Final Cut(24)

‘You deserve someone nice.’

She’s waiting for a comment. ‘He’s all right,’ I say, feeling guilty as I do. It seems unfair to lie, to string her along, but I’m just trying to build a bridge. It’s what I do.

‘Good.’

‘Geraldine?’ I say gently. Again, that flash of lucidity, quickly extinguished.

‘Aye?’

‘Can I ask you something?’ I lower my voice. I need to find out whether the caravan parked in David’s garden has anything to do with her. ‘Something about Daisy?’

She blinks, but there’s no other reaction. I was worried it might upset her, that she might close down, but instead it’s as if she doesn’t even recall her daughter.

‘Do you remember the place you lived before you came here?’

She looks up.

‘Aye! Over in the bay. A caravan. Up near Malby. I cleaned there.’

I smile – I almost want to laugh – but then she says, ‘On’y they got rid of me. We had to move.’

The relief vanishes.

‘Move where? David’s?’

She says nothing. I take her hand. It’s cold, hollow-boned; there’s a crackle of static as we touch. I can almost feel the blood as it pulses through her veins. Down the corridor there are voices, laughter from the nursing station, but it seems a thousand miles away.

‘You’d moved the caravan to David’s by the time Daisy went?’

Geraldine hesitates. She seems confused, almost as if she’s forgotten her daughter is dead. But then another connection forms, another synapse fires. She smiles warmly.

‘How is he?’

‘Why did you live with him?’

‘He were our friend. How is he?’

‘Your friend? Or Daisy’s?’

She stares straight at me, as if the question is ridiculous.

‘Did you trust him?’

‘ ’Course I did.’

‘With Daisy? Didn’t you worry something might be going on?’

She gazes into the distance, towards the mirror bolted to the wall over the dresser. For a second I think I’ve lost her, but then our eyes meet and she smiles.

‘Nowt were going on. He were decent. He were decent to us both.’ Her eyes shine, determined. ‘You’d do well to remember that. It weren’t him that hurt them.’

‘Someone hurt Daisy?’

‘Aye.’

‘You said them. Who else?’

She doesn’t seem to hear me. There are footsteps in the corridor outside, as if somebody’s approaching, and I become aware of the camera on the dresser, recording us.

I lean in. ‘Someone hurt her, so she … killed herself?’

Her head bobs.

‘She’d never do that. She were too strong.’

She’s faded out.

‘There was a note? Do you have it?’

She doesn’t answer. I say it again, and this time she laughs bitterly. ‘A note …’

‘It wasn’t real?’

Her response is mumbled, incoherent, almost as if she’s talking to herself, arguing with voices in her head.

‘Geraldine?’

‘They reckon someone saw it, too.’ She laughs, as if it’s the most absurd thing.

‘Saw her jump?’ I say. ‘Who?’

‘But it’s all lies.’

‘Who? Where’s the note now?’

‘They took it. But it weren’t true,’ she mumbles sadly into her chest. ‘I knew it. I felt it.’

The room falls silent. Outside, a door opens, then closes. There are voices. Whoever’s approaching must’ve stopped en route. I want to stand up, to walk away, to never look back, yet I also want to stay with her. Or take her with me, look after her, try to give her back her daughter.

But how can I do that? I sit on the bed next to her chair. For a moment, it feels like a normal visit, like I’ve come here with flowers and her favourite cake, just here to hold her hand and gossip or take her for a trip out in the car.

But it’s not. How could it be?

Suddenly, she raises her head. ‘Poor Sadie …’

The word reverberates. The walls shake.

‘Sadie?’ I whisper. ‘What about her?’

Nothing. It’s like I’m not here, as if I haven’t spoken. She’s drifting in and out of lucidity, bobbing to the surface before being sucked under once more. She glances away, towards the floor. Her head falls but when she looks up her eyes dart like minnows.

‘Poor girl. All that to live for. They said she wrote a note an’ all. Did you know that?’

‘What?’

There was no note. I’d remember.

‘Her mum told me.’

‘Sadie’s mum?’ I say, trying not to sound as exasperated, as desperate, as I feel. She’s confused, misremembering. She must be. It makes me wonder whether there’s anything she’s said that I can believe. I’m about to give up, to turn round and switch off the camera, when something takes hold of me. I can’t. I have to find out, this one thing at least.

‘Where is she?’ I say. ‘What happened to Sadie’s mum? After she went?’

Nothing. I put my hand back on her arm and she looks down at it, resting there.