Dead Tomorrow

fresh drinks and sat down, noting that Branson had drained his first pint in his absence.
    ‘So you don’t believe these mediums?’ Branson asked. ‘Even though you’ve always had a belief in the paranormal?’
    ‘I don’t know what to believe. It’ll be ten years next year that she’s been gone. That’s long enough. She’s either physically dead or at least dead to me. If she is alive and hasn’t made contact in nine years, she’s not going to.’ He fell silent for a moment. ‘I don’t want to lose Cleo, Glenn.’
    ‘She’s well fit. Great lady. I’m with you on that.’
    ‘If I don’t let goof Sandy, I will lose Cleo. I’m not going to let that happen.’
    Glenn touched his friend’s face gently with his balled fist. ‘Good man, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you talk like this.’
    Grace nodded. ‘It’s the first time I’ve felt like this. I’ve given instructions to my solicitor to start the process to have Sandy declared legally dead.’
    Staring at him intently, Glenn said, ‘You know, mate, it’s not just the legal process, it’s the mental one that’s the most important, yeah?’
    ‘What do you mean by that?’
    He tapped the side of his head. ‘It’s believing it–in here.’
    ‘I do,’ Roy Grace said, then smiled wryly. ‘Trust me, I’m a copper.’

81
    Dr Ross Hunter sat on the edge ofCaitlin’s bed, while Lynn was downstairs, fussing up a cup of tea for him.
    The chaotic room was stuffy and airless, and thick with the rancid smell of Caitlin’s perspiration. He could feel the clammy heat coming off her as he stared through his half-moon tortoiseshell glasses at her deeply jaundiced face and the heavy dark rings around her eyes. Her hair was matted. She lay under the bedclothes, propped up against the pillows, wearing a pink dressing gown over her nightdress, with her headphones hanging around her neck, and the small white iPod lying on top of her duvet, alongside a paperback about Jordan’s life and several fluffy bears.
    ‘How are you feeling, Caitlin?’ he asked.
    ‘I’ve been sent glitter,’ she mumbled, her voice barely audible.
    ‘Glitter?’ He frowned.
    ‘Someone sent me glitter, on Facebook,’ she mumbled, only semi-coherently.
    ‘What exactly do you mean by glitter ?’
    ‘It’s like, you know, a Facebook thing. My friend Gemma sent it. And I’ve been poked by Mitzi.’
    ‘OK.’ He looked bemused.
    ‘I got sent wheels by Mitch Symons–you know–so I can get around more easily.’
    The doctor peered around the room, looking for wheels. He stared at the dartboard on the wall, with a purple boa hanging from it. At a saxophone case propped up against a wall. Then at a tiny toy horse on wheels, standing amid the shoes scattered all over the carpet.
    ‘Thosewheels?’ he said.
    She shook her head. ‘No,’ she mumbled, and windmilled her right hand, as if trying to tease a thought out from inside her head. ‘It’s a sort of Facebook thing. To get around. They’re sort of virtual.’
    Her eyes closed, as if she was exhausted from the effort of speaking.
    He bent down and opened his medical bag. At that moment Lynn came back in with the tea and a digestive biscuit lying in the saucer.
    He thanked her, then turned his attention to Caitlin.
    ‘I just want to take your temperature and blood pressure, is that OK?’
    Still with her eyes shut she nodded, then whispered, ‘Whatever.’
    Ten minutes later he walked back downstairs, followed by Lynn. They went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. She knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth, just from the worried set of his face.
    ‘Lynn, I’m very worried about her. She’s extremely ill.’
    Feeling her eyes watering, Lynn was tempted, desperately tempted, to open up and confide in him about what she was doing. But she could not predict how he would react. She knew he was a man of the deepest integrity and that, whether or not he believed in the course she was taking, he could never condone it. So she just nodded, silently and bleakly.
    ‘Yes,’ she gulped, her heart heaving. ‘I know.’
    ‘She needs tobe back in hospital. Shall I phone for an ambulance?’
    ‘Ross,’ she blurted. ‘Look–I…’ Then she shook her head and sank her face into her hands, trying desperately to think clearly. ‘Oh, God, Ross, I’m at my wits’ end.’
    ‘Lynn,’ he said gently. ‘I know you think you can look after her here, but the poor girl is in a lot of