Her pain is managed, but her papery face is still lined with it. I watch her nod as Rose talks to her.
They sit on a bench together, opposite me, the pond between us. I have been keeping my distance, pretending to look at the view, or to smell the roses that line the path. I have been taking very small steps around the paths to give them time.
There are many sufferers of Epidermal Sclerosis here; I have greeted some on my walk, and tried not to wince in sympathy at their diseased skin, crumpled and hanging, losing its shape.
I understand now how Rose could say there was a certain irony to Gwen’s condition. I also see how she could refuse, even after all I told her, to provide forgiveness on demand.
In the end I didn’t ask her to. Some things really are unforgiveable, but whether Gwen’s decision to help Max commit those acts of violence, of horror, is one of them is up to her, not me.
I only asked her to come with me to this hospice, that’s all, and to set eyes on Gwen. To breathe the same air as her.
Rose made the move, made her own decision, to sit beside her on the bench.
I’ve done something terrible, Gwen said, and she was right about that too. I was arrogant to assume she was incapable of a terrible act. I robbed her of an essential part of herself, and she spent years living on my money, in my house, trying so hard to be the person I wanted her to be.
Enough.
I walk back to the bench, and Rose makes eye contact with me. She stands. ‘I’ll go,’ she says. ‘We’re all done. Bye.’
‘Bye,’ Gwen says, softly.
I follow Rose a few steps from the bench, towards the house, and she turns in a quick movement and offers me her hand. I shake it. It’s a fitting end to a business deal, and that’s what this is. An exchange of information. I couldn’t even claim to like Rose, with her devotion to her own illness when it could so easily be cured, and her certainty that some people deserve to die. But I’m prepared to accept that she is what life has made of her. Just as life is working its magic on me.
I’ll never be totally true, unflinchingly loyal, to another friend again. Not even if I find one who I think deserves it. We are all unworthy of devotion that does not ask questions and demand answers before acting, and that is how it should be.
Gwen. Max. The Six. I should have asked questions of all of them.
‘I’ll keep the recordings safe,’ says Rose. ‘And in return you won’t reveal to anyone where I am. Particularly if you go through with your idea.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That’s fine.’
‘You really want to do this?’
‘I want to try.’ Enough of funding films about the Stuck Six and other fairy tales. I’m going to use my money to make a film about Suscutin. A film that looks at the story from all angles. The kind of film Max might have made, if he’d not been given everything he ever wanted. I know Rose thinks they’ll try and stop me. Personally, I think they won’t care less. Everybody will still use their product anyway, even if it causes skin disease and death, and has its roots in other people’s suffering.
Everybody except me. I haven’t taken a Suscutin pill since that night at Rose’s house. I’ll moult sometime soon. I can feel it building.
I watch Rose leave, then take my seat next to Gwen, who says, ‘My favourite duck is the one with the little white spot on his chest. See him? The other ducks never spend any time with him. I reckon he’s an outcast.’
‘You don’t know a thing about him,’ I say. ‘He might be perfectly happy on his own. He might shun other duck company. He might not even realise he’s a duck, and be wondering why he’s sitting in a pond all day.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Did she forgive you?’
‘No, but she allowed me to ask for her forgiveness. That was the important bit. She let me ask. Can we go back inside now?’
She keeps refusing to use a wheelchair, so she leans heavily on me as we return to the big double doors of the hospice. ‘So,’ she says, when we’re about halfway there, ‘now you know me.’
‘No, I don’t. I don’t know anybody,’ I tell her. I take her weight, and keep on walking.
2011. FROM THE OUTSIDE.
The usual paparazzi were waiting for him, the three of them parked on the grass verge opposite the house, sitting separately in their cars, training their lenses upon him. Mik gave them a wave as he retrieved the shopping bag from the back seat. They didn’t wave back, and that was usual too.
Grafham Water was choppy in the spring breeze, and Mik hadn’t worn a coat to the supermarket. He hurried around the side of the house, and used the side door that led directly to the kitchen.
‘Who’s up for lunch?’ he called.
Cheese, bread, salami, olives, lettuce, and a tin of tomato soup for Nicky who had been grouchy lately and needed comfort food: he had shopped to provide lunch options for everyone. He laid the purchases out on the counter, stacking Sunetra’s timetable for night school and Howard’s appointments diary to the side, then fetched six plates.
‘Food,’ he called, and the silence of the house struck him. ‘Guys?’
He heard footsteps on the stairs, recognised Howard’s heavy tread, and moved to meet him in the hallway.
‘You’d better come upstairs,’ Howard said.
‘What’s happening?’
‘It’s easier if you just come upstairs.’
He followed Howard to the largest of the bedrooms. The purple curtains Sunetra had made during a sudden sewing obsession were half-closed. Everyone was sitting on the king-sized bed, in a circle, and Nicky was at the head of the bed, cross-legged, in one of their shabby unisex robes with frayed sleeves.
‘It just happened,’ she said, and stretched out her arms to him. Dan and Liz shifted apart so he could reach her. As soon as he touched her, he knew what had taken place. Her skin was not the same. It felt so soft, so spongy. He felt immediate revulsion, but controlled the urge to pull away.
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘It came off cleanly. Really quick.’
Howard, still in the doorway, coughed once, twice, and then keened, high and long, covering his face with his hands. Dan got up from the bed and took him in his arms; Howard sobbed. His face, visible over Dan’s shoulder, was horrifying. This is what great pain looks like, Mik thought. This is the terrible pain of loss. I will feel it too, just as soon as this numbness ends.
‘It really is okay,’ said Dan, to everyone, over Howard’s head. ‘This was always going to happen. We’ve talked about this. We’ll stay together, won’t we, for as long as we can.’
‘Yes,’ said Nicky. ‘You don’t get rid of me that easily.’
Sunetra leaned over to Liz, and stroked her hair. Mik fought against himself, made himself cradle Nicky, until the quality of sunlight through the gap in the curtain had changed, as time moved on.
Nicky patted his hand until he disengaged, then reached under one of the pillows and produced a folded white sheet. She shook it out upon the bed, and it took on human shape. She smoothed it out with her fingertips, using small, tentative movements.
‘Here it is,’ she said. ‘Touch it.’
Sunetra, always so curious to have new experiences, placed her palm upon the ankle. She surprised Mik with a laugh, warm and deep and loud. Dan and Howard came closer, and touched it too, and then Liz, her hand trembling. Mik, his eyes on their revelatory expressions, touched it and felt—
Love.
Love reflected. The love Nicky had felt for him, for them all, for what they had made together.
She had loved him perfectly. She had cherished him, believed in him, felt no jealousy or fear of his love in return. She had taken such delight in him.