The Faceless Read Online Free PDF Page A

yet he could tie his shoelaces unaided, fasten his tie. Not that there’d been much choice. No welfare state back then, no safety net. You provided for your family or watched them starve, that or scrape by on a means-tested pittance. The changes he must have seen; he’d fought in one world war, seen out not only its successor but a whole world, a way of life. There must have been almost nothing left, at the end, he could recognise.
    Time passed. Anna glanced at the clock. Christ, the time. Had the mist thinned out? Let it clear up tomorrow; she hated driving in conditions like that.
    Nan grunted again, stirred awake, blinked sleep-small eyes and fumbled for her glasses. Her hair had faded over the years from a dark grey, when Anna had been little, to near-pure white, and she’d shrunk, grown smaller and thinner. She couldn’t walk without a frame. But her vitality hadn’t ebbed. Despite it all, she was often taken to be in her eighties, at most. Some people were only convinced when shown the card from the Queen.
    “Faffing round with that book of yours again?”
    “Yes, Nan.”
    “Wish you’d leave it. No-one wants to hear about that horrible bloody place.”
    Old argument; no point repeating it now. “I’ll have to go in a minute, Nan.”
    “What’s that?” Nan blinked and squinted.
    “I said, I’m going to have to go, Nan.”
    “Alright, love. Ooh, Anna?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Could you do me a favour?”
    “’Course I can. What is it?”
    “As long as it’s no trouble.”
    “’Course not.”
    “You going to the Garden of Rest this week?”
    “Can do.”
    “If I give you some money, could you get some flowers for your dad?”
    “’Course.”
    Nan counted out change. “Wish I could go myself.”
    “It’s OK.”
    “I’d go if I could.”
    “I know.” Nan had always cherished her independence; precious little now remained.
    “Thank you, love. You’re too good to everyone, you know, Anna. I do feel bad sometimes, making you run errands for me all the time.”
    “Don’t be silly.”
    “You should have a life of your own.”
    “Do my best.”
    “I know, love, but I do worry sometimes.”
    Anna embraced the thin body, kissed the papery cheek. “Love you, Nan.”
    Nan squeezed her back. “Love you too.” It’d become a ritual of late; at Nan’s age, you could never be completely sure she’d still be there next time.
    “He was here before, you know.”
    Anna turned. “Sorry?”
    Nan nodded towards the mantelpiece. “Before you got here. I saw him. At the window.”
    “Who?” On the mantelpiece the only pictures – the Queen aside – were of the dead. Nan didn’t answer at first. They’d never really talked religion; as far as Anna knew Nan still had the simple, straightforward Welsh Methodist faith of her childhood. Anna didn’t share it, but it had got Nan through the last century, so fair enough. But Nan had never claimed to see the dead. Assuming that was what she meant. “Who?” She felt foolish just asking. “Grandpa?”
    Nan shook her head. Her eyes glistened and just for once, her age seemed to show in full. “My father,” she said at last. “Outside. I saw him.” Anna bit her lip. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about me, dear. But I did see him. Always had a bit of the second sight, you know. Runs in our family. I always thought–”
    “What?”
    “You might have a touch of it, too.”
    Anna kissed Nan’s downy cheek again and let herself out. She went fast. The night was very dark all of a sudden, the mist very deep.
    She didn’t think about what Nan had said. Couldn’t. Eva dead, Martyn damaged and healing only slowly, if at all. And most of all, Mary. The fear she couldn’t protect the child; the vow that she would. And now Nan, seeing a father dead for over sixty years. Let it just be the tail-end of a dream, half-remembered on waking. Let Nan not be going mad. There was only so much Anna could shoulder. Not that she could talk about sanity. You might