as if gathering herself. She looked like a bird of prey. A hawk that could carry off a sheep.
“Your mother has to go back to the hospital,” she said. “You’re going to come and stay with me for a few days. You’ll need to pack a bag.”
Conor didn’t move. “What’s wrong with her?” His grandma’s eyes widened for just a second,
as if she couldn’t believe he was asking a question so cataclysmically stupid. Then she relented.
“There’s a lot of pain,” she said. “More than there should be.”
“She’s got medicine for her pain–” Conor started, but his grandmother clapped her hands together, just the once, but loud, loud enough to stop him.
“It’s not working, Conor,” she said, crisply, and it seemed like she was looking just over his head rather than at him.
“It’s not working.” “What’s not working?” His grandma tapped her hands together lightly a few more times,
like she was testing them out or something, then she looked out of the window again, all the while keeping her mouth firmly shut.
She finally stood, concentrating on smoothing down her dress. “Your mum’s upstairs,” she said. “She wants to talk to you.”
“But–” “Your father’s flying in on Sunday.” He straightened up. “Dad’s coming?”
“I’ve got some calls to make,” she said, stepping past him and out of the front door, taking out her mobile.
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