have mentioned his childhood? Or the story about the horses?
Too late now. A familiar, celebrity-type woman in a red clingy dress is suddenly in front of me, shaking my hand and Esme is saying, ‘Sylvie, I’m delighted to introduce Sinead Brook,’ in awestruck tones, and we barely have time to exchange a word before Cedric mounts the podium and taps the microphone.
‘My lady mayoress, ladies and gentlemen,’ he begins, ‘welcome to what is a very special occasion.’
Hmph. He’s pinched my opening.
‘A lot of you here today knew Marcus Lowe,’ he continues, more sombrely. ‘Some, sadly, did not. Marcus was known to all of us here at the New London Hospital as a man of commitment, charm, great intelligence and an inability to take no for an answer.’ His eyes glint, and a lot of the guests laugh knowingly. ‘He masterminded the fundraising for this scanner suite with tremendous tenacity, and quite simply it would not exist today without him. I’m now going to hand you over to his daughter, Sylvie Winter, who will say a few words.’
I mount the podium and look at the faces – some familiar but most not – and take a breath.
‘Hello, everyone,’ I say simply. ‘Thank you for coming today to celebrate both this wonderful scanner suite, and my father, who was so determined to make it happen. Those of you who met my father know that he was a remarkable man. He had the looks of Robert Redford … the dash of Errol Flynn … and the persistence of Columbus. Or maybe I mean Columbo. Or both.’
Even as I’m finishing my speech, I know it was crap.
No, I’m being too hard on myself. It wasn’t crap, but it wasn’t what it could have been. People nodded and smiled and even laughed, but they didn’t look fired up. They didn’t get who Daddy was. I have a sudden urge to take a week off and rewrite my thoughts until I get to the real, real essence of him … and then invite everyone back and tell them properly.
But everyone’s clapping and smiling approvingly, and Mummy looks all misty-eyed and the honest truth is, no one cares about the real essence of Daddy, do they? They just want to swig champagne and start using the scanners and saving lives. The world moves on. As I’ve been told about 56,000 times.
I think I need a drink. As soon as the curtains have been opened, I’m having a drink.
We all watch as the mayoress takes the podium and introduces Sinead Brook, mispronouncing her name twice. (It’s obvious she doesn’t really know who Sinead Brook is.) Sinead Brook gives what is clearly a standard-issue speech about the hospital, then pulls the cord and the plaque is there this time. There’s another round of applause and a few photos. Then, at last, the glasses of champagne start coming around again, and everyone disperses into groups.
The children are being entertained by some younger members of hospital staff blowing up disposable gloves. Cedric is telling me about the new children’s wing campaign, which does sound like an amazing project, and I find myself drinking three glasses in quick succession. Dan’s promised to drive home. It’s fine.
Where is Dan, come to that?
I glance around the gathering and notice him with Mummy, huddled right over in the corner. At once I stiffen. Why are they huddled together? What are they talking about?
I can’t escape Cedric’s constant stream of facts on children’s hospital beds in London, and I am genuinely interested in what he’s saying. But, by reaching for a canapé, I’m also able to move subtly towards Dan and Mummy. I’m also able to tilt my head, and just about pick up snippets of their conversation.
‘… certain that’s the right course?’ she’s saying in a sharpish, anxious sort of tone.
‘… this is the reality of the …’ I can’t hear the end of the sentence, but Dan sounds fairly tense, too.
‘… really don’t understand why …’
‘… discussed this …’
‘… so, what exactly …’
The conversation seems to die out, and I turn, just in time to see Dan mouthing, ‘A million pounds, maybe two?’ at my mother.
My lungs seem to freeze. The next moment I’m choking on my champagne. A million pounds, maybe two? What does that mean? What ‘million pounds, maybe two’?
‘Sylvie!’ Cedric halts his flood of statistics. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine!’ I swivel back. ‘Sorry! Just went down the wrong way. Please do carry on.’ I smile at Cedric, but my head is