CLOSE MY EYES
There’s a pause while I register what he’s said. It’s true, of course – I only work at the college eight hours a week – but it’s blunt, even for Art, who never sugar-coats anything. He obviously realizes this and softens his voice. ‘The point is, everyone loves you. It’s got to be a business thing.’ I’m nodding on the other end of the phone, desperately wanting to believe him. And yet Lucy O’Donnell’s anxious face is still in my mind’s eye. ‘It’s just . . . she seemed so sincere, like . . . even if the whole thing was made up, she genuinely thinks it’s true.’ ‘That’s stupid.’ Art’s voice has the force of a hurricane. ‘Don’t start imagining things. I was there too, remember? Beth died inside you.’ I flinch. ‘How could anyone think she’s alive?’ Art persists. ‘There was a whole team of people in the operating theatre who said she was dead.’ ‘Lucy O’Donnell said Dr Rodriguez got most of them out of the room before the baby was born; that he gave them food poisoning or something so they wouldn’t be there when—’ ‘Can you hear how far-fetched all this sounds?’ Art demands. ‘What about the scan that showed she was dead? No movement, no heartbeat. What about the tests on her they did later?’ ‘You can manipulate images and turn off sounds and substitute bodies,’ I say stubbornly. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ Art says. ‘The doctor took her out of you. He saw her.’ ‘I didn’t see her,’ I say, remembering how Beth had been born so disfigured that the doctor had advised against it when I came round after the anaesthetic. The phone feels hot against my ear. ‘No.’ Art hesitates. ‘But I did.’ 39
9781471111730 Close My Eyes (335h) updates.indd 39
15/01/2013 10:35:40