Matthew didn't seem to notice the cold, either -- though given his present state of mind, perhaps he was just too preoccupied with thoughts of death to even care that he was freezing in his shirtsleeves. Or -- well, who knows? Perhaps he was just relishing the cold, as cold as he felt deep in his soul -- or some such nonsense as that!
At any rate, he followed Stephen listlessly, not even dragging his feet, or indeed, doing anything else that might have indicated that he was reluctant to leave his house, not to mention his dying father behind. He suddenly came back to life, just then, thinking about that particular bastard -- not to mention his victims, really. "Stephen, wait, I--"
But whatever he wanted Stephen to wait on him for, it was too late, for by now they were standing in a town that was about ten kilometres away from Matthew's home in Chichester. "Stephen, I... don't want to leave my sister behind...!" he finished, lamely, and seemingly belatedly, until he spoke again, "Promise me you'll look after her, Stephen...!" Though how Stephen could 'look after' a hooker up in London, he hadn't the faintest idea, really! But even so, Matthew's eyes and voice were lively again, with... something. Some undefinable emotion, really, that seemed to have rekindled some spark inside Matthew's mind, or perhaps his heart...
He swallowed hard when he saw Stephen's pink monstrosity of a house -- and then, as they mounted the front steps, he smelled it as well! "Stephen... you do realise, don't you, that pink is not the new black, nor can you make it black by smoking a dozen packs a day within its walls?" Though there was obvious humour in these remarks, Matthew's voice was dull and deadpan again, and he didn't even smile at his own joke.