own. But after having a fall a few months ago and spending the night on the living room floor, she prefers to sleep in the chair with a blanket. Not that the health visitor approves.'
Eric could picture it only too clearly. The loss of motivation. Personal hygiene slipping. Small accidents in the night and a faint smell permeating the flat.
Suddenly, the woman's shoulders sagged and the breath left her with a sad sigh. He kept his eyes on the woman as she glanced behind him to check no other customer was in earshot. Obviously needing to confide in someone, she said, 'To tell you the truth, it's really getting to me. Last week she announced that she'd had enough, said that ... you know ... that ...' she glanced around once more and whispered, ' ... that she wanted to die.' Her eyes filled with tears. 'I mean, if she were a pet dog no vet would agree to keep her going. I sometimes think that, if she was up to it, I'd fly her over to that place in Switzerland, the one where you can just drink that barbiturate stuff and go to sleep ... forever.'
With a jerky movement she wiped the tears from her eyes, 'I'm sorry. I should never have unburdened myself on you like that. It's just that I haven't got anyone to talk to.' She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at him in embarrassment.
‘Not at all,' said Eric. 'Are there no other family members who could help? Don't you have a brother?'
'Andrew? He immigrated to New Zealand a few years ago. Edith's never really been able to take it in. She still points to his photos and asks when he'll visit. She was so proud when he graduated. I haven't the heart to tell her he lives on the other side of the world.'
‘I can see why,' murmured Eric. 'Have you tried Saint Cuthbert's? They always seem very accommodating, especially if she is having trouble moving about.'
‘Haven't you heard? The council are closing it down. Can't afford to run it.'
Eric hadn't heard, but it hardly surprised him.
'Anyway, don't let me keep you,' she continued. 'I'm sure you're busy enough as it is.' She pressed a button on the till, 'Thirty pounds, eleven please.'
Eric handed her the cash and, as he placed the last item in his bag, said, 'Well, I hope she finds somewhere soon. And pass on my regards when you see her.'
'Thanks, I will. In fact I'm popping round in a couple of hours once I'm finished here,' she replied, waiting for the till to finish spitting out his receipt. She handed the bit of paper over and he said goodbye, heading for the basement car park.
But instead of going home, Eric drove to a more run-down part of the city. He parked on the main road outside a row of fast-food takeaway places, got out and locked the vehicle. Shoes silently connecting with the pavement, he then glided down a side street choked with parked cars. The front doors of the terraced houses opened directly on to the pavement, no room for a front garden or even railings. As he strode quietly along he concentrated on the sounds seeping through the houses' front windows. A football match was obviously on; he could follow the muffled commentary from one front room to the next. In the windows with thinner curtains the flickering glow shone through clearly.
The end of the road opened on to a T-junction, terraces stretching away on both sides. A section of houses had been bulldozed opposite and the gap filled with a small complex of little bungalows. Now, after years of neglect, the properties had grown shabby - paint peeled from wooden window frames, the mortar between bricks crumbled. The sign on the grass verge read, 'Pilkington Court'.
The professor strode straight across the grass, and followed the right hand path between the first few buildings. Quickly he homed in on the corner house, slowing down as he neared it. Seeing no one approaching, he veered off sharply down the narrow alley at its side. Despite the high wooden fencing separating the alley from the street, he kept his head low. At the corner he paused,
Eric could picture it only too clearly. The loss of motivation. Personal hygiene slipping. Small accidents in the night and a faint smell permeating the flat.
Suddenly, the woman's shoulders sagged and the breath left her with a sad sigh. He kept his eyes on the woman as she glanced behind him to check no other customer was in earshot. Obviously needing to confide in someone, she said, 'To tell you the truth, it's really getting to me. Last week she announced that she'd had enough, said that ... you know ... that ...' she glanced around once more and whispered, ' ... that she wanted to die.' Her eyes filled with tears. 'I mean, if she were a pet dog no vet would agree to keep her going. I sometimes think that, if she was up to it, I'd fly her over to that place in Switzerland, the one where you can just drink that barbiturate stuff and go to sleep ... forever.'
With a jerky movement she wiped the tears from her eyes, 'I'm sorry. I should never have unburdened myself on you like that. It's just that I haven't got anyone to talk to.' She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at him in embarrassment.
‘Not at all,' said Eric. 'Are there no other family members who could help? Don't you have a brother?'
'Andrew? He immigrated to New Zealand a few years ago. Edith's never really been able to take it in. She still points to his photos and asks when he'll visit. She was so proud when he graduated. I haven't the heart to tell her he lives on the other side of the world.'
‘I can see why,' murmured Eric. 'Have you tried Saint Cuthbert's? They always seem very accommodating, especially if she is having trouble moving about.'
‘Haven't you heard? The council are closing it down. Can't afford to run it.'
Eric hadn't heard, but it hardly surprised him.
'Anyway, don't let me keep you,' she continued. 'I'm sure you're busy enough as it is.' She pressed a button on the till, 'Thirty pounds, eleven please.'
Eric handed her the cash and, as he placed the last item in his bag, said, 'Well, I hope she finds somewhere soon. And pass on my regards when you see her.'
'Thanks, I will. In fact I'm popping round in a couple of hours once I'm finished here,' she replied, waiting for the till to finish spitting out his receipt. She handed the bit of paper over and he said goodbye, heading for the basement car park.
But instead of going home, Eric drove to a more run-down part of the city. He parked on the main road outside a row of fast-food takeaway places, got out and locked the vehicle. Shoes silently connecting with the pavement, he then glided down a side street choked with parked cars. The front doors of the terraced houses opened directly on to the pavement, no room for a front garden or even railings. As he strode quietly along he concentrated on the sounds seeping through the houses' front windows. A football match was obviously on; he could follow the muffled commentary from one front room to the next. In the windows with thinner curtains the flickering glow shone through clearly.
The end of the road opened on to a T-junction, terraces stretching away on both sides. A section of houses had been bulldozed opposite and the gap filled with a small complex of little bungalows. Now, after years of neglect, the properties had grown shabby - paint peeled from wooden window frames, the mortar between bricks crumbled. The sign on the grass verge read, 'Pilkington Court'.
The professor strode straight across the grass, and followed the right hand path between the first few buildings. Quickly he homed in on the corner house, slowing down as he neared it. Seeing no one approaching, he veered off sharply down the narrow alley at its side. Despite the high wooden fencing separating the alley from the street, he kept his head low. At the corner he paused,
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