She nods and hands me a cup of tea, which reminds me of the colour of a particularly beefy gravy, especially after drinking the pale, milky tea made by Zoe. I suppose I should be glad she’s not handing me endless glasses of water like she did at Yuvana Labs.
I can feel hot tears pricking my eyes. ‘We need to find him then. I need to go and see my mum, and look like my old self when I do.’
Merlyn murmurs reassuring words and makes a show of squeezing my hand in spite of clearly not wanting to touch it.
Half an hour later, with some concerningly vague plans in place to track down Dr Marcus, we stand up to leave.
As I pass the barometer in the hall, the penny drops. I look at Peach Jumpsuit, who is holding the tuxedo cat, and say, ‘If you don’t mind me asking, Portia, how old are you?’
‘I’m seventy-six, Erica.’
I must be staring at her open-mouthed because she says, ‘Dr Marcus used me as a bit of a guinea pig, I suppose.’
I don’t know what to say, then this comes out: ‘Are you happy?’
She lets out a little laugh, which is unusual for someone normally so expressionless, and buries her nose in the fur on the back of the cat’s neck, nuzzling it. ‘If I am, it’s not because of this,’ she says, waving a hand at her face.
