‘Oh, God save us,’ said Harry, looking up.
Tom and Joe lifted their heads to see what Harry had spotted. Way above them, on the wooden balcony rail, her little face screwed up in terror, sat Millie.
21
Dear Steve,
I’d really love your advice on something. I’m attaching two newspaper articles to give you background, although you may recall the case of Megan Connor. From what I can recall, she was never found.
I have a 26-year-old patient from the town where Megan went missing, whose daughter was accidentally killed three years after Megan’s disappearance. I can’t help thinking the prolonged grief my patient is experiencing might have been influenced by her memories of the earlier event.
I seem to remember the whole country was pretty traumatized by it, and it must surely have been worse in the area itself. My patient may even have taken part in the public search.
My question is this: can I bring it up in our discussions or should I wait for her to mention it herself? On the surface, she seems to be making progress but there’s a lot I still don’t understand. I can’t help thinking she’s keeping something from me. Any thoughts?
Love to Helen and the kids,
Evi
Evi checked her spelling, added a comma and pressed Send. Steve Channing was a sort of informal supervisor, a more experienced psychiatrist to whom she often turned for advice on difficult cases. Of course, he’d know from the date and time on the email that she was working on a Saturday night, but… well, she couldn’t hide from everyone.
22
‘HOW DID SHE GET UP THERE?’ WHIMPERED TOM, UNABLE to take his eyes off his tiny sister, balanced precariously twenty feet above the hard stone floor of the church. No one answered him – why would they? – it was a stupid question. The only important thing was how they were going to get her down.
‘Stay where you are, Millie. Don’t move.’ Harry was running back towards the church door. They heard his footsteps on the stairs that led to the gallery. He’d be in time, he had to be. Harry’s footsteps stopped and they heard the door that separated the gallery from the stairs being shaken in its frame.
‘You are kidding me,’ came Harry’s voice from behind the door. Then the church echoed with the sound of loud banging. Harry was kicking at the door from the other side.
‘They’ve locked the door,’ said Joe. ‘He can’t get to her.’
Scared by the noise, Millie looked down at her brothers. Then she held out both arms and Tom’s stomach turned cold. She was going to jump to him, like she did from the back of the sofa. She was going to jump, confident that he’d catch her, like he always did. But there was no way he could, not from that height, she’d fall too fast. There was nothing, absolutely nothing they could do, she was going to fall and her head would shatter on the stone like glass.
‘No, Millie, no, don’t move!’ Both boys were yelling up at her, watching in horror as the toddler lost her balance on the narrow ledge and tumbled forward. As Joe began to scream, Millie reached out and grabbed the rail with one hand. At the same time her feet, still wearing pink party shoes, found the smallest of footholds on a slim ledge that ran around the edge of the gallery.
‘Shut up, you two, shut up now,’ hissed Harry, who’d joined them again. Tom caught hold of Joe and pulled his brother to him. He hadn’t realized both of them had been yelling so much. Joe clung tight and somehow the boys managed to stop screaming.
‘Millie,’ called Harry, in a voice that Tom could hear shaking. ‘Keep still, sweetheart, hold tight, I’m coming to get you.’
Harry looked at both sides of the church and seemed to be making up his mind. Then he turned back to the boys.
‘Get the hassocks – the prayer cushions,’ he said. ‘Get as many as you can and put them down on the floor, directly underneath her. Do it now.’
Tom couldn’t move. He couldn’t take his eyes off Millie. If he looked away for a second, she’d fall. Then he was aware of Joe scurrying around at his side. His brother had already taken three hassocks from their hooks in the pews and had put them on the ground beneath Millie.
Tom shot round and began gathering more from the pew opposite. As he pulled them off their hooks, he hurled them through the air at the spot where Millie would land. He threw six and then sped back to the aisle. Looking up, he positioned himself directly beneath his sister’s plump legs and pink shoes and began arranging the cushions to form a soft carpet. If they could only get enough, the hassocks would break her fall.
Out of the corner of his eye Tom could see Harry pull himself up on to the window ledge and then move sideways until he could reach the gallery rail. How he was going to get up higher, Tom had no idea, but Harry climbed mountains in his spare time – if anyone could do it, he could. Tom just had to concentrate on the hassocks. Joe was following his example and throwing them over the top of the pew. As fast as they landed, Tom placed them next to the others. Millie’s crash mat was getting bigger.
‘No, sweetheart, no.’ Harry’s voice was strained with the effort of climbing. And of trying not to panic. ‘Stay where you are,’ he was calling. ‘Hold tight, I’m coming.’ Tom paused for a second and risked looking up. Harry was clinging, like a huge spider, to the carved panelling that lined the rear church wall. If he didn’t slip, he’d reach the balcony rail in a few seconds and be able to climb over. Another second would take him to Millie and she’d be safe.
They were seconds he might not have. Because Millie had spotted Harry edging his way towards her and was trying to get to him. She’d moved along the ledge and was no longer directly above the hassocks. And those chubby fingers of hers had no real strength. She was sobbing hard. She couldn’t hold on much longer. She was about to fall. And she knew it.
23
EVI WAS LOOKING AT GILLIAN ROYLE’S MEDICAL RECORDS. When she’d accepted Gillian as a patient, they had been forwarded to her, following normal procedure. Luckily, the GP’s surgery Gillian attended had been one of the first to become fully computerized. Even the old paper-based records from the girl’s childhood had, at some time, been inputted on to the system.
She’d read them already, of course, before her first appointment with the girl. Was there anything she’d missed?
‘He’s a cheating bastard,’ Gillian had said. ‘My stepdad was the same’ More than once now, Gillian had become edgy on the subject of the men in her life. Several aspects of the girl’s character – her cynicism about men and sex, her sense of being a victim, a sort of unspoken belief that the world owed her something – were all making Evi suspect there was some history of abuse in Gillian’s past.
Evi scrolled back to the early records, when Gillian had been a child. She’d had the usual immunizations, chickenpox as a three-year-old. She’d visited her GP shortly after her father’s accidental death, but no medication or follow-up treatment had been prescribed.
At the age of nine, Gillian had started to attend a different surgery in Blackburn. The change probably coincided with her mother’s remarriage and the family’s moving away from Heptonclough. Gillian’s visits to the GP at that time had increased in frequency. She’d complained often of unspecified tummy aches, causing her to miss several days of school, but investigations had found nothing wrong. There had also been a series of minor injuries a broken wrist, bruising, etc. It could indicate abuse. Or it could just suggest a lively, accident-prone child.
When Gillian was thirteen, she and her mother had moved back to Heptonclough. Gillian had been prescribed the contraceptive pill at a very early age – a couple of months short of her fifteenth birthday – and had had a pregnancy terminated at the age of seventeen. Not an ideal scenario, but neither was it untypical for a modern teenager.