49

The man who’d been standing outside the Mini-Mart was now approaching. When he saw Clifford his walk slowed; but he kept on coming, and he passed her by without a word. Rachel Reade said, ‘Vicky, darling, wasn’t that Blake Reynolds?’

But Victoria’s phone was ringing. She answered it. A man said, ‘Oh hello, it’s Mr Henderson here, from St Michael’s Hospital.’

Mr Henderson. Because she hadn’t been able to get rid of him, and consultants were not called ‘doctor’.

‘I’m sorry to bother you on Christmas Day. I’m calling about George Quinn—’

As he spoke on, Clifford looked back down the street towards the retreating figure of Reynolds. It had meant something to her that Reynolds – evidently alone on this Christmas Day – had returned to commune with the scene of their exciting December. She was now further gratified that he was turning his head and looking back at her. His expression from this distance was quite unfathomable, but she would settle – at the moment – for that one backward glance.