The phone shrilled like an owl in a haunted tower. Pascoe, startled as if he too had been dragged from deep sleep, grabbed it, said, 'Hello, this is…' and couldn't remember his number. 'Peter, are you all right?' It was Ellie's voice, close and concerned. 'Yes, fine. Hang on.' He switched off the tape. 'Sorry, I was listening to something. How's things? How's your mum? Your dad? Rosie?' 'Rosie's fine. I tried to ring earlier so she could have a talk to you, but I couldn't be bothered to talk to that bloody machine. She's asleep now.
If you ever get home early enough, maybe you could ring…' He could sense the effort not to sound reproving. He said, 'Of course I will, I promise. And your mum, how's she?' There was a silence. He said, 'Hello? You still there?' 'Yes. She's… Oh, Peter, I'm so worried…' 'Why? What's happened?' 'Nothing really… except.
.. Peter, I'm terrified it's all happening again. I thought it was just physical, you know, the strain of looking after Dad, and she's always had these circulatory problems, and the arthritis, and I thought that once things settled down… Well, in herself, physically I mean, she doesn't seem too bad… but she's started forgetting things… she'd forgotten we were coming though we'd just spoken on the phone that morning… and this morning I heard her calling Rosie Ellie…' That can happen to anyone,' said Pascoe confidently. 'I've done it myself. As for forgetting things like phone calls, if I don't make a note of everything instantly, that's it, gone for ever.' The silence again. Then: 'I hope you're right. Maybe I'm over-sensitive because of Dad.' That's right. Have you seen him?' 'I went today. I'd forgotten how awful it is, looking into a face you know, being looked at by eyes that don't know you… I came out feeling like… I don't know… like it was all my fault somehow.
..' 'For God's sake! How do you work that out?' demanded Pascoe, dismayed to hear such fragile uncertainty in her voice. 'I don't know … using them as an excuse, maybe… that's what I've done, isn't it? Saying I thought I should come down here for a few days because I wanted to make sure Mum was coping… doing the concerned daughter bit when all I was really looking for was a place to lie low … like getting out of something by saying you've got the 'flu, then really getting the 'flu like it was a judgement, only far worse.
.. not thinking about her at all really…' 'Well, let's think about her now, shall we?' said Pascoe sharply. Again silence, the longest yet. Her voice was calmer when she finally spoke. 'So I'm doing it again, you reckon? Getting in the spot-light instead of sticking to my bit part. Yes, you could be right.' 'Forget right,' said Pascoe. 'Only in this case, maybe you should just go for best-supporting-actress for a while. Look, why not get your mum to come up here for a while? Or I could steal a couple of days' leave and come down there.' She thought for a while, then said, 'No. Mum wouldn't come, I know that. Remember I tried to get her away after Dad went into the home and she wouldn't budge. She knows it's hopeless but she thinks she's got to stay close.' 'So, shall I come down?' 'Peter, believe me, I'm tempted, but I don't want to get things all mussed up together. I've used them once as an excuse to get away and I don't want to find I'm using them as an excuse again to step back…
Look, I know I'm putting this badly but we both know we've reached an edge, OK, so it's dangerous, but at least the view is clear… God, even my metaphors are… what's the opposite of euphemistic? Look, I'd better go now. I can promise Rosie you'll ring early enough to speak to her, can I?' 'Cross my heart and hope to die,' said Pascoe.