This Much is True: How far will a mother go to protect her shocking secret? by Jane Sanderson

Author:Jane Sanderson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 2017-04-19T18:30:00+00:00

21

Vince’s eyes were open but he looked dead already, desiccated, empty of spirit or light, and with Andrew motionless on one side of the bed and Bailey on the other, the scene had the look of a morbid still life. The boys weren’t here, but all Annie was looking for as she scanned the room was the wooden box, and there it was, on the floor on Andrew’s side of the bed, its lid off but its contents still contained. She looked at it warily, then at Andrew, who smiled uncertainly at her, clearly unsure what to expect. The last time he’d seen her she was running from the house like a scalded cat.

‘You okay?’ he asked. She nodded, although she wasn’t okay, not remotely, and her immediate concern was just how soon she could make a grab for the box.

Bailey stood up and stretched, and said, ‘Hey, Annie, hey, Mike,’ and Michael winced.

‘Please don’t call me Mike,’ he said, but Bailey only laughed and left the room to find the boys, whose voices could now be heard in the corridor. Michael heaved a suffering sigh and wandered to the window.

‘Have you seen the doctor, Mum?’ Andrew asked. Preoccupied by the box, she forgot to speak, and he stared at her, waiting for an answer. He must be disappointed, she was thinking; he must have planned to spread the pictures and postcards across the bed, share them with Vince. She felt their malevolent, lurking presence. The air in the room was thick with dry, sterile heat and Michael pulled effortfully at the window but it didn’t budge.

‘They keep them fastened,’ Annie said. ‘Stops patients escaping. Will you find the doctor for me, Michael?’ She wanted him out of the room.

‘I’m sure he’ll be along soon enough,’ Michael said, more from the habit of being disobliging than from any real objection to the task. He turned from the window with a grimace. ‘Imagine living and dying in a room with a view of the Doncaster Road,’ he said.

‘Dad doesn’t mind,’ Andrew said. ‘He’s long past caring what the view’s like.’

‘Yes, Andrew, thank you for that insight. How lucky we are you’re here to speak for Father.’

‘Oh, go fuck yourself, Michael,’ Andrew said, flatly.

‘Boys,’ Annie said, but there was no heat in her reproof, no conviction. Andrew and Michael both looked at her, then at each other, and Michael seemed about to speak, then the door swung open and Moira the nurse glided in, with the young doctor following behind, holding a clipboard against his chest like a shield.

‘Hello, Mrs Doyle,’ he said, with a stab at compassion that sounded silly in one so young. Poor boy, thought Annie. Moira put an arm round Annie’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. ‘How’re you bearing up?’ she whispered. ‘Can I bring you a brew?’

‘Some iced water would be nearer the mark,’ Michael said. ‘This room’s an oven.’

‘There’s chilled water in the dispenser by reception, Mr Doyle,’ Moira said. She didn’t like Michael. It’d been years since he’d visited, but she remembered him right enough.

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