I can’t hold the phone. My hands are shaking too much.
“Dom,” I murmur, and gently, he takes the phone from my hand.
11
DOMINIC
“This is Dominic Graves,”I say into the phone. “I’m Mia Brookes’ father-in-law.”
“Good evening, Mr Graves,” the cheerful voice sounds down the line. “I’m Helen Campbell, the Nursing Unit Manager at Barnabus Home. Your daughter-in-law sounded rather upset.”
I take a deep breath so I don’t try and reach down the phone to slap this woman. “Mrs Campbell, could you explain to me how it is that my daughter-in-law was just informed by a member of the press that her father passed away?”
“Oh.” There’s a sound of papers being moved, and the clicking of a computer mouse. “Mr Graves, I do apologise, I only started my shift an hour ago, let me just see-”
“Take your time,” I growl. “Please.”
“Ummm… Yes, oh goodness, I see here that someone has noted down that they called your daughter this morning when it happened. I-I can’t explain-”
“I would suggest to you, Mrs Campbell, that you speak to this person who claims to have called Mia today and ask them how much the press paid them for this information.” The woman attempts to speak, but I go on before she can. “And I suggest youdo it before tomorrow morning when I intend to call the local NHS administrator to look into how your facility is run.”
“Mr Graves, I am so incredibly sorry,” Mrs Campbell says. “I cannot even begin to say how sorry I am. This has never happened before-”
“And it better never happen again.” I glance over at Mia, who is curled into the carseat with her hands clutched under her chin, shaking like a leaf. “What’s been done with Mr Brookes?”
“H-he’s been moved to the local funeral home and, um, they’ll be able to assist you with further arrangements. I really am very sorry, Mr Graves.”
“We’ll be in touch tomorrow, thank you.”
I hang up amidst more of her apologies, taking Mia’s bag and slipping the phone inside it.
“Your dad’s at a funeral home,” I say softly. “Do you know which one handles the home’s patients?”
Mia nods, her eyes unblinking.
“Alright, love. We’ll call them tomorrow.”
She nods again, a jerked movement, and her jaw is chattering, like she’s cold.
I scoot across the seat, closer to her, wanting nothing more than to put a comforting arm around her, but not knowing if that would be the right thing to do. Instead, I stay beside her, just close enough that she won’t feel alone in this new and unknown landscape.
There’s a million questions I want to ask her, about these parents, this father she claimed to have no knowledge of, but she’s still staring, unresponsive. She won’t answer any questions now, and it would be wrong to try.
We pass the ride back to her house in silence, and when we pull up at the curb, she practically jumps out of the car before the wheels have come to a complete stop. She runs over to the garden and begins to retch.
“Fuck.” Sliding along the seat, I pause to give the driver an earnest look in the mirror. “This doesn’t go to the press.”
He holds up his hands. “Never, Mr Graves. I am very sorry for your loss.”
I give him a nod, and fish some notes out of my wallet that I toss onto the seat before following Mia out into the night.
She straightens up as I approach, her shoulders heaving as she struggles for air. “I’m alright,” she assures me in a gasp. “I’m - I’m alright.”
“You’re not,” I mutter, and take her gently by the arm. “Let’s get you inside.”
With shaking hands, she punches in the gate code and pushes into her front garden. I follow closely, shutting the gate securely behind us. She fumbles with her keys, losing her grip, and they tumble to the ground with a clang. I quickly swoop them up as she stammers an apology.
“Come on, let me.” I unlock the door, and there’s a maniacal tapping as Tank comes barreling down the hallway towards us.
