‘Go on…’ responded Dale.

She recounted what Wendy had told her about Adrian’s scuzzy friend, Marcus.

Dale raised his eyebrows. ‘Sounds promising. Did you catch a surname or anything?’

Bailey shook her head. ‘All I know is that the Molloys are going all out to find him, or rather Nancy is.’

‘I can’t imagine it’ll be easy for us to locate him,’ said Dale. ‘He’ll be lying very low indeed if he’s trying to keep out of the clutches of the Molloys.’

‘Either that or he’s dead,’ said Frank.

27

Lying asleep in the bed at the hospice, Dennis Morgan looked markedly more gaunt and wizened since the last time Bailey had seen him. The cancer ravaging his insides was now starting to show its toll.

He’d been moved to the hospice two days previously. The referral had taken just over a fortnight to come through. The hospice was located in Sydenham in South London, close to where her parents lived in Bromley, and just like he’d told her, it seemed like a really pleasant place despite the function it served, being basically a hospital that you went into and never left.

He was in his own personal room, hooked up to his drugs, and he had his own TV, attached to the wall, although at the moment it was switched off because he was asleep. Outside, through the window, Bailey could see the green and tranquil setting of the hospice garden. A few people were out there, sitting on the benches or wandering among the artful sculptures dotted here and there.

Bailey’s mother was sitting on the other side of the bed. The cancer had taken its toll on her too – she looked drained and weary. Bailey tried to think what life would be like with just her and her mother. It saddened her greatly to see their little family unit crumbling like this right in front of her.

‘How are you coping, Mum?’ she asked gently.

‘My church group are being very helpful,’ said her mother. ‘Very supportive.’

Janet Morgan clutched her King James Bible as she spoke. She’d been reading from it when Bailey had come in.

‘I’ve been praying for him,’ said her mother. ‘As has everyone else in my church. We’ve all been praying for him. If anything, he’ll be going to a better place soon.’

Bailey sighed within. As far as she was concerned, her father would die and that would be that. He would live on only in her memories. It was a rather existential view to hold, but she couldn’t see it any other way.

With a pang of guilt, she recalled the picture of Mister Snigiss; it was still in her purse, untouched since he’d given it to her. At least now, while he was asleep, there would be no awkward conversations about that.

After a while, she and her mother stood up and went for a coffee in the hospice café, leaving her father lying there with his eyes closed, almost looking like he was in peace.