No news. There had been no news for two weeks. She had telephoned every hour, then every few hours, then twice a day. They were very patient, very kind. She should ring whenever she felt the need. But there was still no news.
Hannah and Felix were in bed, Sam at his friend Jake’s. The house was quiet. She sat at the kitchen table with her laptop, because it was more comforting than the study which in any case was on the cold side of the house. It was still quite warm and she had the window open to smell the second flowering of the Cecile Brunner rose. And the night. The smell of the night.
He could not see the sky or the outside world, and in his room there would never be dark, only bright white lights, and never silence, only the bleep of the machines, keeping him alive.
Cat went back to her draft notes for the lecture. It was not happening for months but so many ideas seethed inside her head that she needed to get them down roughly every day. There was so much to say, but because of Simon, it somehow seemed both unreal and very temporary, as if what happened to him might change how she thought at any moment. But it wouldn’t.
Mephisto bipped in through the cat flap, stalked about for a moment, then bipped back into the garden again. Wookie leapt up, chased his retreating tail, gave up on the game and returned to his basket.
She had discovered an American research paper about how dying patients are affected positively or negatively by the voice tone of medical staff around them. It was not new but it was significant. She would print it off and read it later. The novels on her bedside table were gradually being pushed aside by medical papers, but she would always find time somehow to read fiction, she knew that. She had two collections of Alice Munro short stories waiting, plus the rereading of Middlemarch, and Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead. It was not the fault of the research papers that she had neglected novels. Everything that had happened, not least the sudden absence of the bookshop, had somehow put her off fiction as viruses put one off food. At the moment, only clear, concise medical facts and deductions seemed acceptable and satisfying.
She poured a small glass of wine. Work had always been her salvation and it would be now. Kieron Bright had called twice but what else could he do? Until there was news, nothing at all, and even then?
The phone ringing suddenly in the quietness made her start and drop the glass. Wine mingled with shards spread over the floor.
‘Cat? Oh … sorry …’
‘No, it’s fine, just a spill, but I should clear it or the animals might cut themselves. Can I ring you back, Judith?’
‘I … yes … but – no, don’t. Can I just come over?’
Tone of voice.
‘Of course. You don’t need to ask. Just come.’
So, Judith knew. Had her father told her, or had she found out some other way?
She dropped the fragments into the bin.
Or perhaps it wasn’t that. Perhaps the hospital had rung – as they would, rung her father, Simon’s next of kin. That was why Judith was coming. To break it to her.
Suddenly, what she wanted more than anything was for Sam to be there.
When she heard the car she went to the front door. Face it. You have to face it now.
Judith got out of the car but instead of coming straight to her, quickly, she went round to the boot. Opened it. Two, three suitcases. A holdall. A tote bag.
‘Here, let me …’
It was difficult to read Judith’s expression but she was not distressed, not hurt. She was – angry. Yes. Angry and quite calm.
‘I’m sorry, darling. It’s only for now, until I sort something out. But I’m not going back, you see. My other stuff can wait and follow eventually.’ She put her hand on Cat’s shoulder. ‘I’m not going back.’
Cat felt tears in the back of her throat but pushed them down.
‘Good,’ she said.
‘You knew?’
She nodded. ‘But I was told in absolute confidence. I couldn’t say anything. I’m so sorry …’
‘That’s all right, of course it is. What could you have done anyway?’
Wookie, having managed to push the door open a bit wider, came racing towards them.
‘I need a drink,’ Judith said, bending to pick him up.
‘Does Dad know you’ve come here?’
‘I presume he’ll guess.’
Cat handed her the glass of wine and Judith drank half of it before she sat down.
‘He’s denying all charges, did you know that as well?’
‘No.’
‘He’ll pay a fortune for a good QC of course and that will be that.’
‘No, a good defence is his right but money doesn’t automatically buy a not-guilty.’
‘Would you bet on that?’
Cat sat down opposite her stepmother. ‘I am so angry with him,’ she said. ‘Not just this – I’m angry because he’s thrown away a good loving marriage, and for what?’
‘He threw it away some time ago, Cat.’
‘Yes. But I thought …’
‘Did you? Yes, well, perhaps I did. In France we seemed to be back where we had been – but we weren’t and “seemed” so really is the word. There was some secrecy, some deception, always there.’
‘You can stay here as long as you like, that goes without saying.’
‘I know and you’re always generous but it won’t be for too long. I want to be independent and I can be.’
‘Just not yet. God, this has been a bloody awful summer.’
She looked across at Judith. She had aged. Well, nothing stayed the same but did it have to change like this, overnight, everything gone?
It had done so before and they were still here, somehow.
But Simon?