The Ring of Death by Sally Spencer Page B

had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and his life had been turned upside down.
    At first, he’d spent more time with Mum because he wanted the two of them to share things, while she still could. Later, he’d spent time with her because he was frightened of leaving her alone.
    So Janet had broken up with him. It hadn’t been a bitter parting – full of screaming and recriminations. It was just that they had both seen the inevitability of the situation, and she had simply drifted away.
    She was married now, with three kids. He often caught sight of her in the centre of Whitebridge, but somehow – though he wanted to – he could never quite bring himself to stop and speak.
    There had been no more girls after Janet, and that had been his choice – for even if he’d found a girl willing to take on the challenge of his mother, he could never have inflicted Mavis Beresford on someone he cared about.
    Now, finally, his mother was in a nursing home.
    But where did that leave him?
    It left him, he accepted sadly, with the body of a man in his early thirties, but with the experience – at least, as far as dealing with women was concerned – of a spotty teenager.
    â€˜You look a bit down in the mouth,’ said a voice to his left.
    He turned, and saw the woman leaning against the bar. She was about his age, he guessed. Her hair was blonde, and if it was dyed, it had been well done. She had nice eyes, a smooth complexion, and a body that had all the right contours in all the right places.
    It would be wrong to call her a raving beauty, he thought, but she was not half bad.
    â€˜Would you like a drink?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yes, I would,’ the woman replied, as if the idea had never occurred to her until he mentioned it. ‘A gin and tonic would be nice.’
    He ordered her drink, then said, ‘My name’s Colin.’
    â€˜And I’m Yvonne,’ the woman told him. ‘So what’s your story, Colin? Divorced?’
    Beresford shook his head. ‘No, I’m single. I never quite seemed to get around to marrying.’
    Yvonne smiled at him. ‘Wise man.’
    â€˜You?’
    â€˜Divorced, with two kids,’ Yvonne said. ‘But don’t worry about them,’ she added hastily. ‘They’re staying with my mother tonight.’
    â€˜So what do I say next?’ Beresford asked himself, in a panic. ‘What the bloody hell do I say next?’
    â€˜How old are your kids?’ he found himself blurting out.
    Yvonne gave him a slightly strange look. ‘This is my one night out a week, love. I look forward to it, and when I am out, the last thing I want to talk about is my children.’
    Of course it was, Beresford thought. Even an idiot – even a complete moron – would know that.
    â€˜I’m . . . I’m not very good at talking to women,’ he admitted.
    Yvonne laughed. ‘Well, you’ve certainly made that obvious enough,’ she said. ‘But you shouldn’t worry about it.’
    â€˜Shouldn’t I?’
    â€˜No! Not at all! You make a nice change from the oily sods I usually end up chatting to.’
    â€˜Thanks,’ Beresford said, feeling as if he were drowning in his own inadequacy.
    â€˜Tell you what,’ Yvonne said softly, ‘why don’t we go back to my place for the next drink? It’s not as noisy or as crowded as this pub, and you might find it easier to talk there.’
    â€˜Thank you, but not tonight,’ Beresford heard himself say.
    â€˜You’re sure?’
    â€˜Yes, I . . . I’ve got an early start in the morning.’
    Yvonne shrugged. ‘In that case, I suppose I might as well go back to my mate.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Beresford agreed mournfully. ‘I suppose you might as well.’
    He watched her walk to the far end of the bar, her hips swinging in what was no doubt an attempt to reassure herself that