Where the light gets in [antikvár]

PrologueBetty Dunlop wasn't scared of death, but then she hadn't been scared of the Luftwaffe, the Cold War, the threat of a nuclear winter, salmonella, cholesterol, or any of her three varyingly awful husbands.Lorna Larkham, though, wasn't quite so relaxed about it. And the closer death glided towards Betty's bedside in St Agnes's Hospice, the faster Lorna's own heart beat inside her chest, so hard she had to force her legs from twitching, and getting up and running away.The carriage clock beside her seemed to have stopped; how could it still be just seven o'clock? Lorna had arrived at six to start her volunteer shift, and the ward sister had intercepted her before she'd even got her jacket off, to warn her that Betty - ninety-three the week before and still roller-set and Ellnetted to the nines - had started to decline overnight.'We knew something was up when she didn't ring for her cocoa.' The nurse put a hand on Lorna's arm, seeing panic freeze her face. 'She's still with us, though. Keep the music going, chat even if she doesn't reply. Let Betty know she's not on her own. I'm just down the hall if you need me.'Discreetly, Lorna lowered her knitting to check Betty's hooded eyelids. Knitting had been one of Betty's hobbies too, something they'd chatted about when she'd first dropped in, to offer an hour or so of company. Lorna always