Southern General but taking Maggie over to her mum’s house to fetch all the things she’d require for a longer stay in the hospital. Being inside Mrs Finlay’s home had depressed them both; the curtains open to reveal the dark night outside, the kitchen worktop full of neatly stacked dishes that were still to be tidied away as if the dishwasher had just been emptied. Looking at it with his detective’s eye, Lorimer wondered if the old lady had been about to do just that when the stroke had made her fall on to the kitchen floor. The cutlery basket was still beside the sink, its contents gleaming in the artificial light.
Now they were inside their own home, its lamps reflecting the polished wood of the study desk as he tossed down the car keys and heaved off his jacket.
‘Cuppa?’ Maggie asked and he nodded, watching her as she bent down to stroke Chancer, their ginger cat giving his customary meow of welcome. It was late, but he’d try to help her unwind as best he could before bedtime.
Maybe, he thought with a sudden smile, bed could provide the best sort of balm to soothe both their jangled nerves.
‘Okay then, Alice, darling?’ The auxiliary smiled warmly at Mrs Finlay, giving a final tug at the side rail that tucked the patient in and prevented her from falling out of bed.
Alice Finlay wanted to draw the auxiliary a look, but couldn’t. Alice, indeed! The cheek of the woman, and her just a slip of a thing! They’d all been at it. Alice this and Alice that. Are you fine, Alice, pet? No attempt to give her a choice in the matter, either. The name above her bed scrawled in untidy blue lettering was ALICE FINLAY. Not Mrs Finlay as she’d have liked. And with the loss of her status had come the sort of ingratiating smiles that one gave to a small child or someone not quite in their right mind. She’d had a stroke, she knew that, and it had impaired some of her faculties but there was no need to make out that she was some sort of moron. Alice darling! If she had her speech back she’d be the first to give them all a piece of her mind!
Feeling her heart throb with the sudden rage, Mrs Finlay experienced a tremor of fear. She shouldn’t be getting herself all worked up like this. It would only put her blood pressure up again. Maybe even precipitate another stroke. She smiled a triumphant, if lopsided, smile. Precipitate! See, she knew big words like that. She’d even remembered what the girl at the library’s husband did. He was involved in ergonomics, making things like special wheelchairs that fitted patients’ needs exactly.
Suddenly she was so tired and glad to have the quietness of this room to herself. Tomorrow they’d be moving her to a main ward, one of them had told her, with other stroke patients like herself. With a small sigh, Alice Finlay turned her head to the pillow and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would bring so many unfamiliar things but at least it would also bring her Maggie.
It was an odd feeling to cycle past the gates of the house. No lights were shining along the driveway any longer; the fire had destroyed all of the electric cables that had fed the twin rows of lamps along the curving path to the mass of rubble. Nodding to myself, I took in the shapes that remained: parts of turrets etched from the backdrop of clouds scudding across the moon; the humps of rhododendron bushes encircling the lawns.
A sudden movement drew my eye and there, in the moonlight, was the small rounded shape of a rabbit, nibbling at the turf, oblivious to the destruction of the house beyond. For a moment I watched it, wondering at the warm heart beating inside its tawny fur.