At one point Georges caught Roman’s eye and could almost swear that Roman had read his consternation: a direct, challenging look with a faint smile at the corner of Roman’s mouth. All Georges could think of was Savard’s screams on tape, and he was first to look away. The room felt suddenly as if it was closing in: the beat of the music, Jean-Paul’s cold-shoulder, Roman staring at him, the rising cacophony of voices all around, a woman just behind breaking into laughter… all of it seemed to spin in his head, make him dizzy.
‘Sorry.’ He excused himself to Simone and headed to the bathroom, splashing some water on his face as he stared hard in the mirror. Strange how quickly he could become an outcast to the extended Lacaille family, a stranger at this gathering. Marked contrast to the camaraderie when they’d all grouped together under this same roof during the ice storms, playing cards and charades: the Lacaille family and their favoured inner circle against a hostile world outside. Now he too was practically out in the cold, along with the ice sheets.
And it was in that moment, with his frantic, haunted eyes still fixed in the mirror as he dabbed dry with a towel, that he finally decided: he couldn’t take the burden of this secret any longer. He’d have to tell the truth about that night with Roman and Leduc. He didn’t want to tell Jean-Paul directly, that was what he’d been avoiding all along: ratting one brother against the other. But perhaps he could confide in someone in the middle: Simone or Jon Larsen? Which would be best?
The decision made, he felt as if a sack had been lifted from his shoulders as he emerged. And it was then too that Jean-Paul’s smile finally came in return — just after Georges whispered in Simone’s ear as Frank Massenat trod on Lillian’s foot for the second time during his disastrous attempt at the Bossanova: ‘He doesn’t need to strong-arm people, he just needs to threaten to dance with them.’
Simone smiled broadly, and as Georges pecked her on the cheek and straightened up, Jean-Paul was smiling over at them. But Georges couldn’t tell whether it was directed just at his daughter, or whether it embraced both of them.
‘I know that you already had Social Services on to you asking about Lorena, Dr Tinsley, but this was something entirely separate — more to do with her condition when she first arrived in this country,’ Elena elaborated. ‘As one of the agency workers involved in her placing here, that was more my neck of the woods.'
‘I see. Well, what sort of thing specifically?’
Elena could still sense Tinsley’s caution over the line. She decided to backtrack a bit, filling in some background about Lorena’s sewer days and the severe depravation of the orphanages. ‘She suffered bouts of disturbing dreams in the last orphanage in Bucharest as a result, and I just wondered what signs there might have been of them continuing in England?’
‘Surely this is more psychiatric or counselling territory, than a physicians.’
‘I know. But they were never severe enough that she was recommended for treatment, so this would really be just a general observation on your part.’
‘Well… I, uh, she never actually complained directly about any dreams that I recall… but she did at times seem a bit detached, pre-occupied.’
Elena could hear the flicking of some papers in the background; she wasn’t sure whether the hesitation was Tinsley showing due caution or just that his attention was only half with her. ‘I mean, did she seem troubled… would you say that she might have been suffering from depression?’
‘Depression? A bit of an extreme term for a nine-year old.’ Lightly humouring tone, almost condescending. ‘But she was, shall we say, sometimes distant, lost in her own world. I often had to repeat questions. Though I must say I put this largely down to her getting to grips with the language and also getting used to her new environment.’
‘Right.’ She sensed she’d gone as far as she could about Lorena, but from Nadine’s earlier paperwork she’d noted Tinsley’s age: 53. ‘And the other adopted girl, Mikaya — were you her GP as well?’
‘Yes, I was. But I thought-’
‘And was there any history of depression or upsets there?’ Elena barrelled in quickly with the question, hoping to catch Tinsley off guard. But Tinsley merely continued with his started objection.
‘…I thought you were only concerned with Lorena — so I don’t really see what that has to do with anything.’ Defensively questioning.
‘Yes, I know. But we’re trying to isolate if this is just a problem with Lorena. Because if there’s been a similar problem with another child of mental detachment and depression — it could be that unconsciously the Ryalls are somehow alienating these children from abroad, not fully embracing and accepting them as family.’ Elena listened to the shallow fall of Tinsley’s breath at the other end, wondering if he’d fall for it. She felt as if she were treading on egg-shells; it was the only plausible story she could think of to get what she wanted. ‘As I say, I don’t think this is something the Ryalls would knowingly have done. It’s just that children can often be very sensitive — particularly displaced children like this.’
‘Look, there was something — but it was absolutely nothing to do with the Ryalls, more to do with a boyfriend.’ A brisk, blustery tone, as if Tinsley thought Elena might have heard something and he wanted to ensure she didn’t fill in the gaps the wrong way. ‘What I can vouch for is that Mr and Mrs Ryall supported Mikaya wholeheartedly and unequivocally throughout the whole matter. Beyond that, I think you should speak to the Ryalls directly, or the Social Services.’
‘Yes, yes, certainly. I understand.’ My, my, she had touched a nerve. Boyfriend? ‘You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.’ She bowed out swiftly, getting the distinct impression that if she’d pushed an inch more, Tinsley would have hung up on her.
Elena dialled Nadine Moore’s number straightaway. She was out, so Elena left her number for a call back. She tapped her fingers impatiently for a second by the phone, then went downstairs to pour a fresh coffee. The first few sips and the aroma made her feel a bit more alert; she hadn’t slept well the night before after seeing Lorena pass by.
No call back had come by mid-morning with more news from Megan, so after half an hour of thinking through tactics, she’d decided to start on trying to help Lorena. Not sure how far she’d get, and feeling a bit like a frantic juggler given her own dilemma — self-examining for a moment if it was just because of the lull, killing time so as not to dwell on her own uncertainty. No, she’d have made time regardless. She couldn’t have lived with herself knowing she’d simply deserted Lorena at the first obstacle; she had to at least give it one last try.
Gordon was out for a few hours seeing some local clients, so at least the pressure was gone of him lurking around. Megan and Terry’s bill was already up to?830,?300 beyond what she could manage from her own account. She’d made an excuse to Gordon about problems with her car: new disk brakes needed, according to the garage. But what about the next?300, and the one after that; she’d either have to become inventive, or bare all to Gordon. She shook her head: such a momentous secret kept for so long, how could their relationship survive it?
Two hours later she was sat at the back of Chelborne Sands in Nadine Moore’s car, the two of them like drug dealers or lovers on a clandestine meet. More secrets.
‘It’s all there. Everything regarding Mikaya Ryall.’ Nadine passed the file across. ‘I can only let you read the file, not take it anywhere or copy it. Make notes if you like — but if anyone asks you where you got the information, it wasn’t me. Right?’
‘Yes… of course.’ Elena was only half listening as she rifled hungrily through the file. Nadine had protested strongly about digging out and sharing the file, and Elena had to push hard: ‘If you’re happy with what Ryall did, taping our conversation; and if, despite that, you’re satisfied he has nothing at all to hide and everything’s alright with Lorena — then fine, don’t help me.’ Nadine had against her better judgement finally relented, though was still muttering and complaining now that she shouldn’t be doing this. ‘I must be crazy. I could lose my job if this got out.’