They drove straight to the hospital after they’d finished with the de Sourcey siblings. Ottey parked up nearby and they walked towards the building. They got within sight of the main entrance of the hospital when Cross suddenly stopped.
‘What do I say to him?’ he asked.
‘Raymond? Tell him you love him,’ she replied.
‘No, I can’t do that.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘He’ll be suspicious,’ he told her.
‘About what?’
‘I don’t know… that he’s about to die.’
‘Why would he think that?’ she asked.
‘Because I’ve never, not once in my entire life, expressed my love for him.’
‘Well maybe now’s a good time to start,’ she replied.
*
Christine was, as usual, sitting next to Raymond’s bed in the ICU. She stood up as George approached, and smiled.
‘He’s just sleeping,’ she informed him. ‘He wakes up for a bit, then nods off again. How did you get here?’
‘I came with DI Ottey.’
‘Oh, is she outside? I’ll go and say hello.’
Christine left and George approached the bed. He sat in the chair his mother had just vacated and looked intensely at the only true constant in his life. His father. After a few minutes two doctors appeared.
‘DS Cross, I am Dr Khan. We’ve spoken on the phone,’ one of them began. ‘This is Dr Lizzie Moss. She’s a stroke and geriatric specialist. She’ll be in charge of your father’s post-operative care from now on.’
Dr Moss was an efficient-looking woman in her thirties. Her dark hair was tied back in a bun. George looked at her and waited for her to speak.
‘As you are aware, during the course of his tumour resection your father suffered a stroke and a subsequent brain bleed. It would seem from initial observations that he has some loss of movement on his left side and his speech is a little impaired,’ Moss told him.
‘Will he recover?’ George asked, matter-of-factly.
‘At this point, I can’t really say,’ she replied with a directness George found gratifying.
‘Will he be able to walk, or will he be in a wheelchair?’ George asked.
‘Again, I can’t really answer that at this moment.’
When the two doctors left a few minutes later, George turned back to his father and sat down. Raymond’s eyes were open. Presumably he’d been woken by the conversation with the doctors. He smiled at his son, but George had difficulty in recognising this as the left side of Raymond’s mouth remained straight.
‘George…’ he muttered faintly.
‘Hello, Dad.’
The old man held up his hand. The one closest to George. He looked at it and decided that Raymond wanted the glass of water with a straw in it, which was on the bedside cabinet. He reached for it, but Raymond shook his head slightly. Then he held up his hand again. George looked at it for a moment, then realised his father wanted him to hold it. So he took hold of Raymond’s hand for the first time in over forty years. Raymond closed his eyes in what George recognised as a look of contentedness. Josie had appeared quietly behind George but didn’t want to interrupt. George was thinking about the last time he’d held his father’s hand, which was when he was about six years old. They were on their way to school, hand in hand. When they arrived at the school gates, George turned to his father and announced solemnly that, now he was six, it was no longer appropriate for him to hold his father’s hand on the way to school. He was far too old. With this endearingly pompous pronouncement, the child had walked into school without looking back, leaving his father beaming with pride.
Raymond opened his eyes again. George realised that in the circumstances, the onus of initiating the conversation was probably on him. But he had no idea what to say. His father had probably heard the doctors talking about his condition, but even if he hadn’t, it was hardly material for a cheerful conversation. Which is what he assumed was required. Then he remembered what Ottey had told him and so said, quite stiffly, ‘I love you, Dad.’
This had an unexpected, but immediate effect on Josie. Her eyes filled with tears and she beat a hasty retreat. Not so much because George might see her, but because she was encroaching on a private moment between the two men. It also prompted a single tear from Raymond’s left eye, which trickled down his cheek to the pillow. George was instantly annoyed with Josie. He knew this was the wrong thing to say and he’d been proved right by the fact that Raymond was now in tears. But he was, of course, completely wrong. Raymond knew what a conscious effort it had been for George to utter those words so alien to him, and this was what had moved him so. He also knew that either Josie or Stephen had told him to do it and he also found that profoundly moving.
George sat there for some time. A few hours, in fact. Josie and Christine took it in turns occasionally to sit with him. Finally, he looked at his watch and announced, ‘I have to go.’
‘Why?’ asked his mother.
But before he could reply Raymond tried to speak. She leaned closer to him to hear.
‘Org…’ he mumbled.
‘That is correct. I have organ practice,’ George affirmed.
*
‘Can’t you just leave it for one week?’ asked a perplexed Josie in the waiting room outside, after he’d informed her of his need for a lift to the church.
‘No. I have been here for a sufficient amount of time to express both my relief and my concern. There is nothing of further use I can do. What is more he is asleep and I think will be for some time now,’ he replied.
‘Come on then. Let me say goodbye and I’ll give you a lift.’