Free Sleight of Hand by Nick Alexander Page A

expression shifts to concern. “Sarah,” she repeats quietly.
    â€œShe’s at Susan’s. She’s fine. Do you want me to go get her? To bring her. Do you want to see her?”
    â€œNo,” she says.
    â€œRight.”
    I sit for a minute or so and wonder if she actually wants
me
here. It’s not at all clear. “Is Sarah OK at Susan’s? Are you happy with that?” I finally ask.
    â€œSusan’s,” Jenny says, visibly struggling to keep her eyes open. “Yes.”
    â€œI think I should just let you sleep,” I say. “I’ll come back this evening.”
    I lean in to kiss her forehead, and she says, “Tom.”
    At first I think she’s confused, and answer,
“Mark
. Yes?”
    Jenny swallows and says again, “Tom?”
    â€œYou want me to call Tom?”
    She blinks slowly, so I force a smile and nod slowly. “Of course,” I say.
    â€œThanks,” she says, her eyes already closing.
    I walk all the way back to town battling with myself to not feel peeved that she wants Tom rather than myself.
“Maybe Tom should come and sort everything out,”
I think, meanly. But as I walk, I manage to calm myself down. Jenny never had a lot of friends, and the fact that Tom was the only person our age at her mum’s funeral speaks reams.
    In town, I buy more crumpets and some strong cheddar, and then reluctantly head back to the close. I’m not really looking forward to speaking to Susan again, and I’m certainly in no hurry to call Tom.
    The entire walk ends up taking well over an hour but the exercise clears my head.
    Feeling sweaty but calmer, I head straight to the neighbour’s house.
    â€œHello,” she says in a reassuringly neutral tone of voice. “Have you been? Have you seen her?”
    I nod. “Yes. Is Sarah … ?” I glance behind her.
    â€œThey’re playing out back,” she says.
    â€œGood. She’s in a pretty bad way,” I tell her. “I just came from there. She can barely answer, ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”
    â€œAnd do they know what it is yet?”
    â€œNo. Maybe later. They’re doing some scans or something this afternoon. Is Sarah OK with you? For the moment?”
    â€œSure,” Susan says. “But will Jenny be back tonight? Because I can’t look after her tomorrow. We’re off to Sutton.”
    â€œSutton?”
    â€œYeah, my sister’s place. I tried to call the hospital, but they wouldn’t put me through.”
    â€œNo, well, as I say … she’s pretty ill.”
    â€œSo if she’s not back by tomorrow, well, we’ll have to think of something else.”
    â€œI’ll have to take her,” I say. “But that’s OK.”
    â€œShe seems to remember you at least,” Susan says, a shadow slipping across her features.
    â€œI’ve known Jenny for twenty years,” I tell her. “We even dated once,” I add, hoping that this hint of heterosexuality will reassure her.
    â€œRight,” Susan says in a tone of voice which indicates that my strategy probably hasn’t worked. “Well anyway, let’s just hope she’s out by then, eh?”
    â€œYes,” I agree. “Let’s hope for that. But otherwise, Sarah will be fine. Really.”
    Susan nods. “OK,” she says, grudgingly. “Fair enough.”
    As I open the front door to Jenny’s house, I think, with some relief, that I don’t have Tom’s number anymore. But that’s too selfish. I can, of course, use directory enquiries. Or I could, if I knew Tom’scurrent address, or even the number for directory enquiries.
    On the hall table, though, is Jenny’s Nokia. I should have taken it to her, of course. In the recent-call list, I find an entry entitled,
TOM - MOB
.
    I sink to the bottom stair, groan and hit the “call” button.
    Tom speaks before I can say a word,