‘D’you think I should have told the receptionist? About Bee?’
‘No,’ Flint shook his head, ‘no. If we’re going to talk to Zander we need to take him as we find him. You know. And I think news like that would be best coming from you, rather than a nurse.’
‘So? Now what?’ said Ana.
‘Well,’ began Hugh, ‘we should probably –’
Flint cut in. ‘Did she say anything about visitors?’
Ana shook her head.
‘I think we should pay a little visit. What d’you think?’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow – I’m not working during the day. Is that OK with you?’
Ana nodded. Hugh cleared his throat. ‘I have to leave tonight, unfortunately. Early meeting tomorrow morning. So I’m afraid that …’
‘Do you think they’ll let us talk to him? Without an appointment?’ said Ana.
‘Let’s talk about it tonight, eh? In the car?’
Hugh, now unhappily picking up the complicity between Ana and Flint and the fact that he was somewhat excess to requirements, took his mug of tea and sauntered over to the sofa, where he started fiddling around in the voluminous pockets of his cagoule. He eventually pulled out a small packet of Rizlas and a pouch of tobacco and proceeded to make a neat and very professional little roll-up.
‘So,’ he said, lighting it, inhaling and then picking a piece of tobacco off the tip of his tongue, ‘Bellsie. Are you going to phone your mother?’
Ana tore her eyes away from the screen and looked at Hugh pointedly. She tutted. ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘I suppose so.’
‘She really is very worried about you, you know.’
‘Yeah. Sure she is. She’s not worried about me. She’s just worried about herself. About her shopping …’
‘Well – don’t you think that’s fair enough? I mean to say, sheisall alone.’
‘And whose fault is that?’
‘Ooh,’ said Hugh, inhaling and scowling, ‘that’s a little harsh, wouldn’t you say? The poor woman’s lost a husband and a daughter within a year. That’s tough for anyone.’
‘Well – she should have been a bit nicer to both of them while they were still alive, shouldn’t she? I really think that if you haven’t appreciated people while they’re living, you’ve got no right to mourn them when they’re dead.’
‘She loves you, you know.’
‘She does not. She doesn’t love anyone.’
‘She does. She cried, Bellsie. She did. Cried.’ He ran his fingertips down his cheeks to demonstrate the tears.
‘Jesus – what is this? Bee ignores me for ten years, cuts me out of her life and all of a sudden the world and his wife is telling me how much she loved me. Now my evil witch of a mother, who won’t even let me touch her, is bursting into tears and claiming undying love for me. I should have come to London a long time ago …’
Hugh rested his roll-up in an ashtray and walked towards Ana. ‘Bellsie,’ he said, massaging her bare shoulders with his funny, muscular little hands and making Flint’s flesh crawl, ‘come home. Eh? Come home with me now?’
‘No,’ said Ana, more firmly than Flint had heard her say anything up to that point, ‘I’m staying. And I’m not coming home until I find out why Bee died.’
‘Aah,’ said Hugh, reaching back into his cagoule pockets, ‘that’s another reason why your mother sent me.’ He pulled out a sheaf of paper and handed it to Ana. ‘It’s the coroner’s report. On Bee,’ he added, unnecessarily.
Flint jumped from his chair and stood next to Ana while she opened the letter with slightly trembling hands. ‘Oh God,’ she said, and Flint found himself, before he’d even had a chance to think about it, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze. It was the first time he’d touched her bare flesh, and it was nice. She didn’t seem to notice. She unfolded the letter and held it up for both of them to read. Flint’s eyes scanned the typewritten report, looking for the bottom line, looking for the verdict.
‘Suicide,’ said Ana, suddenly, the tip of one finger hitting a spot further down the sheet. ‘Well – there it is. …’ She sat down heavily on the sofa, and her lanky body collapsed in on itself. Hugh plonked himself down next to her and started stroking her hair.
