For a moment, he watched the lights on the relief road. One after another, they flickered and died on the parapet of the footbridge, though the vehicles themselves weren’t visible behind the fencing. The hum of traffic reminded him of the garden of remembrance at the crematorium. He shivered, and went back to the ward and let the others take a break.

Ben Cooper held his mother’s hand for a long time, until he finally fell asleep in the chair by her bed. He must have dozed for only a short while. Yet he woke feeling as if a long time had passed and the world had changed while he slept. He’d been dreaming about being lost in great, echoing caves where water ran all around him. But the dream slipped rapidly away as he opened his eyes and remembered where he was.

He was still holding his mother’s hand, but her fingers felt limp and cold.

‘Mum?’

Her eyes were closed – as if she, too, were asleep. He wondered what she’d be dreaming about. Ben put his palm against her forehead. It was smooth – smoother than her skin had been for years. And much cooler, too.

He looked at the unnatural whiteness of her still face, and at first he thought that she must have been replaced with a marble statue of herself while he slept. A beautiful statue, finely sculpted, but lacking the vital spark of life.

‘Mum?’

But he’d seen it often enough to know the truth. His mother’s stillness was beyond sleep, beyond the slightest trace of breathing.

Ben laid his mother’s hand gently on the cover, making sure it was in a comfortable position. Then he patted it twice and looked up at the window. He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to feel at this moment. He’d expected to go through all kinds of emotions, but none of them seemed to come. There was only a spreading numbness, a sort of emptiness waiting for something to fill it.

Finally, he got up from the bed and opened the door. He turned once and took a last look at his mother. She seemed peaceful, for which he was grateful. And her bed had recently been made, so that she looked neat and tidy, clean and comfortable. That seemed to be important, too.

Slowly, Ben walked the few yards down the corridor to the nurses’ station. A young nurse in a blue uniform looked up at him, and smiled.

‘Yes, sir? Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘It’s my mother,’ he said. ‘I think she’s dead.’

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven