A male voice – the doctor – asked kindly, ‘Are you sure you are ready now, Mr and Mrs Grace?’

A disembodied voice that sounded like it might have been his, said, ‘I guess.’

He looked again at Bruno.

And for the very first time since he had seen his son, over in Munich, Bruno actually looked at peace.

‘We’ll leave you for a few more minutes,’ the doctor said.

A swish of curtains.

Now it was just him and Cleo again. He took Bruno’s tiny hand and entwined his fingers in his. ‘Oh God, why did this have to happen to you?’

Was it his imagination, Grace wondered, but had he felt the tiniest pressure back?

He pressed his face against Bruno’s and sobbed and sobbed.

66

Wednesday 4 September

It was shortly after 4 p.m. when Roy Grace drove the Alfa up the bumpy cart track. Approaching the property, he had a sinking feeling when he saw two members of the local press who were obviously waiting to doorstep him for a comment. He drove past them, ignoring them, and pulled up outside their cottage behind Cleo’s Audi TT. He and Cleo had barely spoken a word during the twenty-five-minute drive. Despite the knowledge that Noah and Kaitlynn were inside, their home looked empty to him.

A void.

He stared bleakly out through the windscreen at the bright afternoon and the sheep-like clouds spread across the soft round hill above them. Sights that Bruno would never see again.

As he switched off the engine, Cleo put an arm around his neck and pulled him to her. ‘We must take one positive from all of this, my love,’ she said.

He gave her a baleful look. ‘Yes?’

‘Remember what Bruno told his headmaster?’

‘That he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be a chemist or a dictator?’

‘Yes. Now, maybe, with the organs he donates, he has the chance to be both.’

For the first time in what felt like a long while, Grace cheered a fraction. ‘Yes, at least that’s something.’

‘I loved him as much as if he had been our child, you do know that, don’t you?’

‘I do. You were amazing with him.’

His job phone rang. Glancing at it, he could see it was Glenn Branson calling.

‘Take it,’ she urged.

He shook his head. ‘I need a seriously stiff brandy before I do anything.’

She patted her swollen belly. ‘Me too – I wish. It’s strange, isn’t it – as one life ends, another is just beginning.’

67

Wednesday 4 September

Roy Grace never normally felt like a drink before 6 p.m., but today was different. He never normally saw his son dying. He never normally sanctioned the donation of his child’s organs. For the first time in his life he found himself struggling to resist opening the bottle.

He returned Glenn Branson’s call, forty minutes later.

‘How did it all go, boss?’

‘Some other time. What’s your news?’

‘Well – significant. The prison officer has now backtracked on her original opinion.’