‘How much did you give?’
‘About two million.’
‘Two million!’
‘That’s not much in the property business, believe me. It won’t go far.’
He sighed and Mary noticed how sad he seemed.
‘Someone called Rod is trying to phone you,’ she told him.
She caught it: for a second, the mask slipped. He turned away, fiddled with the duvet for a moment. He looked—surprised? Yes, but something else as well—unsure? Guilty?
‘Rod—I’ll call him in a moment. If only I had more time!’
‘Mr Hanley, you mustn’t assume the worst. Dr Patterson thinks you’re getting better.’
He snorted and stared at Mary. The scornful tone returned to his voice.
‘I told you, didn’t I? I found out a fortnight ago. I’ll die tomorrow morning.’
Mary couldn’t stop herself. ‘What time?’
‘11 o’clock.’
Thursday morning
Mary walked from one room to another, checking on each patient. Mrs Clark had some flowers that needed a vase. Steve Blishen was playing chess with his son via an internet link, cackling each time he took a new piece. She knew she’d have to say something when she reached Mr Hanley—this was the day he expected to die—but she wasn’t sure what. Thankfully, the problem resolved itself. His door was open, as always, and he looked up as Mary arrived.
‘This tea is bloody awful. Tastes like dishwater.’
‘Can I get you anything else?’
He grimaced, then stared out the window. The Financial Times lay on his bed.
‘The toast wasn’t bad and I liked the marmalade. Nice to have a fried egg: they wouldn’t do that in hospital.’
‘It’s different here.’ Mary smiled. ‘Anything interesting in the paper?’
‘You know, the usual. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer. Do I need to tell you that?’
‘Your daughter tried to visit. She was stopped at reception.’
‘Silly bitch,’ he muttered, glancing back at the FT.
For a second, Mary thought he meant her. But, no, he was talking about his daughter. It’d been a nasty incident: they’d had to call one of the porters to escort her out the building. Was that all he was going to say? His eyes were on the paper, refusing to look at her.
She had to talk about his prediction. It was just after 9:45, he thought was going to die at 11. She couldn’t tease him. Nothing came to her. Instead: