Free The Quarry by Iain Banks

But she did say you should never give up hope.’ I scoop the little squares of bread into the mug and stir with a teaspoon. Pris looks at the eggy mug like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t.
    ‘Is there nothing more they can do?’ she asks.
    ‘There is more they can do,’ I tell her. ‘But Guy doesn’t want it done. They could continue the radio and the chemo and maybe get him another month, but maybe not, and none of it’s very pleasant. The side effects are … distressing.’ I’m doing, I reckon, really well here, using euphemisms and semi-technical terms and everything. Guy would be a lot more blunt. ‘They seem to have his pain relief sorted now,’ I tell her. ‘That’s been a good change.’ There is a plastic tomato sauce bottle half afloat in a basin of warm water in the sink. I add a generous squirt of the sauce to the mug of egg and bread, wipe off the sauce bottle and return it to the cupboard.
    Warming the sauce – as well as the mug – is my innovation, to ensure the mixture is at the right temperature when it gets to Guy. There used to be complaints.
    Pris is silent, staring at her mug of tea, so I add, ‘When Guy asked the oncologist whether she’d continue with the treatment if it was her, she said she was supposed to dodge the question and say, well, it had to be his decision, but the honest answer was just no, she wouldn’t.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Pris says quietly. ‘Medics. Most medics are okay … Do you think we’ll find this tape?’ She looks up at me.
    I have to think about this. ‘Probably?’ I suggest.
    Pris looks down at the table again. ‘Wouldn’t be good if that came out. The others would … Well, they’re not in the sort of job I am. You know, caring. For vulnerable people.’ She makes a noise like a laugh. ‘Leaves me vulnerable, too.’
    ‘I’m sure we’ll find it,’ I tell her.
    There is a pack of playing cards on the table. Guy likes to play a game called Patience sometimes. Pris lifts the pack up, turning it over in one hand. ‘Funny,’ she says. ‘It’s mornings when I miss smoking. First one of the day, with a cuppa.’ She looks up at me with a small smile. ‘Most people, it’s the evening, after a drink or two.’
    I do a last stir of the egg mug with the teaspoon, take a glass of chilled milk from the fridge and a fresh teaspoon from the drying rack, put everything on a small tray and head for the doorway. I stop there and look back; first at the window, then at Pris. She looks quite small, all of a sudden.
    ‘Don’t forget a brolly,’ I tell her.
    ‘You still on the radio?’ Paul asks Holly as I put his toast in front of him. ‘Haven’t heard you for a while. Oh, ta. You got any napkins, Kit?’
    I nod to show I’ve heard and tear him off a square of kitchen towel. He looks at it, sighs, and places it delicately on the lap of his dressing gown, which is deep blue and slightly shiny and might be silk.
    ‘Yup,’ Hol says, not looking up from the open magazine on the kitchen table in front of her. She is wearing green PJs I’ve seen her in before. They remind me of hospital scrubs. ‘Still on the radio.’
    ‘A face for radio, eh?’ Haze says, looking round at the others, then adds, ‘Just kidding, like, Hol,’ though she is already speaking.
    ‘Uh-huh,’ she says. ‘And a voice for mime.’ She looks up. ‘Anybody else?’
    ‘What are you on?’ Alison asks her.
    Hol looks at her.
    ‘What radio station?’ Alison says, smiling.
    ‘Greater London Local,’ she says. ‘Horizons strictly fixed within the M25.’
    ‘I really should listen,’ Alison says. She and Rob are dressed in matching white PJs and cotton gowns. Alison’s blonde hair looks perfect; Rob’s shaven head gleams even more than usual.
    ‘I still listen to you, Hol,’ Rob says, putting his fork down. He had the last of the out-of-date eggs, scrambled.
    ‘ Do you?’ Alison says, turning to him and sounding terribly surprised. He doesn’t look at her,