‘I was trying to protect you. I would have done anything to stop him hurting you. I tried the best I could. I’m sorry for what happened, Jim.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. It was that bastard.’
Talbot got to his feet and paced back and forth in front of her.
‘It’s just a pity he didn’t die sooner’ he snapped.
‘I know, but we managed, didn’t we?’ she said, softly.
Talbot stopped pacing, turned his gaze towards her.
There was an almost unearthly serenity about her.
‘When can I come home, Jim?’
He’d been dreading the words.
‘Mum, we’ve talked about this before’ Talbot told her, sitting down again. ‘If there was any way you could, don’t you think I’d have sorted it before now?’
‘I’ve been in here for six years now. I don’t want to die in here.’
‘You’re not going to die in here or anywhere else for that matter; stop talking like that. You’re not going anywhere, Mum.’
‘I don’t belong here, Jim. The other people are older than me.’
‘You’re seventy-one, Mum,’ he said, a small smile on his face.
‘But there’re people in here with Alzheimer’s or whatever it’s called, there are some who are dying. It’s turning into a hospice, not an old people’s home.
I want to be in my house, not here with strangers.’
‘I thought you liked it here.’
‘The staff are nice but it isn’t where I belong. I don’t need people to look after me.’
‘Yes you do, Mum. That’s why you’re here. Don’t you think that if there was any other way I’d have found it? This is the best I can do for you, Mum.
Christ knows, I feel bad enough about it.’
‘You shouldn’t, Jim.’
But I fucking do.
He could barely bring himself to look at her.
‘Just speak to the doctors, ask if I can come home,’ she persisted.
‘Mum …’ he began but then merely nodded.
He got to his feet and kissed her on the cheek.
‘I’ve got to go,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be back at the weekend, I’ll try and stay a bit longer.’
She held his hand, as if reluctant to let him go. ‘I’m very proud of you, you know. What you do, what you made of yourself.’
He kissed her on the other cheek.
‘Please speak to them,’ she whispered, tears in her eyes.
He nodded.
‘I love you, Jim,’ she called after him.
He turned and waved as he reached the doors leading him out of the garden.
Hidden from her view he stood in the corridor, sucking in huge breaths. He felt as if he was suffocating, as if the walls were crushing in on him.
‘Fuck it,’ he snarled under his breath, then walked up the corridor to the reception area.
To his left was another corridor and he walked briskly down it, scanning the nameplates on each door until he found the one he sought. He knocked and waited, finally invited to enter by a voice on the other side.
As Talbot entered the room, Dr Maurice Hodges rose.
He was a tall, slim man, five or six years older than Talbot, his hair greying at the temples, his forehead deeply lined.
‘I got your letter’ Talbot said.
‘Have you seen your mother today?’ the doctor enquired.
The DI nodded. ‘She looks fine. Does she know?’
‘Not yet,’ Hodges told him. ‘We thought it best to inform you first; besides, if we tell her it could cause an acceleration. The shock sometimes does.’
Talbot ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply. ‘So, Doctor,’ he said, looking at the physician unblinkingly. ‘When are you going to tell my mother she’s got cancer?’
Twenty-two
Shanine Connor woke suddenly, her heart slamming hard against her ribs, the breath catching in her throat.
Something was touching her face.
She sat up, barely suppressing a scream, her movement causing the fly which had been crawling across her cheek to take off.
It buzzed somnolently in the stale air, the sound it made amplified by the emptiness of the room.
Shanine shielded her eyes from the rays of sunlight pouring in through the windows.
For a long time she sat in the corner, legs drawn up before her, arms hugging them to her chest. She watched the motes of dust twisting and spinning back and forth in the sun’s rays, her heart gradually slowing from its frenzied beating.
Outside the building she could hear the sound of traffic and voices.
She didn’t know what the building was. She hadn’t known the previous night when she’d stumbled upon it, barely able to walk another step due to the bone-crushing weariness that overwhelmed her.
She had wandered up Regent Street from Piccadilly, glancing in shop windows on the way, looking up at the glittering lights and beyond into the night sky.
She’d kept to the main streets, pushing her way through the throngs of people, happier to be surrounded by others than to be walking dark streets alone.
She hated the night.
Feared it.
The presence of others went some small way to allaying that terror.
She’d stood across the street from Selfridge’s and gazed at the huge department store, watching as people passed through its main doors. Like a child mesmerised by the lights on a Christmas tree, she’d remained transfixed by the huge building for what had seemed like hours.
Behind her she had watched people coming and going from a Burger King and a couple of small restaurants. The smells were tantalising; she hadn’t eaten much since she left home and her stomach had rumbled unceasingly as she’d sat on a bench outside, the holdall beside her.
When she’d seen two young men leave the fast-food place and toss a hamburger carton into a nearby wastebin she couldn’t help herself.
She’d grabbed the container from amongst the other refuse almost before they’d turned away. There had been a half-eaten cheeseburger inside.
She’d eaten without thinking. The food was still warm, that was all that mattered. It stopped the pains in her stomach for an hour or so.
She’d walked up Duke Street and noticed several To Let signs outside some of the terraced properties leading into Manchester Square.
Maybe one would be empty.
Easy to gain access to?
She’d tried five doors before finally discovering one which was unlocked.
Shanine didn’t care who was to blame for this security fault. All she knew was she had somewhere to sleep. A roof over her head for at least one night.
She’d lain down on the dusty floor and fallen asleep almost immediately. There had been dust sheets in the room, half-empty paint pots. She had no idea when the decorators would return, but that hadn’t mattered. She’d pulled one of the grubby dust sheets over herself and slept.
If there had been nightmares, then she could no longer remember them as she sat motionless, gazing at the warming rays of the sun.
She glanced at her watch.
10.06 a.m.
Her stomach rumbled protestingly. A sound she was becoming used to.
She had to get something to eat. Something substantial.
Shanine crawled across to the holdall and pulled out a clean T-shirt. Balling up the one she removed, she used it to wipe her face and arms before stuffing
it into the bag. As she was donning her fresh T-shirt, she looked down at her thin body. The slight smell of body odour she knew would get worse. But, at the moment, food was her most pressing concern.
The sunlight glinted on the blade of the kitchen knife.
She had to get some food or some money. Both, preferably.
Shanine touched the cold steel.
She must eat. No matter what.
Shanine ran a hand through her hair and, hauling the holdall over her shoulder, got to her feet.