“I’m Dora. Lucy’s mother. But you know that.” The woman swept him inside with a wave of her cigarette. “What’s she done now? Go ahead. I don’t shock easy.”
They walked down a short hallway to the living room, just big enough for a couch, a recliner, a coffee table, and a television. All had seen better days except the television, a brand-new seventy-inch flat-screen broadcasting football highlights. Before Simon could sit, a tall, rail-thin teenage boy with a bad complexion and tousled blond hair the color of Lucy’s ambled in. “Who’s this, then?”
“I’m Simon Riske. Lucy works in my shop.”
“This is Brian,” said Dora Brown.
Simon shook their hands and said he was pleased to meet them. He noticed Brian absently scratching his upper arm and remembered that Lucy had said he was an addict. Heroin, meth, opioids, all of the above. An older brother had overdosed years before while Lucy was still at home.
“Lucy’s been in an accident,” he said after they’d all sat down and Dora Brown had decided not to offer him anything to eat or drink. “She’s in the hospital.”
His words were met with dead glances all around. No gasps of distress. Just a grudging acknowledgment of the news, as if she’d finally gotten what was coming to her.
Simon kept his explanation to the essentials. Lucy had been helping with a job in France. On the way home, they’d gotten into an automobile accident. A car had run a red light and struck the passenger side of their vehicle. Lucy had suffered a broken leg, fractured ribs, and a fractured skull. As soon as she was stable, he’d arranged for an airlift to bring Lucy to a private clinic in Surrey, where she would receive the finest treatment.
“So she’s all right?” said Brian, shaking loose a cigarette. “Having a bit of a kip?”
Simon stared at the young man. “She’s been placed in a medically induced coma to help relieve the brain swelling. The good news is that she’s breathing on her own. The doctors are hopeful.”
“She’s a vegetable, then?” said Brian. “Going to be one of those drooling out the corner of her mouth, stares at you like a zombie.”
“That’s enough,” said Simon, a bat of an eye away from dusting the kid.
A tear ran down Dora Brown’s cheek as her jaw began to quiver.
“Who are you, then?” asked Brian, all outrage and bravado. “She’s my sister. I can say what I please.”
“Shut up,” said Dora, lashing out at her son. “It’s Lucy we’re talking about.”
“Just joking, Ma.”
“Get out,” she said. “Go. Leave us be.”
“But—”
“Now!” Dora was out of her chair, hand pointing to the hall. Brian stormed from the room, but not before making more mocking noises.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Riske. We do what we can. Please go on. How is Lucy really?”
“As I said, she’s in critical condition. We just have to wait and see.”
“See what?”
“If she recovers and how well.”
Dora’s face clouded, and she regarded him with suspicion. “But you…you’re fine. Doesn’t look like you have a scratch.”
Simon nodded. “I was lucky.”
Dora dismissed this with a roll of the eyes. “And now? What am I supposed to do? I suppose you’ve come for money. Look around you. We can’t afford a fancy clinic. The NHS barely pays for my diabetes medicines as it is.”
“I’m seeing to her care.”
Dora Brown’s gaze shifted. She appraised Simon in a different vein. “You and her…you aren’t?”
“Lucy is my best apprentice. Our relationship is strictly professional.”
From the recesses of the flat came the sound of a baby crying. Dora didn’t appear to hear. Simon rose from the sofa. “Well, then,” he said, taking a step toward the hall.
“She was in France, eh?” Dora looked past Simon and out the window to a world she’d never have. “I always wanted to go to Paris.”
“When Lucy’s better, I’m sure the two of you can both go.” Simon smiled. “Together.”
Dora Brown shot him a dark glance; she’d have none of it. “Just because she’s ill doesn’t mean she’s going to come home when she’s better. Or that I’d welcome her.” She leveled an accusing finger at him. “It’s your kind’s fault. Everything was fine until he left. He was a chartered accountant, my Reg was. Making good money. We were in Fulham then. Edward, my oldest, won a scholarship to the church school. Lucy was just a sprout. I’d just had Brian. He was difficult even then.”