The Moon Tunnel

43

The lounge of Cedarwood Retirement Home was decorated in baby blue, clashing horribly with the floral upholstery on the dozen upright armchairs. Vee Hilgay was by the window, some papers on her lap, her hand holding back the net curtain so that she could see out into the gardens. Beside her on a plastic tray lay her evening meal, untouched, the gravy congealing over pre-sliced pork. Her trademark Tony Benn mug was on the floor beside her.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ said Dryden.

Vee turned. ‘There you are. Russ said you’d come,’ she said, brushing a hand across the milky, moonlike eye.

Then she saw the package. Dryden had had it reframed that afternoon in simple pine. She ripped off the brown paper, letting it fall to the floor, then she stood, setting the picture up in the high-backed chair.

‘The experts say it’s worth a million,’ said Dryden, laughing.

She didn’t take her eyes off it. ‘It’s worth much more than that,’ she said.

The bell rang for bedtime, but she ignored it.

‘Champagne,’ she said, walking towards the door. ‘Where can we drink champagne?’