short woman with steel-gray hair cut close to her head—no room for vanity here—looked at her beadily. “Yes, I know who you are. You’re doing my son’s job. Why are you here?”
“Well . . . because it’s procedure?”
“It’s a broken wrist! Have you come round to give me a lollipop?”
“No. Although if you’d like one . . .”
“Or perhaps I count as geriatric now, and you’re here to move me into a home where you can’t have a hot bath for health and safety reasons?”
Lissa shook her head. “Cormac asked me to come take a look,” she said honestly. “He’s just worried about you.”
“So he sent a spy?”
Nonetheless Bridie bustled inside through a small set of French doors built into the back of the house. After a moment or two, Lissa started to follow her.
“Beautiful garden,” said Lissa.
“Is this truly the best use of NHS resources?” grumbled Bridie.
Lissa could see it was an effort for her to fill the kettle. Once that was on she looked around. There were pictures of little boys everywhere—she hadn’t known he had brothers. It was impossible to tell which one was Cormac from the three sandy heads and toothless grins, and Lissa was suddenly too shy to ask. She did feel like she was spying—but not on Bridie.
“So can you wiggle your fingers for me?” she said, taking Bridie’s hand, once she’d made them both tea. “And put some pressure on my hand here . . . and here . . . good, good.”
She moved her head closer, performing the embarrassing bit where she had to sniff the bandage for evidence of rot or bad skin healing without looking like that was what she was doing.
“Are you sniffing me?” said Bridie rather crossly.
“So is Cormac enjoying himself in London, then?” asked Lissa quickly.
Bridie shrugged. “I dinnae ken. Is he staying in your hoose?”
“Well, my digs,” said Lissa. “It’s a nurses’ home really. Nothing like as nice as his place.”
“A nurses’ home. I’m so proud,” said Bridie dryly. Lissa caught sight of a photo of a handsome man wearing a smart army uniform, including an elaborate hat that came over his chin, with a younger Bridie and a stooped man on either side.
“Is this him?”
“Naw,” said Bridie, her voice softening a little. “That’s Rawdon.”
“He’s in the army?”
“So was Cormac once. Now he’s busy living in a nurses’ home, apparently.” Her voice sounded raw.
“He didn’t like it?” ventured Lissa.
“Not everyone can cut the army,” said Bridie sharply. “He’s just like his father. Anyway. Here it is. It’s a broken wrist. Well done. Can you tick your ninety-five file boxes, give me some nonsense survey, and be on your way, lass? I’m busy.”
She didn’t, to Lissa’s practiced eye, look remotely busy. The house was immaculate.
“Is anyone helping you out?”
“Aye,” said Bridie. “This is Kirrinfief. We help each other oot. Dinnae worry about me. I ken you English types don’t really believe in friendship, but we do round these parts.”
“All right,” said Lissa, knowing when she was beaten. “Okay, I’ll tell Cormac you’re fine.”
Bridie sniffed. “Well, make sure you don’t interrupt him being too busy in the nurses’ home, filling in all those forms.”
Lissa blinked. She glanced out the window into Bridie’s spectacular garden, where a pair of starlings was pecking on the lawn. Then she got up.
“There is nothing wrong with you, you’re healing fine,” she said. “Do you want me to tell Cormac I’m popping in every day and then not come?”
Bridie smiled. “That would be perfect.”
IN A FUNNY way, although she had learned nothing about him, Lissa was actually quite happy. It was easy, when you were having a difficult time, to think of everyone else’s lives as absolutely perfect and straightforward. This was why coming off Instagram had been, on balance, a good idea. So although she felt slightly sorry for Cormac having a grumpy mother—her own mother had pretty high expectations of her too—she also felt a little comforted.
She’s fine, Lissa typed. Big army fan.
She is, said Cormac, but nothing more.
Were you in the army for long?
Eight years.
That is a long time! Why did you leave?
Why did you leave A&E?
How did you know I was in A&E?
Kim-Ange told me.
That’s very unfair.
You went to my mum’s house!
You asked me to!
This was straying into the realm of a very personal conversation, and Lissa was worried, suddenly, that she’d gone too far. She was, after all, sitting in his house. It wasn’t really fair; it was just a professional swap.
How were the Lindells? she typed suddenly,