‘Like fuck you didn’t. They’re here, anyway. Together. Which would be a comfort to them both. But it’s no fucking comfort to me, is it?’

‘I didn’t . . .’ Dora wailed.

‘Yeah. You did. Now come on. I got one more thing to show you today. Just one.’

And he started pulling her back toward the car. Whatever he was going to inflict on her next, Dora knew it wouldn’t be good.

‘I want to go back to the flat. I want to see Angel,’ she sobbed as he shoved her back into the passenger seat.

‘You can want all you like. First, we have to do this,’ he said, slamming the door closed behind her, shutting her inside.

67

He took her next to a big Victorian place, red-bricked and gabled, its eaves white-painted wood cut into an ornate style. As they went through the big arched doorway, Dora’s legs nearly gave way beneath her.

‘What is this place?’ she asked him, full of fear now. The air in here smelled stale, tainted with old cabbage and liniment and despair.

He didn’t answer. There was a bulky young woman dressed in a navy-blue nurse’s uniform seated behind a big reception desk, set back against the far wall under a curve of the big heavy oak staircase. She smiled a bright professional smile at them. Her bushy blonde hair was tucked up under a nurse’s cap, strands escaping over her shallow brow. Her eyes looked harassed, like these new visitors were one more tedious fucking thing in an already long and tedious day.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

Dora was looking around. Big fake flower arrangements. A swirly-patterned carpet, red and orange and green. Dim lighting.

‘Come to see James Maguire,’ said Donny.

Dora stared at Donny. James Maguire?

‘I’ll wait in the car,’ she said quickly, and turned and was nearly gone. But Donny grabbed her arm, smiling at her. His eyes were cold. His teeth were clenched, his jaw working. ‘No, honey, there’s no need for that. Dad would love to see you.’ He turned to the receptionist. ‘She gets nervous around things like this. Hospitals and such. You know.’

The receptionist looked blank; she didn’t care.

‘We’ll go on up,’ said Donny, and keeping his hand on Dora’s arm, he led her up the hectically carpeted stairs.

At the top he turned left, taking them along a corridor. More carpet, and the pattern looked like snakes, Dora realized with a surge of panic. Twining red and gold snakes on a green jungle background. This place felt like one of those nightmares where you are lost in a strange place and you wander around for hours, never finding your way out. It made her think of every bad dream she had ever had. She wanted to run, to get away. But Donny’s grip was steel. She couldn’t escape.

He stopped outside an open door. Further along the corridor, a cleaner was vacuuming the carpet, her trolley beside her, towels and adult nappies and sippy cups piled up upon it. An old man, his gait stumbling, was edging along beside the cleaner, tottering past her, his walking stick thumping out a slow tattoo ahead of him.