‘Is he here? Is it Ed?’ The woman’s hair was gunmetal grey, pinned up in a neat twist. ‘Oh, Ed! It is you. Oh, darling. How lovely. But what have you done to yourself?’
He hugged her, then pulled back, ducking his face when she tried to touch his nose, and giving Jess the swiftest sideways look. ‘I … I walked into a door.’
She pulled him close again, patting his back. ‘Oh, it is so good to see you.’
He let her hold him for a few minutes, then gently disentangled himself. ‘Mum, this is Jess.’
‘I’m … Ed’s friend.’
‘Well, how lovely to meet you. I’m Anne.’ Her gaze travelled briefly over Jess’s face, taking in her bruised nose, the faint swelling on her lip. She hesitated just a moment, then perhaps decided not to ask. ‘I’m afraid I can’t say Ed’s told me an awful lot about you but he never does tell me an awful lot about anything, so I’m very much looking forward to hearing it from you.’ She put her hand on Ed’s arm and her smile wavered a little. ‘We did have a rather nice lunch planned but …’
Gemma took a step closer to her mother and began rummaging around in her handbag. ‘But Dad was taken ill again.’
‘He was so looking forward to this lunch. We had to put Simon and Deirdre off. They were just setting out from the Peak District.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jess said.
‘Yes. Well. Nothing to be done.’ She seemed to pull herself together. ‘You know, it really is the most revolting disease. I have to work quite hard not to take it all personally.’ She leant into Jess with a rueful smile. ‘Sometimes I go into our bedroom and I call it the most dreadful names. Bob would be horrified.’
Jess smiled at her. ‘I’ll give it a few from me, if you like.’
‘Oh, please do! That would be wonderful. The filthier the better. And loud. It has to be loud.’
‘Jess can do loud,’ Ed said, dabbing at his lip.
There was a short silence.
‘I bought a whole salmon,’ Anne said, to nobody in particular.
Jess could feel Gemma studying her. Unconsciously she pulled at her T-shirt, not wanting her tattoo to show above her jeans. The very words ‘social worker’ always made her feel scrutinized, as if the woman had already worked out where Jess came from and was assessing her.
And then Anne had moved past and was holding out her arms. The hungry way she pulled Ed to her again made Jess wince a little. ‘Oh, darling. Darling boy. I know I’m being a terrible clingy mum but do indulge me. It really is so lovely to see you.’ He hugged her back, his eyes raising to Jess’s briefly, guiltily.
‘My mother last hugged me in 1997,’ murmured Gemma. Jess wasn’t sure she was aware that she had said it out loud.
‘I’m not sure mine ever did,’ Jess said.
Gemma looked at her as if she’d forgotten she was there. ‘Um … about the whole whacking-my-brother thing. He’s probably told you what I do for a living. I just feel obliged to stress that I don’t usually hit people.’
‘I don’t think brothers count.’
There was a sudden flicker of warmth behind Gemma’s eyes. ‘That’s a very sensible rule.’
‘No problem,’ Jess said. ‘Anyway, I’ve wanted to do it quite often myself over the past few days.’
Bob Nicholls lay in a hospital bed, a blanket up to his chin and his hands resting gently on its surface. It was clear from the pallor of his skin and the way the bones of his skull were almost visible that he was not a well man. His breathing was laboured and his head swivelled slowly towards the door as they entered. An oxygen mask sat on a bedside table, and two faint indents on his cheek told of its recent use. He was painful to look at.
‘Hey, Dad.’
Jess watched Ed struggle to hide his shock. He stooped towards him and hesitated, before touching his father lightly on the shoulder.
‘Edward.’ His voice was a croak, but there was still something weighty within it.
‘Doesn’t he look well, Bob?’ said his mother.
His father studied him from under shadowed lids. When he spoke, it was slowly, and with deliberation, as if he had an allotted number of words to use.
‘No. He looks like someone beat the living daylights out of him.’
Jess could see the new colour on Ed’s cheekbone where his sister had hit him. She found herself reaching unconsciously towards her injured lip.
‘Where’s he been, anyway?’
‘Dad, this is Jess.’
His father’s eyes slid towards her. His eyebrow lifted a quarter of an inch. ‘And what the hell happened to your face?’ he whispered to her.
‘I had an argument with a car. My fault.’
‘Is that what happened to him?’
She didn’t blink. ‘Yes.’
He regarded her for a moment longer. ‘You look like trouble,’ he said. ‘Are you trouble?’
Gemma leant forwards. ‘Dad! Jess is Ed’s friend.’
He dismissed her. ‘If there’s one small advantage to having very little time left then surely it’s that I can say whatever I like. She doesn’t look offended. Are you offended? I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name. I don’t seem to have any brain cells any more.’
‘Jess. No. I’m not offended.’
He kept staring.
‘And, yes, I probably am trouble,’ she said, holding his gaze.