Chapter 19
The portrait exhibition was being held in the town hall. The conference room had been turned into an exhibition space (through the liberal use of those fuzzy walls used in offices the world over to build employee cubicles and flexi-space) and a buffet table in the foyer outside laden with wine glasses, cheap plonk, and cheaper sandwich triangles.
Tab wanted to get drunk. Very drunk.
He’d arrived early so one of Mum’s carers could come and take some pictures of the exhibition to show her. He liked Judith—she was a lovely, bubbly nurse who let Mum ramble and paint with her hands on everything and even encouraged the random artistic streaks—and she’d arrived, taken lots of pictures, and given him a hug.
“She’ll be dead proud of you,” she said, and squeezed his arm. “I mean it,
