‘He gave us a lift.’
‘I don’t care what he gave you. You shouldn’t have brought him here. Has he not caused you enough trouble?’
‘I’ll take a walk,’ Lennon said. When Marie looked to him, he said, ‘I won’t go far.’
He backed away from the bed and looked around the bay. Old men gazed back, their eyes vacant, IV lines and oxygen masks hanging from them. Lennon shivered and went to the corridor. He leaned his back against the wall, keeping the women and the little girl in his vision.
They would be safe here, he was sure of that.
46
The Traveller watched the cop through the swinging doors as nurses and visitors brushed past him. He couldn’t see the woman and the kid from here, but he could tell they held the cop’s gaze.
Maybe this was the place to act, maybe it wasn’t. A lot of people around. Sometimes that was a good thing. People are generally cowards. They’ll keep their heads down if they can help it, not get involved.
Either way, he had time. All the time in the world.
47
Ellen clutched the doll to her chest and smiled at the air above her grandfather’s bed. Lennon wondered what she saw there between the slanted shafts of light and the shadows. She opened her mouth and spoke, but Lennon couldn’t hear her from his position at the other side of the corridor.
Marie and Bernie turned their heads to her. Bernie’s brow creased while Marie showed nothing but a kind of surrendered fatigue. She put a hand on her daughter’s cheek, said something, and her shoulders sagged at the answer. Marie’s father watched them both with watery eyes that showed no understanding.
Ellen said something, pouted at her mother’s response, said it louder. Marie closed her eyes and breathed deep. She stood, took Ellen’s hand, and marched her over to Lennon.
‘Please, take her for a walk, will you?’ Marie said.
‘What’s wrong?’ Lennon asked.
Marie looked down at their daughter. ‘She’s being a bold girl. Telling fibs. In front of Auntie Bernie, too.’ She levelled her gaze at Lennon, her eyes shadowed with weariness. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just too much. Not when I have to see my father like that. Not when I have to face Bernie.’
Lennon straightened, lifting his shoulders from the wall. ‘Do you trust me with her?’
‘I don’t have much choice,’ Marie said, placing Ellen’s hand in Lennon’s. ‘She’s safer with you than anyone else. I mean, you’ve got a fucking gun, haven’t you?’
Ellen stretched her hand up towards her mother’s mouth, but couldn’t reach. ‘You said a bad word.’
Marie seemed to fold in on herself, a tired laugh breaking from her. ‘I know, darling. I’m sorry.’
‘I’ll take her,’ Lennon said. ‘If she’ll come with me.’
Marie hunkered down, took a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at Ellen’s face. ‘You’ll go with Jack, won’t you, love? Maybe he’ll take you to the shop downstairs. Get you some sweeties.’
Ellen leaned close to her mother, whispered in her ear, ‘Who is he?’
Marie lifted her head, glanced up at Lennon, the sorrow laid naked across her face. She gathered Ellen close. ‘An old friend of Mummy’s. He’ll look after you.’
Lennon swallowed a sour taste.
Marie untangled herself from her daughter, looked her in the eye. ‘I’ll be right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I just need to talk to Auntie Bernie for a wee while. Jack will bring you right back up once he’s got you some sweeties, okay?’
Ellen stared at the floor, her doll clasped tight. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay,’ Marie said. She stood upright, touched Lennon’s arm. ‘Just give me twenty minutes, all right?’
‘All right,’ Lennon said. ‘She’ll be fine.’
Worry crept over Marie’s features.
‘She’ll be fine,’ Lennon said again, firm enough to almost believe it himself.
Marie nodded, ran her fingers through Ellen’s hair, and left the two of them in the corridor. Lennon and his daughter watched her leave. Ellen’s fingers twitched against his.
‘Okay,’ Lennon said, moving along the corridor towing Ellen behind him. ‘What kind of sweets do you want?’
‘Don’t know,’ Ellen said.
‘Chocolate?’ he asked. ‘Maltesers? Minstrels? Mars bars?’
She followed, her tiny hand lost in his. ‘Don’t know.’
‘What about Skittles? Or Opal Fruits? No, they don’t call them Opal Fruits any more.’
‘Don’t know,’ she said as they reached the swinging doors.
‘Or ice cream?’ Lennon asked. ‘God help us if you don’t like ice cream.’
They walked through to the elevator bank. Ellen rubbed her nose. Lennon caught an odour on the air, something lurking between the hospital’s sickness and disinfectant smells. Something goatish, a low tang of sweat, like the wards in the mental hospital Lennon had worked in when he was a student.
He exhaled, expelled the odour, and pressed the button to call the lift. Ellen’s fingers felt small between his, cold and slippery. He looked down at her. She held her doll to her lips, whispered to it, said a word that might have been ‘Gerry.’
48
Fegan sat down hard on the edge of the bed, his breath abandoning him. Waves of trembling rolled through him, from his feet to his fingers, churning his stomach as they passed.
His gut clenched and he threw himself from the bed. He staggered to the bathroom, shouldered the door open, leaned over the toilet bowl. The spasms brought him to his knees.
Between swallows of air and bitter retches, he said, ‘Ellen.’
49
The Traveller watched them from the other side of the lobby, using a pillar for cover. The cop fished change from his pocket, struggling with his one free hand, the other clasping the child’s. A juice box and a tube of Smarties sat on the counter. The change handed over, the cop gathered the sweets and drink and led the girl out of the shop. He looked upstairs to the second level then leaned down to the child. The girl nodded and allowed the cop to lead her upwards.
The Traveller eased out from behind the pillar, keeping them in his vision for as long as he could. He took a tissue from his pocket, dabbed at his eye, hissed at the pain. Passers-by looked at him, their mouths turned down in distaste. He ignored them.
50
Lennon chose a table by the ceiling-high windows and set down his paper cup full of tea, steam rising from hole in the lid. Ellen sat opposite him while he pierced the juice box with the little straw. He placed it in front of her then prised the plastic cap from the tube of Smarties. She watched his fingers work as he spread a napkin on the table and tipped a few brightly coloured sweets onto the paper.
‘There you go,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ Ellen said in the stiff manner of a child well instructed in politeness.
Lennon raised the cup to his lips and sipped hot sweet tea through the lid’s mouthpiece. He did not see this new drinking technology as an advance in civilisation. It made him feel like a toddler with a sippy cup.
Ellen moved the sweets around the napkin with her fingertips, but did not bring any to her mouth. The doll lay naked alongside the juice box like a passed-out junkie.
Lennon flinched at the association. Ellen reached for the doll and arranged it in a sitting position. She looked up at Lennon as if asking if that was better. He went to say yes, but caught himself. He blinked hard to dislodge the foolish notion from his mind.
‘So, did you like Birmingham?’ Lennon asked.
Ellen looked down and shook her head.
‘Why not?’
‘Too big,’ Ellen said. She put her hands over her ears. ‘Too noisy.’
‘You like home better?’