‘I knew it would. And it has done. I’ve always been a great believer in alternative therapies. I’d recommend them to anyone.’
‘Yes. I was wondering … did you ever recommend them to your father-in-law?’
‘Bill? I could’ve recommended what I liked to him, but he’d never listen.’
‘Did he ever say to you that he wasn’t feeling well?’
‘No. He wasn’t that sort. He was of the generation that kept things to themselves. He’d never have talked about his health worries to anyone – and certainly not me.’
‘Did you notice any change in his health over the last … I don’t know, the last year, say?’
‘I noticed a change in him. I don’t know that I’d say it was his health. You have to remember I wasn’t seeing much of him round then. Hadn’t seen much of him since he married that woman.’
‘No. But when you say he changed … in what way?’
‘He just seemed to get a bit gloomy and preoccupied.’
‘And when did this happen?’
‘I suppose in the autumn.’ Check, thought Jude.
‘And what did you think was wrong with him?’
‘Nothing physical. Well, he used to get indigestion a lot, but I think that was just because he ate so many meals on the go, you know, at the garage. Not stopping, just cramming a sandwich or a piece of pizza into his mouth.’
‘You don’t think he was worried about the stomach trouble? That that’s what changed his mood?’
‘No. I just think he’d finally realized what a monumental cock-up he’d made by marrying that woman.’ Like her mother, Shannon deliberately avoided the use of Malee’s name, as if speaking it out loud would give the new wife a status she did not deserve.
‘When the excitement of starting afresh wore off …’ she went on, ‘and I don’t know, but I’d also imagine the same thing was happening with the sex – which was obviously what had trapped him in the first place. Men of his age are sitting ducks for women like her. The old blokes think they’re getting a new lease of life, a new surge of potency … It never lasts. I think Bill just came to the awful realization of everything he’d given up by remarrying … Billy and me, the grandchildren, a happy life. It’d be enough to make anyone depressed.’
‘Do you think he was depressed?’
‘I don’t know much about the subject, but he fitted descriptions I’ve read of depression.’
‘And did you recommend any therapy to him?’
‘I told you – I could have recommended anything to him, but he wouldn’t have listened.’
‘Did you actually mention anyone, though, any therapist?’
‘I may have done but, like I say, I might as well have been talking to a brick wall.’
‘Hm.’ Jude was thoughtful. ‘Going back a bit, to the first time you rang me …’
‘Yes?’
‘Asking me if I’d help your mum … I remember you said that you’d tried introducing another healer to her, and it hadn’t worked out.’
‘Right.’
‘You said you thought it didn’t work because he was a man?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you thought a female therapist would work better for a woman client and a male one for a man.’
‘That’s what I still think.’
‘Did you mention that male therapist’s name to Bill?’
‘Yes, I did. But, like I say, he didn’t listen.’
‘What was the therapist’s name?’ asked Jude.
‘Jeremiah.’
Jude put through a call to Karen in Ilkley. There was no reply, so she left a message.
She had a couple of clients booked in that afternoon, one suffering a lot of pain from carpal tunnel syndrome, the other totally disoriented by the menopause. She did her best for both of them. Neither noticed any difference in their treatment, but Jude was disappointed. She hadn’t met her own high standards. She was too distracted to bring to bear the total focus she required to be effective as a healer.
It was after half past five when her second client left. Jude made some coffee and went back to her scrutiny of the diary, still convinced it had further secrets to yield. Though other thoughts were beginning to make connections in her mind, the green book remained the only physical piece of evidence she had.
Bill Shefford’s diagnosis of cancer did of course change everything. It brought back into the equation the possibility of suicide. As someone who had worked in a garage all of his adult life, he would have had the skills to booby-trap Tom Kendrick’s Triumph as a means of ending his own life. And, assuming he got the diagnosis round October the previous year, that would have explained the change of mood that Malee had noticed in him. His life had been going well, he was making a new start, he was happily remarried … and suddenly a dark shadow had spread itself over everything.
The other anomaly that the new information might explain was the death certificate. It had been legal for Dr Rawley to sign it off because he had been treating Bill Shefford. Had he been treating him for the cancer? Had he indeed diagnosed the cancer?
It was frustrating. All these tempting random thoughts which needed some overall format or template to link them together.
The telephone rang. The landline. It was Carole, saying she was back from the vet’s and would it be all right for her to come round? In her tense state, Jude found this little ritual even more annoying than usual. They were neighbours, for God’s sake! Why couldn’t Carole just knock on the door unannounced like any other normal human being?
‘Something to drink?’ asked Jude, as she ushered her visitor in.
‘Well, a cup of coffee would be—’
‘Stuff coffee! I’m going to open some wine.’
‘Isn’t it a bit early for—?’
‘No.’
While she unscrewed the Sauvignon Blanc (which had been transferred from kitchen table to fridge earlier and was now deliciously cold), Jude asked about Gulliver’s state of health.
‘Oh, he’s fine. Vet checked him over and it’s nothing.’
‘Was it the cough that got you worried?’
‘Yes. It can be a symptom of heartworms.’
Jude didn’t know what a heartworm was but didn’t bother to ask for an explanation. She was too preoccupied to care about heartworms.
Quickly, she told Carole what she’d learned from Red.
‘You’re right. That does change everything.’
But before further discussion, Jude’s mobile rang. ‘Oh, hello, Karen. Thanks for getting back to me. How are you both?’
‘In fighting form.’
‘Good. Listen, I was thinking back to that chat we had in the pub during the “Healing Is in the Head” conference …’
Unseen, Carole raised her eyes to the ceiling. A conversation about healing … huh. She picked up Bill Shefford’s diary and started to re-examine it.
‘Most enjoyable evening,’ asserted Karen.
‘I agree,’ said Jude. ‘And it’s something Chrissie said that interested me.’
‘She’s right here with me. Why don’t I put you on speakerphone?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind …’
‘Hi, Jude,’ said the third voice.
‘Hi, Chrissie.’
‘Or should that be “Hey, Jude”?’
‘If you like.’ That particular line was an occupational hazard for anyone with her name.
‘Anyway, Jude, what can I do for you?’
‘Chrissie, it was a client of yours you talked about … or rather you didn’t talk about much, because of client confidentiality.’
‘Ah. I think I know the one you’re talking about.’
‘It was in connection with this healer I’ve met called Jeremiah …’
‘Yes. And I remember I said I couldn’t discuss it because it involved someone I was treating at the time.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Karen and I talked about that afterwards and she said she thought I was being over-scrupulous.’