He
couldn't bear to see the accusation in her eyes. What was he supposed
to do? Accept on blind faith that he'd lost or forgotten almost
twenty years of his life and take it on trust that this woman was
really his grown-up daughter? Or believe he was being duped by some
nefarious trickster?
He
looked at his hands. Did they look the same as he remembered? The
palms were as clean and smooth as they'd always been, as far as he
could tell and if there were wrinkles on the backs of his hands,
well, that was probably part of the deception too.
He
felt his face. There was no use looking in the mirror. Any self
respecting trickster would have an image of an old man set up for him
to look at. No, the trick was in the feeling. What did wrinkles feel
like, anyway? Would he know? Or would the act of running his finger
over them smooth them out and negate the check?
“What
are you doing?” The nurse paused at the doorway. “I've got to go,
Dad. Simon will be home soon and Len's really upset.”
“Just
seeing if I needed a shave.” Harold smiled at her. Whether she was
Lucy or she wasn't, she deserved to be smiled at. Even demons liked
to be smiled at. “You get off. I'm sorry I upset the boy. I'm in a
bit of a two-and-eight at the moment.”
“That's
okay, Dad. I'll talk to him. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
He watched her leave. For the moment he was all alone in the hospital
room. How come he had a room to himself, anyway? Weren't hospitals
overfull and understaffed? With no-one left in the room to observe
him, would he cease to exist?
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