Collusion

45

Lennon recognised Bernie McKenna, Marie’s aunt, hovering over the bed, fussing about the motionless form, adjusting pillows and straightening sheets. Bernie stiffened as Marie approached, but did not look up. Ellen clung to her mother’s fingers, her doll dangling from the other hand.

‘So you’re back, then,’ Bernie said, her stare fixed on the bed.

Marie faced her across the bed. ‘How is he?’

‘How does he look?’ Bernie smoothed the sheets and spared Marie a glance. ‘Poor cratur doesn’t know where he is. You’d have been better going to see your mother. It’d do her more good than him.’

Bernie looked up from the grey sliver of a man once more and saw Lennon. Her eyes narrowed as she searched her memory for his face; her jaw hardened when she found it.

‘Jesus, you brought him here?’

‘He gave us a lift.’

‘I don’t care what he gave you. You shouldn’t have brought him here. Has he not caused you enough trouble?’

‘I’ll take a walk,’ Lennon said. When Marie looked to him, he said, ‘I won’t go far.’

He backed away from the bed and looked around the bay. Old men gazed back, their eyes vacant, IV lines and oxygen masks hanging from them. Lennon shivered and went to the corridor. He leaned his back against the wall, keeping the women and the little girl in his vision.

They would be safe here, he was sure of that.