Larry said: ‘It’s eight o’clock in the morning for me. Is there a drink in the house?’
‘Maybe some sherry,’ said Alec. ‘Look in the cupboard under the TV.’
In the cupboard there was a lone bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream, two-thirds full, a fine patina of dust on the bottle’s shoulders. ‘What happened to Dad’s clocks?’ he asked. His watch had just bleeped the hour.
‘They need winding,’ said Alec. ‘I’ve been busy.’
‘I can testify to that,’ said Osbourne.
‘Well, she’ll be here soon,’ said Larry. He poured the sherry into a tumbler. Osbourne thought he wouldn’t just yet. Larry knew there was no point in asking Alec.
‘I used to know a card trick,’ said the reverend. ‘All the queens came out on top.’
‘Hey, we could have a magic show on Granny’s birthday,’ said Larry. ‘What do you think, El?’
‘Balloons,’ she said, watching Alec’s hands like a cat.
‘Quite right,’ said Osbourne. ‘Can’t have a party without balloons.’
Alec was shuffling the order of the cups. There was a certain amount of patter involved. Larry stepped up to the table. ‘She’ll get it this time,’ he said.
The cups were lined up in their final positions. Ella immediately tapped the left-hand cup. Alec lifted it.
‘Clever girl,’ said Osbourne. ‘Clever girl.’
Before the trick could begin again, they heard a car on the gravel of the drive. They froze for a moment, then filed from the room and came out of the front door just as Una was switching off the engine. Though the rain was very light, Alec had taken the big golf umbrella from the hall and was holding it over Larry and Ella’s heads. The reverend stood at the back, still holding the peonies. Una got out of the car. Larry let go of Ella’s hand and went around to the passenger door. He opened it and reached down for Alice, and though the moment before she had seemed almost inert, an elderly lady lost in the midst of some sad reverie, she was suddenly animated, gripping his arms and hauling herself from the seat. ‘Oh, Larry,’ she moaned, ‘oh, my Larry…’
She clung to him, the material of his shirt bunched in her fists, and he held her, eyes closed, whispering to her, crooning to her like a sweetheart, while the others, awed by so much undisguised need, looked on, not daring to disturb them. After a minute, Ella edged towards her father and threaded a finger through a belt loop on his trousers. Larry freed one of his hands and pressed the child against his thigh. Osbourne whispered something canonical. Una smiled at Alec, her mouth unsteady. To Alec the scene was the most profoundly embarrassing he thought he had ever witnessed, and he stared fixedly at the gravel, afraid he would make some shocking noise, a bark of grief.
‘Can we go in now?’ he asked. But nobody moved, and it seemed they would be there for ever, stupefied by emotion.
On the following day, like a failing queen surrounded by her courtiers, Alice Valentine lay in her old bed at Brooklands and explained to them all what she required of them, and how, in these, her last days, they were to conduct themselves. Despite the labour of it, the poverty of air in her lungs, she spoke at length, though among her medicines now there were new drugs that threw longer, deeper shadows, so that she strayed from the light into the dark with a suddenness that meant she could not always be sure she was making any sense. Even so, it was surprising to her that the only one who appeared to understand her was Alec.
She couldn’t move her right hand, then saw that Larry, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, was holding it. And there, between his knees, was her granddaughter, solemn as a little Chinaman. Girl should be out in the garden, not stuck inside seeing things that would give her dreams. She asked who had bought the flowers. Alec nodded to Dennis Osbourne and she laughed, wheezed, coughed, and told the reverend that he was putting on weight and there was not the least hope of her going with him now, even if he dug up his entire garden. Samuel, she said (did she say it?), Samuel knew how to make a woman happy.
Finally, she turned to Brando and instructed him to make sure that everyone did as she asked, though rather rudely he talked across her to Una. She thought she might get very cross if he did that again. He was a foreigner, of course, really. A pastry chef. She said the funniest thing she had ever heard was Kenneth Horne in Round the Horne. Am I repeating myself? she asked. No, said Alec. Thank you, dear. She told him she didn’t mind him not coming to the hospital. You could die of sheer heartbreak in those places. And when you were too weak to make trouble, people did what they liked with you. She said she loved them all and would they please get out and come back later. Goodnight, she said, though it was still a little before midday, and when the curtains blew the light danced over the walls.
Larry walked Dr Brando to his car, a silver-blue Audi estate parked in the shade of the trees. He thanked him for coming. He asked: ‘What do you think?’
‘Well,’ said Brando, glancing at his watch, ‘she’s obviously a bit disorientated but that should settle down. I’m sure this business of speaking in French will pass too, though at least you have an expert on hand. How’s your French?’
‘I don’t,’ said Larry.
‘I’m sure Alec will pass on anything relevant.’
‘What comes next?’ asked Larry.
Brando had the key in the door of the car. When he turned it, the locks snapped up in unison. ‘It’s difficult to make predictions, Larry. Particularly at this stage. The tumours have been more aggressive than I’d hoped. A lot of it’s up to the individual, of course, though clearly she’s going to need an increasing amount of nursing care. Isn’t your wife coming over soon?’
‘Next week.’
‘So there’ll be another woman in the house. That’s good. Call me if there’s anything at all you want to discuss. And talk to Una. She knows her stuff. She’ll be able to give you plenty of good advice.’
‘OK,’ said Larry. He had other questions. About pain. About what exactly happened at the end. But the doctor was in a hurry and the questions would have to wait. He watched the car move up the drive with that big-car hum and crunch of gravel, then shut his eyes and turned his face to the sun. He was still struggling with the jet-lag. The previous evening, after speaking with Kirsty (‘Sure, sure. Everything’s just fine’), he had fallen into a profound sleep, only to wake two hours later and spend the remainder of the night listening to the labour of his heart and to his daughter mouth-breathing in the other bed. He knew he would be no use to anyone until he could relax, but he was working in a range of emotions the Xanax was not equipped for. He decided to run a bath. A long soak might unlace him a little, then perhaps he could nap for an hour and get some of this weight of sleep off his shoulders. He went back into the house, fetched his wash bag, and set off for the bathroom at the far end of the first-floor corridor. On the stairs – where he managed to avoid more than a fleeting glimpse of the PLEASE! spread – he met Ella and the reverend coming down. Evidently, Osbourne had shaved that morning without the use of a mirror. His throat was nicked and there was a little crust of dried shaving cream by his left ear. When Larry asked Ella what she wanted to do, she bunched her lips and shrugged. The reverend said he’d go into the garden with her and see whether there were any early cherries.
‘Got your inhaler, El?’ asked Larry.
She showed it to him.
‘OK.’ He tousled the girl’s hair. ‘Play nicely.’