The Nurse by J. Corrigan (list of ebook readers txt) 📕

her head, her caramel eyes catch and hold him. At forty-eight, she remains astonishingly beautiful. She wears a pair of over-washed black jeans and a multicoloured blouse, its crash of shades the colours of an Antipodean coral reef, utterly out of place in this grim location.

She moves in her chair, comes to life. ‘Theo. It’s so good to finally meet you,’ she says, her voice low but distinct.

A thread of excitement unrolls through him, and he’s unsure if it’s because of the story she’s already begun to share, or the anticipation of discovering why she’s changed her mind about seeing him.

She shakes his hand; hers is warm and soft. ‘Were you at my hearing?’ she asks. ‘In the public gallery?’

‘I was.’ He smiles. ‘I feel like a stalker or something.’ He pauses. ‘How did you know? I didn’t mention it in my letter.’

‘I remember seeing you.’

He’s not sure if this is a good or a bad thing.

She carries on. ‘And then the letter you sent me, and the enclosed photo – I remembered your face.’ She stares at him. ‘It was taken in a cemetery?’

‘It was. My ex-wife took it.’ It was the day he told Sophie about his idea of writing Rose Marlowe and Abe Duncan’s real-life story. She was all for it, and this pleased him. Even now, he still needs her approval.

‘I see,’ Rose says, interrupting his thoughts, her voice laced with softness and compassion.

‘I brought you some clothes,’ he says. ‘Hope you like them, and they fit.’

‘Thank you. I shouldn’t have asked you. I’m sorry. Are they plain and boring?’ A hint of a smile. Theo’s eyes settle on her blouse. ‘I know… I’m not wearing a very good example, am I?’ She yanks at the frayed skin around her nail, drawing blood. He winces. ‘Take a seat,’ she says quietly.

‘It’s so good to meet you in person, Mrs Marlowe.’

‘Call me Rose. I’m glad you contacted me.’

‘I’m glad I did too. I have my ex-wife to thank for that. She encouraged me to write to you.’

‘It’s good you’re on amicable terms,’ Rose says, dragging him away from his thoughts.

Contemplating how much information to give, he decides to be candid, because he’ll be asking Rose to be frank with him. Quid quo pro. ‘Sophie and I meet at the cemetery annually to commemorate our son’s birthday.’

He watches her expression and slight guilt rumbles through him. He didn’t need to tell her that. He never tells anyone, not unless he absolutely needs to. Rose’s features have fallen and she hasn’t answered.

He carries on. ‘It’s not sad. Soph and I try not to make it sad. It’s a celebration of Elliot’s life. It’s our routine.’ She’s listening hard, taking in everything he says. Rose Marlowe is one of those people who listens as well as hears. Pays attention. ‘Been doing it for four years… it’s good to have a routine.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Please don’t be. I’m not normally a sharer. Maybe I overdid it?’ he says, smiling.

And Rose smiles back. It’s a beautiful expression, like indoor sunshine. ‘No, you didn’t.’ She leans forward slightly, the sunshine gone, as if a heavy cloud has filled the sky of her face. She pulls again at her nail beds, with even more vigour. ‘Have you managed to meet up with my mum yet?’

‘I have. I met her a few days ago at a café in Nottingham. I did ask if she’d like me to bring her today, but she said she had something on.’ He isn’t being truthful. Marion said she didn’t want to come. Theo agreed he’d go and see her at her home for their next meeting.

‘I’m sure she has,’ Rose replies.

‘To be honest, I was a bit surprised when you suggested I get in touch with her. I mean, I’m glad you did, but…’ In her letters, Rose gave him the distinct impression that she and her mother were not close, and after talking to Marion, peering in between the lines of their conversation, this was verified. Rose hinted at her mother’s mental health problems – something that had profoundly affected her in her early years. It would seem that, back then, she had looked after her mother, as well as her younger brother.

‘I thought she could enlighten you on my childhood,’ she says. ‘Background, you know, from another viewpoint.’

‘Yes, and it was an excellent idea.’

She leans forward in her chair. ‘What did you think of her?’

In truth, he isn’t sure what he thinks about Marion. ‘I’m meeting her again in a couple of days.’ He catches her eyes. ‘I think she wants the best for you.’

‘It’s a fair way for you to come from Manchester. Maybe you can visit me again on the same day you go and see her. Kill two birds with one stone?’

‘I’d like that. Like to see you again.’

‘Good.’ She smiles properly now. ‘You look exactly like I thought you’d look. Like a writer.’

He laughs at that. ‘What does a writer look like?’

‘What does a murderess look like?’

‘Touché.’ He’s unsure whether to laugh or cringe.

‘The prison director told me he’s asked you to run some writing classes,’ she says.

‘He has. I’m looking forward to it.’ He isn’t, but he surmises that getting the director onside wasn’t a bad idea, and they’re paying him too.

‘Apart from Mum, who else have you been in contact with? Anyone?’

Heat consumes his face. ‘Abe Duncan’s wife, Natasha.’ He’s spoken to Abe’s widow via Skype. She’s already given him a lot of background on Abe’s early life, which confirms Theo’s suspicion that there is indeed much more to this case than first appeared. Natasha Duncan agreed to meet him on her next visit to London for work. She’s flown in from San Francisco today.

‘I see,’ Rose says.

‘Say if you’re uncomfortable. Please.’

She slides back in her chair and rubs at her eyes. ‘Tell me about her.’

‘She seemed glad to have someone to talk to. Her family distanced themselves when she married a white man… Abe.’ Theo stops and studies her expression: intent,