That was a guess. I wondered if Nan was a relation.
'No,' said the woman.
'Her first name's Nan,' I said.
'There's no Nan here,' she said and returned to her mopping.
I took the letter from my pocket.
'She's in room three, Leppard Wing.'
The woman gave a shrug.
'That's Mrs Rees. Along the corridor, up the stairs, first floor, along the corridor past the TV room. She might be watching TV.'
I went upstairs. There were three old women and one old man watching a cookery show on the TV. Another woman was sitting with them, but looking to one side.
'Is Mrs Rees here?' I asked.
They looked up, irritated at the disturbance.
'She's in her room,' said one of the women. 'She doesn't go out much.' As if this counted as going out.
In room three there was a bed and a chair and a table in the corner. There was a sink, a wastepaper basket, a window with a crack in the top corner and a nice view over a playing field. Mrs Rees was sitting in the chair with her back to the door. I walked around. She was in her dressing gown. Her face was directed towards the grey light outside, but she didn't seem to be looking at it.
'Mrs Rees?'
I moved into her line of sight, but she didn't respond. I knelt by her chair and put my hand on her arm. She looked at the hand, but not at me.
'I'm here about Brendan,' I said. 'Brendan Block. Do you know him?'
'Tea,' she said. 'It's tea.'
'No,' I said, more loudly. 'Brendan. You know, Brendan.'
'It's tea,' she said.
'Can I get you some tea?' I said.
'It's tea.'
'Your nightie?' I said.
She just gave a whimper. This was a disaster. I didn't even know if this was Mrs Rees. I didn't know if Mrs Rees was the woman referred to in the letter. Maybe she was a new occupant of the room. I didn't know if the woman referred to in the letter was really connected to Brendan. If she was connected to him, I wasn't at all clear what I wanted to know. And if this was the right woman, it was immediately obvious that she wouldn't be able to tell me anything about anything. In desperation I stood up and walked around the room. There were plastic dishes and cups, nothing sharp, nothing that could be dropped and broken. Above the table, stuck on the wall with tape were two photographs. The first was an old picture of a man in uniform. He had a moustache and a roguish look. He wore his cap at a jaunty angle. Husband probably. In the other a woman stood holding the hands of two children. I looked closely. It was the woman in the chair, years ago when her hair was grey rather than white. The boy, about ten years old, smart in his school blazer, grinning at the camera, was unmistakably Brendan. I took the picture from the wall and showed it to the woman.
'Mrs Rees,' I said, pointing at the photograph. 'That's Brendan.'
She frowned and stared.
'That's Simon,' she stated.
'Simon?'
'Simon and Susan.'
I tried to ask more questions, but she started talking about tea again. I tried to stick the picture back on the wall, but the tape was too old and dry. I just leaned it against the wall. I tiptoed out of the room and then ran down the stairs. The woman was gone from the corridor. I found her in a room behind the front desk. She was pouring water from a kettle into a mug.
'I talked to Mrs Rees,' I said.
'Yeah?'
'I need to talk to her daughter, Susan.'
'Granddaughter.'
'Yes, of course. I've got something important for her. Could you give me her address?'
The woman looked at me, her mouth half open. I wondered if she had heard me. But she started to rummage through a box of filing cards with her chapped fingers.
CHAPTER 33
Susan Lyle lived at 33 Primrose Crescent, which was on the eastern outskirts of the town, near a cemetery. It was a row of beige and grey houses. Number 33 had closed curtains, a peeling red door and its bell, when I pressed it, rang out a tune: a few notes from 'How Much is that Doggie in the Window?'
Because I hadn't let myself think about what I was doing, and because I had imagined that anyway Susan Lyle would not be at home, I was taken aback when the door opened almost immediately and a woman stood in front of me, filling the entrance. For a moment, all I could think of was her size. She had a vast stomach that looked misshapen in blue leggings; her white T-shirt, on which was written in bold pink 'Do Not Touch!', was stretched across her bulky chest; her neck was thick; her chin fell in folds; her hands were dimpled. I felt myself blushing with a kind of shame as I tried not to look anywhere but into her eyes, small in her wide, white face; at the person beneath the mountain of flesh. In her grandmother's photograph she had been skinny and knock-kneed; what had happened in life to make her like this?
'Yes?'
'Susan Lyle?'
'That's right.'
I heard a child's wailing come from behind her.
'I'm sorry to disturb you like this. I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you?'
'What's this about? Are you from the council? They already checked the premises, you know.'
'No, not at all. Not the council, nothing like that. You don't know me – I'm – my name's Miranda and I know your brother.'
'Simon?' She frowned. 'You know Simon?'
'Yes. If I could just…'
I took a small step forward, but she didn't budge from the entrance. The wailing inside grew louder, joined by another more high-pitched shrieking.
'You'd better come in before they kill each other,' she said at last and I followed her into the hall, where the radiator was hot even though the day outside was mild.
It was dim in the living room because the curtain was drawn, so it took me a few minutes to make out exactly how many children there were in the stuffy, cluttered room. There was a baby sitting placidly in the playpen among a giant heap of soft toys, dummy in its mouth. There was a wailing toddler with a damson streak down its bib strapped into a high chair, and an upturned bowl on the floor. There was another toddler on the sofa, staring at the television screen where there was some kind of game show going on, though the sound was turned down. She was gripping a lollipop in her fist. I peered into the carrycot on the floor and there was a baby in there, fast asleep in spite of the noise. It held its hands straight out in front of it, as if holding on to some invisible object, and its eyes flickered rapidly. What do babies dream about?
'What a lot of children,' I said brightly. There was a glowing bar fire behind a guard, giving out scorching local heat, and a smell of nappies and air freshener clogged my nostrils. I felt a sense of acute oppression, a thickness in my chest. 'Are they all yours?' As soon as I asked this, I realized it was a stupid question, mathematically impossible.
'No,' she said, staring at me with mild contempt. 'Just the one.' Then she added with pride: 'I have three more who come after school three days a week too. I make a good living. I'm registered.'
Tenderly, she lifted the screaming boy out of the high chair and wiped his mouth with a corner of the bib. 'Quiet now,' she said. 'Shush!' And he immediately quietened, his smeared mouth breaking out into a grin and he put a hand into her thick, dark hair.
Perching the child on the great swell of her hip where he clung like a tiny koala, she said: 'So – Simon?'
I hadn't rehearsed an opening, so it came out abruptly.
'When did you last see him?'
'Are you police?'
'No.'
'Social?'
'No, I just…'
'So what gives you the right to barge into my house and stand there looking as if there's a bad smell under your nose and ask me questions?'
'Sorry. I didn't mean to… I'm just worried and I'd be really grateful if you could help me.'
'Has he dumped you or something?'
'What?' For a ghastly moment I thought that perhaps Brendan had even got to his sister before me and told her his version of our relationship.
'Why else would you come running to me for help?' She lowered herself on to the sofa with her son, and the other child immediately clambered on to her lap too and pushed her sticky face into the folds of her neck. Susan seemed not to notice. She picked up the remote control and flicked through channels randomly before saying, 'Not for ages. We've gone our separate ways. He's got his life and I've got mine. Why? What's it to you?'