50

Lennon chose a table by the ceiling-high windows and set down his paper cup full of tea, steam rising from hole in the lid. Ellen sat opposite him while he pierced the juice box with the little straw. He placed it in front of her then prised the plastic cap from the tube of Smarties. She watched his fingers work as he spread a napkin on the table and tipped a few brightly coloured sweets onto the paper.

‘There you go,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ Ellen said in the stiff manner of a child well instructed in politeness.

Lennon raised the cup to his lips and sipped hot sweet tea through the lid’s mouthpiece. He did not see this new drinking technology as an advance in civilisation. It made him feel like a toddler with a sippy cup.

Ellen moved the sweets around the napkin with her fingertips, but did not bring any to her mouth. The doll lay naked alongside the juice box like a passed-out junkie.

Lennon flinched at the association. Ellen reached for the doll and arranged it in a sitting position. She looked up at Lennon as if asking if that was better. He went to say yes, but caught himself. He blinked hard to dislodge the foolish notion from his mind.

‘So, did you like Birmingham?’ Lennon asked.

Ellen looked down and shook her head.

‘Why not?’

‘Too big,’ Ellen said. She put her hands over her ears. ‘Too noisy.’

‘You like home better?’

Ellen dropped her hands and nodded.

‘Are you glad to be back?’

Ellen shrugged.

‘It’s home. Do you like home?’

‘S’okay,’ Ellen said.

‘You don’t know who I am,’ Lennon said. It was a statement, not a question to test the child.

‘You’re Jack,’ Ellen said, her face brightening a little for remembering the detail. ‘Mummy said.’

‘Did your mummy ever mention me?’

‘Uh-uh,’ Ellen said, shaking her head. She took a sip of juice, then a Smartie. She chewed with her mouth primly closed. She took another from the napkin and popped it in her mouth, again sealing her lips shut.

‘You have very good manners,’ Lennon said.

Ellen nodded. ‘Mm-hmm.’

‘Your mummy taught you well.’

Ellen smiled.

Lennon’s throat tightened. He coughed and said, ‘Well, eat up. Then we’ll go back upstairs.’

Ellen drew on the straw, her gaze fixed somewhere behind Lennon. He looked over his shoulder, seeing only people moving between tables, their trays clutched shakily in front of them. Curved walls screened the area off, decorated with spoons and forks arranged to resemble shoals of fish against the blue-green paint.

‘What are you looking at?’ he asked.

‘People,’ Ellen said.

‘What people?’

‘All different people.’ She put the juice box back on the tabletop. ‘There’s bad people here.’

‘You mean sick people?’ Lennon asked. ‘There’s lots of sick people. Most of them will get better, though.’

Ellen picked up the juice box and drained it. She popped the lid back onto the tube of Smarties and tucked the sweets into her coat pocket. ‘For later,’ she said.

Lennon took another swig of tea, but it soured his stomach. He took Ellen’s empty juice box from the table and stood, gripping the litter in one hand. ‘Come on,’ he said.

Ellen gripped his fingers and followed him towards the litter bin beyond the curved walls, over by the kitchen. Lennon struggled to find a way through the people crushing around the till.

A cleaner tipped a tray of refuse into the bin as he and Ellen drew near. The cleaner dropped the lid and stepped aside. Lennon depressed the foot lever to open the bin. The lid didn’t budge. He tried to lift it with the hand that gripped the tray. It didn’t budge. People jostled as they tried to reach the till. Lennon suppressed a curse as shoulders nudged and shoved him. The cup slipped across the tray, and Lennon released Ellen’s fingers long enough to save it from spilling. He finally lifted the bin lid and dumped the rubbish inside. That done, he added his tray to the stack nearby and reached back for Ellen’s hand.

He found cold air.

Lennon spun to where Ellen had stood no more than moments ago. His stomach dropped through the floor.