Page 88 of Pyg

“Too easy.” Maggie laughed as she typed the address into her satnav.

“It’s for George, actually.”

“George?” Maggie shook her head, her sleek bobbed hair swaying with the motion.

“Keep up, Mags. George, the man I found in the road last week.”

Maggie dropped the handbrake and took off. “Oh great, because now it’s all so much clearer.”

“I want to help him.”

“You can barely help yourself, Al. Look at you.” Maggie gave her a sidelong glance, her lips twisted in disapproval.

“That’s not a reason not to help someone else.”

“This better not be anything dodgy.”

Alice scoffed. “Why would it be dodgy?”

* * *

At the endof a row of eight houses stood George’s cottage. Set back from the road and standing apart from the other taller properties, it resembled a lonely old man, hunched over a pint. The roof sagged under the weight of its years and the windows reflected the dying daylight like black, lifeless eyes.

“I really don’t like this, Alice.” Maggie glanced over her shoulder at her Mini parked on the grass verge. She clicked the key fob and, with an orange flash from the indicators, the doors locked. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

Alice shrugged. “It’s what George gave me.”

“And tell me, why has he asked you to come here, exactly?”

“No one can get hold of his next of kin, and they don’t know what triggered George’s dissociative fugue?—”

“His what?”

“It’s like a temporary amnesia, possibly caused by something traumatic.”

Maggie held up her hands and spun around to face Alice. “So, what… you’ve brought us here to find out what traumatised a man so much he ended up in hospital?”

“Well, when you put it like that.” Alice bit her lip.

“We’re literally in the middle of nowhere. What if?—”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not the middle of nowhere, there’s another house right there.” Alice pointed to the two-story house beyond the tall hedge bordering George’s property.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Look, we’re here now. We may as well have a look around and see what’s what. And don’t worry, I have a weapon!” Alice waved her plaster cast in the air.

“Oh terrifying! You’re going to wield your broken Barbie arm like a club, are you?”

“Huh, that’s what Marjorie called it too.”

“Who?” Maggie scowled.

“George’s nurse.”

“Well, if Barbie were to pick a plaster cast…”

“The colour options were limited.”

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