The Make. Jessie Keane

keen.’

      ‘She must be, she’s calling herself his fiancée.’

      Suze’s eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘Is she? Well, that’s a turn-up. Fiancée? Well, then she must be. You’d have thought he would have told me though. But then – you know what George is like.’ Suze’s mouth twisted in bitterness. ‘But no, you don’t, do you? You didn’t bother to keep in touch.’

      Gracie stared across at Suze. ‘Excuse me, but it was you who didn’t keep in touch. I wrote to you. A lot, as I remember. That first year after you and Dad split.’

      ‘No you didn’t.’

      ‘I did.’

      ‘Well I never got a bloody thing.’

      ‘Oh come on.’ Gracie sighed. Her mother had always been a fantasist, embellishing dull reality with drama and excitement. They were so unalike, it was as if she’d been dropped to earth from another planet.

      ‘I didn’t.’ Suze was glaring a challenge at Gracie now. ‘You never cared about me after you and your dad left. You never gave a shit.’

      ‘I did. I still do. Or else why would I be here?’

      ‘Pass,’ sniffed Suze.

      ‘And while we’re on the subject of not caring, what about when Dad died? What about his funeral? You didn’t come to that. Neither did George or Harry.’

      ‘Look, I’m not a hypocrite. I couldn’t stand there lamenting the loss of your dad while I still hated him. And, as for Harry and George, I thought it would upset them.’ Suddenly Suze’s eyes were shifty. ‘So I didn’t tell them.’

      ‘You didn’t . . .’ Gracie’s jaw hit the floor. Her voice raised a notch. ‘You didn’t tell them their father had died?’

      ‘Can you keep it down?’ said the nurse, hurrying past. ‘They can hear you, you know. Every word, sometimes. So no arguing.’

      ‘Sorry,’ said Gracie.

      She looked at George. Shot a glare at Suze and hissed: ‘So you’re telling me this poor sod’s lying here at death’s door, and he don’t even know his father’s gone?’

      ‘I couldn’t tell them,’ said Suze, lowering her voice. Her eyes were desperate. ‘They blamed me when he went and took you with him. If I’d told them he’d died . . .’

      ‘It all comes back to you, don’t it?’ said Gracie, shaking her head. ‘Everything’s about you. As usual.’

      Suze made an agitated move with her shoulders. ‘Look, can we skip this now?’

      ‘Yeah. For now.’

      ‘You don’t know how hard it’s been,’ whined Suze.

      ‘Spare me.’

      ‘Christ, Gracie Doyle. Cold as fucking ice, that’s you. You haven’t changed a bit. You’re just like your dad; all you know is bets and odds and tells. Real life don’t matter.’

      That stung.

      Gracie drew breath to answer, to snap back a scathing retort, but at that moment one of George’s steadily beeping monitors started emitting a high-pitched whine instead. The nurse was there instantly, pressing a button.