She said, “Mum, here’s Edrek.” She sounded weary. “Got a man with her as well. Not a doctor, are you? Not brought a doctor, have you, Edrek? I told you we’re finished with doctors.”

The woman on the banquette stirred her legs slightly but did not turn her head. She was gazing at the water stains that hovered above them, on the ceiling of the caravan, like clouds ready to rain down rust. Her breathing was shallow and quick, as evidenced by the rise and fall of her hands, which were clasped in a disturbing corpselike posture high on her chest.

Daidre spoke. “This is Gwynder, Thomas. My younger sister. This is my mother, my mother till I was thirteen, that is. She’s called Jen Udy.”

Lynley glanced at Daidre. She spoke as if he and she were observers of a tableau on a stage. Lynley said to Gwynder, “Thomas Lynley. I’m not a doctor. Just a…friend.”

Gwynder said, “Posh voice,” and continued what she’d been doing when they entered, which was carrying a glass to the woman on the banquette. It contained some sort of milky liquid. She said in reference to it, “Want you drinking this, Mum.”

Jen Udy shook her head. Two of her fingers rose, then fell.

“Where’s Goron?” Daidre asked. “And where’s…your father?”

Gwynder said, “Your father ’s well, no matter what you like.” Although her choice of words could have carried a bitter undercurrent, they did not do so.

“Where are they?”

“Where else would they be? Daylight.”

“At the stream or in the shed?”

“Don’t know, do I. They’re wherever. Mum, you got to drink this. Good for you.”

The fingers lifted and fell again. The head turned slightly, trying to pull itself towards the back of the banquette and out of sight.

“Are they not helping you care for her, Gwynder?” Daidre asked.

“Told you. Past the point of caring for her, aren’t we, and on to the point of waiting. You c’n make a difference in that.” Gwynder sat at the top of the banquette, by the stained pillow. She’d placed the glass on a ledge that ran along a window whose thin curtains were shut against the daylight, shedding a jaundiced glow against her mother’s face. She lifted both the pillow and her mother’s head and slid herself under them. She reached for the glass again. She held this to Jen Udy’s lips with one hand and with the other-curved round her head-she forced her mother’s mouth to open. Liquid went in. Liquid came out. The woman’s throat muscles moved as she swallowed at least part of it.

“You need to get her out of here,” Daidre said. “This place isn’t good for her. And it isn’t good for you. It’s unhealthy and cold and miserable.”

“Know that, don’t I?” Gwynder said. “That’s why I want to take her-”

“You can’t possibly believe that will do any good.”

“It’s what she wants.”

“Gwynder, she’s not religious. Miracles are for believers. To take her all the way to…Look at her. She doesn’t even have the strength for the journey. Look at her, for heaven’s sake.”

“Miracles are for everyone. And they’re what she wants. What she needs. ’F she doesn’t go, she’s going to die.”

“She is dying.”

“’S that what you want? Oh, I expect it is. You with your posh boyfriend there. Can’t believe you even brought him down here.”

“He’s not my…He’s a policeman.”

Gwynder slowly clutched at the front of her pullover as she took in this detail. She said, “Why’ve you brought…?” And to Lynley, “We’re doing nought wrong. Can’t make us leave. The town council know…We’ve the rights of travellers. Aren’t bothering anyone.” And to Daidre, “Are there more of them out there? You come to take her? She won’t go without a fight. She’ll begin to scream. Can’t believe that you would do this to her. After everything…”

“After what exactly?” Daidre’s voice sounded pinched. “After everything she did for me? For you? For all three of us? You seem to have a very short memory.”

“And yours goes back to the start of time, eh?” Gwynder forced more of the liquid into their mother’s mouth. The result was much the same as before. What drained out of her dribbled down her cheeks and onto the pillow. Gwynder tried to sort this out by brushing it off, with little success.

“She can be in hospice,” Daidre said. “It doesn’t have to go on this way.”

“We’re meant to leave her there alone? Without her family? Lock her up and wait till they give us the word she’s gone? Well, I won’t do that, will I. And if you come to tell me tha’s the limit of what you mean to do to help her, you leave with your fancy man. Whoever he says he is. Because he’s not a cop. Cops don’t talk like him.”

“Gwynder, please see reason.”

“Get out, Edrek. Asked for your help and you said no. Tha’s how it is and we’ll cope from here.”

“I’ll help within reason. But I won’t send the lot of you to Lourdes or Medjugorje or Knock or anywhere else because it isn’t reasonable, it doesn’t make sense, there are no miracles-”

“Are! And one could happen to her.”

“She’s dying of pancreatic cancer. No one walks away from that. She’s got weeks or days or perhaps even hours and…Is this how you want her to die? Like this? In this place? Inside this hovel? Without air or light or even a window to look at the sea?”

“With people who love her.”

“There is no love in this place. There never was.”

“Don’t you say that!” Gwynder began to weep. “Just because…just because…Don’t you say that.”

Daidre made a move towards her but stopped. She raised a hand to her mouth. Behind her glasses, Lynley saw that her eyes filled with tears.

“Leave us to our weeks or days or hours, then,” Gwynder said. “Just go.”

“Do you need-”

“Go!”

Lynley put his hand on Daidre’s arm. She looked at him. She removed her glasses and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her coat, which she’d not removed. He said to her, “Come,” and he urged her gently to the door.

“Hard fucking cunt,” Gwynder said to their backs. “D’you hear me, Edrek? Hard fucking cunt. Keep your money. Keep your fancy boy. Keep your life. Don’t need you or want you, so don’t come back. Hear me, Edrek? I’m sorry I even asked you in the first place. Don’t come back.”

Outside the caravan, they paused. Lynley saw that tremors ran through Daidre’s body. He put his arm round her shoulders. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said.

“Who the hell’re you lot?” The question came in a shout. Lynley looked in its direction. Two men had emerged from the shed. They would be Goron and Daidre’s father, he decided. They approached in a hurry. “Wha’s this, then?” the older man said.

The younger said nothing. There seemed to be something wrong with him. Openly, he scratched at his testicles. He snuffled loudly and, like his twin in the caravan, he squinted. He nodded at them in a friendly fashion. His father did not.

“What d’you lot want?” Udy asked. His gaze went from Lynley to Daidre and back to Lynley. He seemed to be assessing everything about them but most particularly their shoes for some reason. Lynley saw why when he looked at Udy’s own feet. He wore boots but they were long past their prime. The soles were split at the toes.

“Paying a call…” Daidre had stepped away from Lynley’s embrace. Face-to-face with her father, she bore no resemblance either to him or to her brother.

“What you doing here, then?” Udy said. “We got no need of do-gooders round here. We make it on our own and always have done. So you lot clear out. This’s private property, this is, and there’s a sign posted.”

It came to Lynley that while the women in the caravan knew who Daidre was, the men did not, that for some reason Gwynder had sought and found her sister on her own, perhaps knowing at some level that her mission was futile. Hence, Udy had no idea that he was speaking to his own daughter. But when Lynley considered this, it seemed reasonable. The thirteen-year-old who had been his daughter was someone from the past, not the accomplished, educated woman before him. Lynley waited for Daidre to identify herself. She did not do so.