‘She said, now Da, it’s personal, difficult and sometimes it’s ugly, so if you read it don’t be sad or angry, just think about all the people who are going through the same thing, especially those who aren’t surrounded by people like you.’ He was crying. Derek handed him a tissue from a box he kept in the drawer of his desk.

‘She was a brilliant journalist because she engaged, she connected and she cared . . . deeply,’ Derek said, and he grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. ‘She’d be laughing if she could see us both now.’

Jack sniffed and wiped his eyes. ‘She’d say we were a pair of saps, but the truth is my Rabbit cried for others all the time.’ The men disposed of their used tissues and Jack reclaimed the pen. ‘She trusted me,’ he said, and he signed the contracts, four sets.

‘Molly will come round,’ Derek said.

‘Maybe, and maybe I’ve lost the will to care.’

Jack politely declined Derek’s offer of lunch, and he walked through Rabbit’s old office and out through the front doors into sunlight. It should have been a joyful day; it should have been a win. We did it, love, he said in his head as he looked up into the sky. We did it. He drove home, parked his car, walked to the local pub and for the first time in his life he got drunk alone.

Chapter Fifty-Six: Grace

Chapter Fifty-Six

Grace

GRACE COULDN’T RECALL MUCH of her first and second day after surgery, although that first shower remained imprinted. It was difficult to do anything with her arms planted by her sides; she couldn’t raise them, it was too painful and it was also not recommended, moving out of the bed, arms by her sides, stepping onto the hard ground, shuffling, with drains hanging from her tender, screaming breasts. That was hard – hell, really – she was so fragile, so raw, her body didn’t feel like her own, it felt like someone else’s. She’d been patched together and sewn up. When she eventually made it to the bathroom holding the nurse’s hand and crying softly to herself, she stepped behind the curtain. The drip and catheter were gone; the only things weighing her down were bottles of pus and blood hanging from her on long tubes sewn into the skin under her armpits. Ryan’s cotton Rabbit bags held them up. She didn’t want them to get wet so the nurse set about removing the bags. She couldn’t look at the contents of the bottles. She couldn’t touch them or hold them. They were too short to meet the floor and if she left them hanging they’d pull on her skin. The nurse brought a little stool into the area.

‘We’ll rest them on this, Grace,’ she said, and Grace averted her gaze.