The colours are too bright here. From the blue plastic chairs to orange and green swirls on the walls and shiny, garish magazines on the tables, all lit by an overwhelming fluorescence. It makes Lydia’s brain throb behind her bleary eyes. A threadbare length of red tinsel is draped along the wall, and Lydia tries her best to ignore it lest she rip it down and strangle somebody with it.
A loud, metallic rattling makes her wince as a male nurse rolls a trolley full of instruments past the waiting area. The glimmer of a needle poking from a syringe catches her eye, which then wanders up to the nurse’s face; tanned skin and tousled, dark brown hair, and pale blue eyes that hint at a bright yet melancholy soul. He has an alluring quality, Lydia thinks, power and beauty. Patients must be drawn to him all the time. As she allows herself to slip into a lazy fantasy about this oblivious stranger, a woman approaches. Mid-thirties maybe, dressed in a blue smock with a tight bun of faded blonde hair, the nurse tilts her head to catch Lydia’s attention.
“Lydia Tune?”
“Yes?” Lydia replies absently, slipping out of her daydream. She instantly remembers Alex’s words from the previous evening and feels a pang of some emotion she cannot place.
“You can see her now,” says the nurse, whose nametag reads ‘Maggie’. She turns away before waiting for acknowledgement. You must need an autopilot setting to work somewhere like this, Lydia thinks, rising from the uncomfortable chair and hurrying as best she can on her high heels to catch up.
“How well do you know Mrs Devere, Maggie?” Lydia asks, catching up with the nurse half-way down the sterile corridor.
“Not very well,” replies Maggie. “She doesn’t say much. Seems like a lovely lady though. Been here a few weeks.”
“What happened to her?” asks Lydia.
“Fell down the stairs in her house, poor thing,” says Maggie. “Lucky she managed to crawl to a telephone or she’d have been done for. Don’t think she has any family. Least, none I’ve seen visiting.”
“Will she be able to go home?”
“Not now,” says Maggie, shaking her head sadly. “Once they lose their mobility, they need round the clock care. We’re trying to find her a place at an assisted living facility, but she didn’t have insurance so it’s a waiting game, as usual.” She makes a sharp right turn onto a large ward with maybe twelve beds and walks to the last one on the right, pulling back the emerald green curtain around it just enough to see its occupant. “Evelyn?” Lydia hears a soft, croaking sound. “You have a visitor.” She steps aside, and Lydia gets her first glimpse of the small, white-haired old woman dwarfed by this big hospital bed. “I’ll leave you alone,” Maggie says to Lydia. “Call if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Lydia replies, quietly.
“I can’t see,” says Evelyn Devere, her breath rattling, cloudy eyes twitching side to side.
“Hello, Mrs Devere,” says Lydia, stepping close to the bed. “My name’s Lydia.”
“Lydia Tune?” Evelyn squeaks. Lydia notices that her nails are bitten to the quick, cheeks sunken in, loose folds around her eyes. What teeth she has left are broken and hollow.
“Yes,” says Lydia.
“Come sit down,” says Evelyn, raising a hand with some considerable effort and swinging it towards a bedside chair. Lydia sits as she’s asked, smoothing her blue silk shirt and black skirt.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” says Lydia.
“I am… disturbed,” Evelyn says, every word an effort. “I am… haunted… by my son.” She turns her shrunken head towards Lydia. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Lydia replies, taking out her phone to begin the recording. She hates doing this. Feels like a vulture.
“What a… lovely ring,” Evelyn breathes. Lydia looks down at her ruby, glinting as always, but particularly dark today.
“Thank you,” she says, “it was my mother’s.”
“Mmm…” says Evelyn, thoughtfully. “Something to remember her by.”
“Tell me about your son,” says Lydia awkwardly, not wanting to drag this out any longer than necessary.
“Which one?” Evelyn shifts underneath her many sheets. Her attention is failing already.
“Jason.” Lydia takes her notepad and pen from her bag.
“Ah yes,” says Evelyn, “he was a good boy. Good as gold. Always looking out for his brother.”
“Really?” Lydia asks, surprised.
“Oh yes,” Evelyn nods. “Inseparable, those two. Went everywhere together.”
“Were they alike?” Lydia asks.
Evelyn shakes her head very slowly. “Finn was a quiet boy. Shy. Jason was the loud one. Very… protective of his little brother.”
“Do you think,” Lydia pauses, hating herself more by the second, “do you think Jason feels responsible for what happened to Finley?”
“It wasn’t… his fault,” Evelyn croaks, “but… he changed after that. And after… Adam left.”
“Adam was your husband?”
Evelyn nods, and her head wobbles so alarmingly that for a split second Lydia is afraid it might fall off. “He couldn’t… cope.”
“I’m sorry,” says Lydia. Evelyn raises her hand again, but not as high this time. She doesn’t have much left in her.
“Long time ago,” she says. “Have to move on.”
“So you noticed a change in Jason’s behaviour?” Lydia asks.
“When?” Evelyn looks confused.
“When he was a child,” Lydia says, gently.
“Oh… well he acted out… at school, but he was always a good boy at home.” She turns her head to look at a vase of white tulips on the bedside table.
“Was he involved in any other traumatic events?” Lydia asks. “Accidents, that sort of thing?”
“Accidents…” Evelyn thinks. “There was one time he got his finger caught in a garden chair. There was blood everywhere… drama. But he was fine.” She chuckles.
“Okay,” says Lydia, making a note. Suddenly Evelyn Devere’s hand shoots out and grabs her wrist and Lydia lets out a startled gasp.
“He’s a good boy, deep down,” says Evelyn, staring straight at her. “Please understand that.”
“I… Okay.” Unsure quite how to react, Lydia places a comforting hand on top of Evelyn’s, but the old lady withdraws hers slowly and closes her eyes.
“Are you okay?” Lydia asks, gently. “Should I fetch the nurse?”
“No need,” Evelyn murmurs. “I’m fine.”
“Mrs Devere, I have to ask you,” Lydia says uncomfortably, “is there any history of mental illness in your family?”
“Not on my side, dear,” Evelyn smiles. “Though, maybe we’re all a little bit crazy by the time we get to the end.”
“Maybe,” Lydia agrees. “What about your husband’s family?”
“Adam?” Evelyn thinks. “His mother was a loan shark. Mary, that was her name. Used to beat up grown men!”
“Really?” Lydia scribbles in her pad.
“She was a mad one, I reckon. She once…” Evelyn succumbs to a hacking cough. “She once stabbed Adam in the leg for having his feet on the table.”
“She stabbed him?” Lydia raises an eyebrow.
“Said she just cleaned it!” Evelyn chuckles again.
“Did Jason take after his father at all?”
“In looks, maybe,” says Evelyn, smiling. “Adam was a handsome man. But Jason was always his mother’s son.”
“Do you think he loves you?”
“Of course he does.” Evelyn prickles at the question. “I’m his mother.”
“I’m sorry,” says Lydia, “it’s just that sometimes people like Jason are incapable of love.”
“My son…” Evelyn says with conviction, “has a good heart.” She lays back in bed, looking away from Lydia. “A mother knows these things.”
Lydia can hear the emotion in the old woman’s voice. It would be cruel to press any further. “Thank you for talking to me, Evelyn,” she says, packing up her things. “I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you.”
Evelyn doesn’t respond. She’s staring at those tulips again. Lydia takes the hint, and leaves quietly, pulling back the mint green curtain behind her. Already she is hatching a plan to break this story open based on what she has just heard. It will be risky, but Lydia Tune feels the time is right to take a few risks.