A beat.
‘The collection. I’ve got that locked safely away in the boot of my car. I’m happy to take it back home with me and count it up, if you’d like? It’s one less thing for you to think about. I’m guessing that the charity…’ she successfully covered up not remembering what the charity was, ‘meant something to your daughter?’ Marcus didn’t respond, which didn’t seem to bother Joan in the slightest. ‘I’ve also gathered up some of the Orders of Service from the chapel. I know that families are often asked for copies by relatives and friends after the event, as mementoes.’
Marcus was no longer listening, not to Joan at least. He was listening to Fran, which wasn’t difficult, given the rising volume of her voice. He began to understand why Teri and Chris were looking so uncomfortable.
‘They test for a “response to pain”. We were asked to step out while they did it, but I couldn’t leave her. Not on her own. Not when they were deliberating hurting her. But as they explained and, as we saw, the fact that Jess didn’t register any pain was indicative of the scale of the damage. A badly injured brain doesn’t process the messages from the nerves. It’s one of a battery of tests they do. They also injected something into her neck, which is supposed to raise the heart rate.’
Teri glanced at Chris, and Marcus saw the panic in her eyes. Joan seemed to have moved on to complimenting the food.
He cut across her. ‘Sorry, Joan. You’ll have to excuse me.’ He moved past her. The relief on Teri and Chris’s faces was obvious. He grabbed a spare stool and sat down. ‘Fran.’
She looked at him and continued. ‘It didn’t work. Nothing worked. Or I suppose it did – from their point of view. They established that she wasn’t just brain-damaged, but brain-dead. It was very thorough. They have to repeat the tests over a specified period of time. It’s all very tightly controlled. That’s why the final decision wasn’t taken until the end of March. They obviously have to be absolutely certain.’ Marcus put his hand on Fran’s and guided it down. He had to press quite hard. That secured her attention.
He spoke quickly, trying to acknowledge her testimony while deflecting her from saying anything more. ‘It was dreadful, as you can imagine. But the staff at the hospital were…’ He was about to say ‘kind’, but found he couldn’t. What they’d been was respectful and professional, and brutally clear that Jess was dead. ‘Supportive.’
Teri’s eyes filled and she swallowed loudly, ashamed of her show of emotion. Marcus looked away. This was agony. He wanted to leave. He didn’t want to think back to the trauma of the donation.
‘Fran, can I get you another cup of tea? Or are you ready to go home?’
She slid her hand out from under his. ‘No. Not yet. There are still a lot of people I haven’t spoken to.’ She stood up and walked off.
Teri and Chris looked after her with pity – Marcus with deep concern.
Chapter 37
SAL OPENED the door, expecting it to be Jake. He’d said he’d call round, when they saw him at the funeral. That had been more than a week ago. But it wasn’t Jake; it was Mo, holding a bunch of tulips.
‘Hello, Mrs Reynolds. I was wondering if Tish is in.’
Sal didn’t tell him that Tish was always in.
‘Yes. She’s here.’ She didn’t move. Sal knew she was being unhelpful, but her job was to protect her daughter, even if it included making Mo feel uncomfortable.
‘Could I maybe say hello? Just for a few minutes.’ He seemed to remember the flowers. ‘And give her these. I’ve also brought her a book that she might like.’
The incongruity of a book as a gift for Tish struck Sal, but at the same time the kindness of the gesture softened her. ‘Okay. Come in. Go through to the front room. I’ll go and see what she’s up to.’ Sprawled on her bed, looking at her phone, odds on. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
Sal was right. Tish was lying on her bed, still in her PJs. She didn’t look up from her screen when Sal entered. ‘Who was it?’
‘Mo.’
‘What did he want?’
‘You.’
‘You did tell him that I’m not seeing anyone, didn’t you? I don’t want him thinking it’s just him.’
‘No. I didn’t tell him that. I invited him in for a chat. He’s downstairs in the front room.’
‘Very funny.’ Tish still hadn’t looked up from her phone.
Sal turned to walk out. ‘Suit yourself. It’ll be nice for me to have someone to talk to for a change. And if you don’t want the flowers, I can always have them.’
‘You let him in!’ Tish scrambled off the bed.
Sal nodded. ‘Yes. Because you can’t hide in here for ever. And the lad has made the effort to come and see you, and bring you presents. Which is sweet of him. So it’s up to you. You can leave him in my tender clutches for the next half hour, or you can put a bra on and come downstairs.’
Sal went to the top of the stairs. The sound of Tish spraying deodorant and pulling open her underwear drawer was music to her ears.
Mo didn’t sit down. He didn’t feel he should.
He’d never been inside Tish’s house before. Their friendship took place at college and at parties. He hadn’t even been sure of her house number. He’d had to text Jake to double-check her address. That had been awkward. Jake’s ‘Why’d u want it?’ had been hard to answer. Mo had messaged back to say that he had a Get Well card from his family that he needed to drop round. It was nearly the truth.
The living room was small. A bit shabby, but cosy. There were a lot of photos in different frames, singles and triples, and individual snaps propped up on the shelves. Tish from babyhood to the present day. Well, very nearly. There were quite a few of Tish with her mum. They definitely had a look of each other. It felt odd seeing Tish as toddler, round-faced and square-bodied – she’d been a proper little chubber; even stranger to see her at about twelve in a pair of chronically untrendy trousers and a terrible blouse with a big floppy collar.
A noise upstairs frightened Mo back into the middle of the room. If she caught him looking at the photos, she’d have his head off. He couldn’t hear their conversation, just the buzz of words. Tish was at least definitely in. What wasn’t as obvious was whether she wanted to see him. He switched the bag with the flowers. The cellophane felt slippy in his hands. He really didn’t want sweaty palms. Though no one would know. He wasn’t likely to be shaking hands with Tish or her mum.
Footsteps. Tish’s mum re-entered the room. ‘Do you fancy a cuppa?’
So he was staying. ‘Yes please.’ He would’ve preferred a Coke, but was too embarrassed to say.
From the kitchen Tish’s mum shouted, ‘Are you all right with dogs?’
Again he said ‘yes’, although the thought of an Alsatian or a huge Labrador bursting into the room was a bit unsettling. He heard the back door opening and the scrabble of claws.
‘This is Harley.’
A lump of curly black fur with four loopy spaghetti-legs cannoned towards him. The puppy jumped around and sniffed at his trainers while Mo stood stock-still, terrified that he was going to stand on it. Thankfully, Tish’s mum came into the room carrying three mugs. One of the mugs had a straw in. The sight of it worried Mo. Sal misinterpreted his anxiety.