her girlhood bedroom, watching as the morning sunlight crept along the faded wallpaper, Laurel sighed. It was time. There was no need to ask what the nurse meant by that. ‘Well then.’
‘Yes.’
‘Home she must come.’
‘Yes.’
‘And we’ll look after her here.’ There came no reply and Laurel said, ‘Rose?’
‘I’m here. Do you mean it, Lol? You’re going to stay, you’re going to be there, too?’
Laurel spoke around the cigarette she was trying to light. ‘Of course I mean it.’
‘You sound funny. Are you … crying, Lol?’
She shook out the match and freed her mouth. ‘No, I’m not crying.’ Another pause and Laurel could almost hear her sister twisting her worry beads into knots. She said, more gently this time, ‘Rose, I’m all right. We’re both going to be all right. We’ll do this together, you’ll see.’ Rose made a small choked noise, possibly of assent, maybe of doubt, and then changed the subject. ‘You got in OK last night then?’
‘I did. Rather later than expected, though.’ In fact, it had been three in the morning when she finally let herself into the farmhouse. She and Gerry had gone back to his rooms after dinner and spent much of the night speculating about their mother and Henry Jenkins. They’d decided that while Gerry was chasing down Dr Rufus, it made sense for Laurel to see what she could learn about the elusive Vivien. She was the lynchpin between their mother and Henry Jenkins, after all, and the probable reason he came looking for Dorothy Nicolson in 1961.
The task had seemed perfectly achievable at the time; now though, in the clear light of day, Laurel didn’t feel so sure. The whole plan had the flimsy quality of a dream. She glanced at her bare wrist, wondering vaguely where she’d left her watch. ‘What time is it, Rosie? It seems rudely bright.’
‘It’s just gone ten.’
Ten? Lord. She’d slept in. ‘Rosie, I’m going to hang up now, but I’m coming straight to the hospital. Will you still be there?’
‘Until midday when I pick up Sadie’s youngest from nursery.’
‘Right. I’ll see you soon then—we’ll talk to the doctor together.’
Rose was with the doctor when Laurel arrived. The nurse on the desk told Laurel she was expected and pointed her in the direction of the cafeteria adjoining reception. Rose must’ve been looking out for her, because she’d started waving before Laurel even set foot inside. Laurel wove her way between the tables and as she got closer saw that Rose had been crying, not lightly. There were balled tissues scattered across the tabletop and smeary black smudges beneath her wet eyes. Laurel sat down next to her and said hello to the doctor.
‘I was just telling your sister,’ he spoke in precisely the sort of professional caring tone Laurel would have used to play a health worker delivering bad but inevitable news, ‘that in my opinion we’ve exhausted every avenue of treatment. It won’t come as a surprise to you, I think, when I tell you that it’s now just a matter of managing the pain and keeping her as comfort-able as we can.’
Laurel nodded. ‘My sister tells me our mother wants to come home, Dr Cotter. Is that possible?’
‘We wouldn’t have a problem with that.’ He smiled. ‘Naturally if she wanted to remain in the hospital, we’d be able to accommodate that wish, too—in fact, most of our patients stay with us until the end—’ The end. Rose’s hand reached for Laurel’s beneath the table.
‘But if you’re willing to care for her at home—’
‘We are,’ Rose said quickly. ‘Of course we are.’
‘—then I think now is probably the right time for us to talk about you taking her home.’
Laurel’s fingers itched for their lack of a cigarette. She said, ‘Our mother doesn’t have long.’ It was a statement rather than a question, a function of Laurel’s own processing of the fact, but the doctor answered nonetheless.
‘I’ve been surprised before,’ he said, ‘but in response to your question, no, she doesn’t have long.’
‘London,’ said Rose, as they walked together down the flecked-lino- leum hospital corridor towards their mother’s room. Fifteen minutes had passed since they’d bade farewell to the doctor but Rose was still clutching a soggy tissue in her fist. ‘A meeting for work then, is it?’ ‘Work? What work? I told you, Rose, I’m on a break.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t say that, Lol. You make me nervous when you say things like that.’ Rose lifted a hand to acknowledge a passing nurse.