‘Mummy, I’m scared,’ said Joe in a small voice.
‘There’s nothing to be scared of, sweetheart,’ replied his mother quickly, in a voice that seemed a bit shriller than normal. ‘We’ll be home in ten minutes.’
She set off again, more slowly this time, one step in front of the other. When Tom looked up he could see her eyes darting from side to side. They were in the midst of the trees now. Everywhere they turned, dark shadows surrounded them.
‘Tom, poppet,’ said Alice, without looking at him. ‘If I were to tell you to, could you take Joe’s hand and run as fast as you possibly can down the hill and find Daddy?’
‘Why?’ said Tom.
‘He’s probably still in the church,’ said Alice. ‘Maybe at home. Could you find him and tell him where we are?’
‘What about you and Millie?’
‘I’ll look after Millie. I just know how fast you are. I know you and Joe could get home really quickly. Can you do that for me, angel?’
Tom wasn’t sure. Run in the fog and leave his mother behind? They were almost through the trees now. The mist wasn’t quite so thick lower down the moor. The outlines of Heptonclough’s buildings were starting to appear. They could see further down the hill.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ said Alice, stopping and closing her eyes. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tom, you scared the life out of me.’
Tom looked at his mother. She didn’t look cross, she looked hugely relieved. He turned his head down the hill to see a figure a hundred yards or so away from them.
‘It’s Gillian,’ she said. ‘Out for one of her walks. Fancy being scared of Gillian.’
29
8 October
‘EVI, IT’S STEVE. IS THIS A GOOD TIME?’
Evi looked at her watch. She was on her way to a children’s home, to have her first meeting with a child who hadn’t spoken in the ten days since the police had used their special powers under the Children Act to remove him from his home. It was a ten-minute journey. Ten minutes either side of that to get herself in and out of the car. But her supervisor had rung on her mobile. She could talk on the move.
‘It’s fine,’ she said, gathering up her notepad and several pencils from the desk. ‘I have a couple of minutes. Thanks for getting back.’
‘Well, sorry it took so long, but we’ve been away. I only got back to the office this morning.’
‘Anywhere nice?’ Why did pencils permanently need sharpening? She leaned against the desk and fumbled in the drawer.
‘ Antigua. And yes, it was very nice. Now, this email of yours.’
‘Any thoughts?’ She’d found the sharpener. But holding the phone against her ear with her shoulder was going to play havoc with her back.
‘You say the patient is making progress?’ She could hear Steve sipping his usual strong black coffee.
‘On the surface, yes,’ said Evi. Two pencils sharpened, that would have to be enough. ‘She’s managing to curtail the drinking, the medication I’ve prescribed is working well, she’s started to talk about the future.’ OK, writing stuff, phone – yes, she had that what the hell had she done with the car keys?
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘I just can’t help feeling there’s something she’s not telling me,’ said Evi. Her car keys were in her coat pocket. They were always in her coat pocket. ‘She’s very reluctant to talk about her early life, the death of her father, the appearance of a stepfather. There are times when it’s as though a curtain comes down. Subject off limits.’
‘You’ve not been seeing her that long, have you?’
‘No, only a few weeks,’ said Evi, wondering if she could get her coat on without falling over. ‘And I know these things can take time. It’s just that the Megan Connor business struck me as being quite a coincidence. I can’t help thinking it would have had an impact.’
‘You’re probably right. But I’d wait for her to bring it up. Let her talk about what she’s happy to talk about. You’re still right at the start of treatment. There’s plenty of time.’
‘I know. I thought that myself. Just needed you to confirm it.’ The coat was on, just. Evi hung her bag from the bespoke hook on her wheelchair and checked that her stick was in its place along the back. She sank down, still gripping the phone between her shoulder and her ear.
‘That’s my girl,’ said Steve. ‘I tell you what, though, I remember the Megan case well.’
‘Oh?’ Evi’s office door had been hung to swing outwards when she pushed it with her foot.
‘Yeah, a colleague of mine took a very close interest. He was doing some work on the effects of disasters on small communities.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Evi, setting off along the corridor.
‘When a community suffers an out-of-the-ordinary loss, its impact can be felt for quite some time,’ said Steve. ‘The place gets a slightly grim reputation with the outside world and that can start to affect how people there think and behave. He wrote a paper on the subject, it looked at places like Hungerford, Dunblane, Lockerbie, Aberfan. I’ll try and dig it out for you.’
Evi turned the corner and nearly ran into a group of three colleagues chatting in the corridor. They stepped aside and she nodded her thanks. ‘The BMJ did a piece on it too, not long ago,’ Steve was saying. ‘After a disaster, up to 50 per cent of the population can suffer from mental distress. The prevalence of mild or moderate disorders can double. Even severe disorders like psychosis increase.’
‘But you’re talking about major disasters, surely? Earthquakes, airplanes coming down, chemical plants exploding. Severe loss of life.’ Evi passed a woman and child in the corridor, then a porter.
‘True, and I’m not trying to suggest that a couple of dead children can compare in any real way. But the Megan case was very high-profile. You should still expect there to be an impact on the community’s mental health. On some level the people up there will feel responsible. They’ll feel tainted.’
‘So what happened previously could, albeit subconsciously, be affecting my patient’s recovery?’
‘I wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised. You might want to find out more about what actually happened when your patient’s daughter died. Read some old newspapers, talk to the GP in question. It’ll give you a point of reference. You can compare what she’s telling you with what you know about the facts. See if there are any discrepancies. You mustn’t be confrontational, of course, but sometimes we learn more from what our patients don’t tell us than from what they do. Make any sort of sense?’
Evi had reached the main door of the hospital. Some idiot had left a pile of packing crates at the top of the disabled ramp. ‘Yes, it does,’ she said, glaring at the crates. ‘Thanks, Steve. I’m going to have to go now. I have to give somebody a serious bollocking.’
30
10 October
‘TO EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON, A TIME FOR EVERY purpose under the sun,’ read Harry. His voice, rarely lowpitched, bounced around the empty church. ‘A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up…’
A scuffling noise behind him. He stopped. A quick glance over his shoulder told him he was still alone in the church. He’d said goodbye to Alice ten minutes ago, to Gillian three or four minutes after that. Both had been helping him put the finishing touches to the harvest decorations. He’d have seen anyone come in. You didn’t miss much, standing in the pulpit.
‘… a time to pluck up that which is planted,’ he continued, his eyes scanning the rows of pews although he was sure the noise had come from behind him. ‘A time to kill and a time…’ He stopped again, not liking the feeling he was getting between his shoulder blades, the feeling that any second now, someone behind him would reach out and…