Blackbirds by Garry Ryan Page A

I’ve heard that thanks to you, she is recovering.” Walter stood and put the folder in his briefcase. “You’re putting yourself in harm’s way. My sons are doing the same. All while Marmaduke Lacey sits warm and safe in a country home and has the temerity to think that I would quietly allow you to sign away your inheritance. He really doesn’t know me very well at all. I was a friend of your mother’s.”
    Sharon stood.
    Walter offered his hand, and she shook it.
    He said, “If you require any legal advice, I would be proud to represent you.” He handed her his business card and left.

CHAPTER 12

    â€œThe next set of skin grafts is tomorrow.” Linda sat propped up in her bed. Her red hair had grown and she had it tied at the back. She’d taken the time to apply lipstick. She glanced at the ceiling.
    Sharon thought, What do I say to her? “How many grafts will it take?”
    â€œI don’t know. This could go on for months. Years, perhaps.” She took a long breath. “The nurse said I could go outside. I have to keep my legs covered. What do you think? Do you want to wheel me around East Grinstead for an hour or two?”
    Five minutes later, after the nurse helped them find a wheelchair, Sharon was pushing Linda down the hall.
    â€œOi! You cheeky bastard!”
    Sharon looked left through a doorway. She caught a glimpse of two young men sitting across from one another. One held cards fanned by a hand with stumps rather than fingers. A column of flesh joined his nose to his shoulder. The other had a nose, no ears, and a relief-map face of scar tissue.
    She continued down the hall.
    â€œLeft,” Linda said.
    They passed a keg propped on a table in the corner.
    â€œIs that beer?” Sharon asked.
    â€œThat’s right. The rules around here are simple. You can do what you like, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else. That way!” Linda pointed.
    Sharon backed out through the doorway and into the sunlight.
    Linda closed her eyes. “That feels wonderful.”
    â€œWhere are we going?”
    Linda pointed to the left. “The Guinea Pig Pub, of course.”
    The pub was on a corner in amongst rows of houses and businesses.
    Sharon stopped in front of a narrow doorway. “How will I get you through there?”
    â€œWait a minute.”
    â€œFor what?”
    There was a tapping from inside the window.
    The door opened.
    One man was in RAF blue. He had neither eyebrows nor ears and was in the process of having his face rebuilt. The other wore an apron and had arms the size of hams. He leaned over. Linda wrapped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her. “Park the chair against the wall,” he said to Sharon.
    Sharon did as she was told. The scarred man held the door open to allow her to follow them into the pub. Her eyes smarted at the smoke.
    Linda was sitting at a table with a group of young men dressed in a variety of styles, including white hospital gowns and an unofficial mismatch of blue RAF uniforms.
    â€œWhat’s your poison?” asked the barman with the massive arms. “Call me Robert.”
    â€œShe’ll have what I’m having.” Linda raised a pint and winked at Sharon. “Come on, there’s a spot right here.” She pulled out the empty chair next to her.
    Linda went around the table. “Willy, Ginger, Pat, and Richard.” Each of the men nodded or smiled as he was introduced.
    Willy wore a patch over his eye. He was the only one of them who had a full head of hair. It hung to the right, leaving a bald patch over his left ear. He pointed at his eyepatch. “Lost my glass one. If you find it, please hand it over.”
    â€œOf course.” The wig looks ridiculous , yet no one seems to notice , Sharon thought.
    Robert put a pint in front of her. “One of Linda’s ATA friends, are you?”
    â€œThat’s right.” Sharon nodded.
    â€œWe hear