The Make

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‘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.