“I have the impression that her voice took some time to waken me. Perhaps she hasn’t slept at all. Has she been reading my father’s research in the hope of deducing where he is? I’ve yet to distinguish a word, and I wonder if she’s trying to decipher the items in the hall. Suppose the blurring that has overtaken them spreads to her brain? I can’t be quite awake if I imagine that it could. I raise my head and strain my ears, and then I hear my name. She isn’t calling me, she’s talking about m...e. The landline receiver is gone from the bedside table, but the mobile is next to the clock, which shows me that it’s early afternoon. I hop none too efficiently into yesterday’s trousers and pull a Liverghoul T-shirt over my head. I haven’t time to choose a less contentious item—I want to hear what she’s saying, and to whom. Easing the door open, I pad along the hall. My mother is on the couch beside the sleeping bag, which is propped up like a companion without much of a shape.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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