Natural Causes Read Free

remember her face when he had found her, unconscious in her armchair by the fire. The months had wasted her away, and he had watched her fade until all he knew was this shadow of the woman who had raised him since he was four.
    'Who's done this. Honestly.' McLean looked around, startled by the noise. A nurse stood in the doorway, struggling to remove the fire extinguisher. She flustered in, looking around and then finally seeing him.
    'Oh, Mr McLean. I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there.'
    Soft Western Isles accent, her pale face topped with a bob of flame red hair. She wore the uniform of a ward sister and McLean was sure he knew her name. Jane or Jenny or something. He thought he knew the names of almost all the nurses in the hospital, either from work or his regular visits to this quiet little ward. But for the life of him, as she stood staring, he couldn't remember hers.
    'It's OK,' he said, standing up. 'I was just going.' He turned back to the comatose figure, releasing her cold hand. 'I'll come see you again soon, Gran. I promise.'
    'D'you know, you're the only person who comes here to visit regularly,' the nurse said. McLean looked around the ward, noting the other beds with their silent, motionless occupants. It was creepy, in a way. Queued up for the morgue. Waiting patiently for the Grim Reaper to get around to them.
    'Don't they have family?' he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the other patients.
    'Sure, but they don't visit. Oh they come at first. Sometimes every day for a week or two. Even a month. But over time the gaps get longer and longer. Mr Smith over there's not had a visitor since May. But you come here every week.'
    'She doesn't have anyone else.'
    'Well, still. It's not everyone would do what you do.'
    McLean didn't know what to say. Yes, he came to visit whenever he could, but he never stayed long. Not like his gran, who was condemned to spend the rest of her days in this quiet hell.
    'I have to go,' he said, making for the door. 'I'm sorry about the fire extinguisher.' He stooped, lifting it back onto its hook on the wall. 'And thank you.'
    'For what?'
    'For looking after her. I think she would have liked you.'

    *

    The taxi dropped him off at the end of the drive. McLean stood for a while in the evening coolness, watching the steam of the retreating exhaust dissipate into nothing. A lone cat strode confidently across the road not more than twenty yards away, then stopped suddenly as if realising it was being watched. Its sleek head moved from side to side, sharp eyes scanning the scene until it spotted him. Threat detected and assessed, it sat down in the middle of the road and began licking a paw. He leant against the nearest in a line of trees that burst through the paving slabs like the end of civilisation, and watched. The street was quiet at the best of times, almost silent at this hour. Just the background quiet roar of the city to remind him that life went on. An animal shriek in the distance stopped the cat mid-lick. It peered at McLean to see whether he had made the noise, then trotted off, disappearing into a nearby walled garden with an effortless leap.
    Turning back to the driveway, McLean faced the blank edifice of his grandmother's house, the dark windows as empty as the old lady's coma-shrunk face. Eyes shutter-closed against the never-dark night. Visiting the hospital was a duty he undertook willingly, but coming here felt more like a chore. The house he'd grown up in was long gone, the life of the place leached out of it as surely as it had been leached out of his grandmother until there was nothing left but bones of stone and memories gone sour. He half wished the cat would come back; any company right now would be welcome. But he knew it was really just a distraction. He'd come here to do a job; might as well get on with it.
    A week's worth of junk mail littered the front hallway. McLean scooped it up and took it through to the library. Most of the furniture was