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her throat as if cold bony fingers were closing
around it. She lifted up her handbag from the floor and foraged inside it for the passport-sized picture of Michael that she kept in her purse. When she found it, she handed it over the desk for
Matron to take from her.
    ‘This is her husband. He’s thirty-four.’
    Matron looked at the photograph, back at May and then back at the photo.
    ‘I’m sorry, but this isn’t Mrs Hammerton’s husband. She’s a widow in her nineties.’
    The grip squeezed tighter. May felt her head grow light with confusion as thoughts zapped madly around it, trying to work out what was going on.
    ‘This man comes here to visit her,’ said May. ‘Michael Hammerton.’
    ‘Ye-es, that’s him,’ said Matron. ‘But he . . .’ She answered slowly and carefully. ‘He’s a relative of Mrs Hammerton. Not her husband,
though.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    Matron handed back the photograph. She had an inkling of what might be happening in front of her eyes – she was a woman, after all. She leaned over the desk and said in a low voice,
‘I shouldn’t be saying this, but that man is Mrs Hammerton’s great-nephew Michael. He doesn’t visit that often. But when he does,’ she coughed, embarrassed, ‘I
believe he usually comes with someone. A blonde.’
    ‘A woman?’ asked May, the grip so tight now that she could barely get out her words. It was a ridiculous question. Of course it had to be a blonde woman.
    Matron nodded.
    ‘His own age? Thereabouts?’
    Again a nod.
    ‘Could it be his sister? He has a sister?’ May tried not to sound as hysterical as she felt.
    Matron shook her head this time. ‘I don’t think the woman is his sister.’
    May wanted to ask why. What were they doing to make you think it wasn’t his sister? What have you seen? Her imagination was going bonkers. Were they snogging, holding hands, bonking over
the reception desk?
    Matron’s face was creased sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I can help you.’
    May sniffed and wiped at the escaping tears with the edge of her index fingers. ‘No, don’t worry. It’s not your fault. Thank you.’
    ‘Would you like me to get you a cup of tea?’ asked Matron kindly, pushing over the box of tissues which she kept at her side of the desk.
    ‘I’ll just go,’ replied May. ‘Please don’t say I was here.’
    Matron pushed back her chair so that she could stand and show her out but, by the time she was on her feet, May was striding down the chequered hallway and running back to the Tube station.
    Questions began to stockpile in May’s head as she waited for the train but there was no one to give her any answers.
I don’t think the woman is his sister.
What did that
mean? Of course she knew what it meant; the tone of Matron’s voice implied an intimacy that brother and sister wouldn’t have. May wanted to double-back to The Pines and interrogate
Matron further, but she would come across as a deranged nutter. She felt a nutter as well. She felt as if she were standing in the middle of a world where all the safe walls around her and the
ground beneath her were crumbling and falling. It hurt.

Chapter 13
    At two o’clock Lara received a call from Clare. ‘Hellooooo there,’ came Clare’s trill down the phone. ‘Are you all packed, then,
missus?’
    ‘Not yet,’ replied Lara, snatching a look at the clock. She would have to make this a quick call because she had a meeting in ten minutes and needed to get a sandwich as she had
sugar-shakes. ‘But it won’t take me long. I’m only taking the three ball-gowns.’
    ‘No worries, you can always borrow one of mine if you run short,’ chuckled Clare. ‘I can’t believe we are actually going, can you? I can’t remember the last time I
had a holiday.’
    I can’t believe I left the booking so late and risked there being no rooms left, Lara didn’t say.
    ‘Are you still intent on driving, Lars?’
    ‘Yes, I’m fine