Eight

The most tiresome thing about having a guest – or in this case a pseudo-guest – coming to call is the apparent tradition that you are meant to clear up for them. Fiona Mackenzie was due mid morning. This gave me a couple of hours after taking Elsie to school to dither around the house. I had to be tactical about this. Clearing up the house in any meaningful sense was obviously impractical. Establishing order was an even more forlorn hope which needed to be explored in detail with Sally. But Sally was very slow and she had a complicated emotional life and any conversation with her got lost in its labyrinths. For the moment I had time to push a few things out of the way so that doors could be entered, hallways walked along, chairs sat on.

The surface of the kitchen table was almost invisible, but it only took the transfer of Elsie’s bowl and cup into the sink, the stowing of her cereal packets into a cupboard, the disposal of a few days’ worth of opened envelopes in the bin, and almost half of it was available for use once more. I pushed the window above the kitchen sink slightly up and opened the door to the garden. The house would at least smell a bit cleaner. I wandered up and down looking for anything else that I could tidy up. One of the radiators was leaking rusty liquid on to the floor so I put a cup under it. I looked into the lavatory and thought about cleaning it. I needed bleach or one of those liquids with nozzles designed for squirting under the rim. I made do with flushing it. That was enough for one day.

Looking from a first-floor window, I could see sunlight streaking the lawn and I could hear a bird singing in a twittery sort of way. Things like this were presumably among the benefits of living in this godforsaken bit of countryside. One was supposed to find bird-song beautiful. Was it a skylark? A nightingale? Or did they only sing at night? A robin? A pigeon? Except that I knew that pigeons cooed instead of singing. I was running out of birds. I ought to get a book about bird-song. Or a CD or something.

This was all wrong. I was curious, but most of all I was irritated at having committed myself to an arrangement which was out of my control. I felt bad about Danny; worse than bad – uneasy. I knew I ought to ring and admit I was wrong, but I kept putting it off. I find it hard to be in the wrong. I made myself some instant coffee and compiled a cross list inside my head: it was a distraction for me; a waste of my time; it was an unprofessional way to deal with a person who needed help; it might even be dangerous; it would do no good for Elsie; I didn’t like the idea of somebody else in my space; and I didn’t like the idea of indistinct, open-ended commitments. I felt exploited and sulky. I retrieved one of the old envelopes from the bin and made a real list.

As eleven-thirty approached, I hovered near the window which looked out at the approach to the house. Another morning entirely wasted. I tried to tell myself that I should be savouring these entirely useless bits of filler time. After years without a spare moment I was wandering around from room to room without even being able to form a coherent impulse. Finally I heard a car pulling up near the front door. I looked out of the window, keeping myself far enough back so that I would be invisible to anybody looking up at the house. It was an entirely anonymous four-door thing, wedge-shaped like a supermarket cheddar. There were no blue lights or orange lines. Three of the doors opened at once. Baird and another man in a suit got out of the front seats. From the rear door stepped a man in a long charcoal-grey overcoat. He straightened up with obvious relief, for he was tall. He looked around briefly, and I glimpsed a swing of lank dark-blond hair, a thin and aquiline face. He bent down and looked back inside the car and I thought of the way, only a year ago, I had cursed the straps on Elsie’s baby-seat, the awkward angles at which I had had to extract her from the old Fiat. I saw a jeaned leg emerge and then a young woman stepped out. She was blurred by the coarse grain of the old window. I saw jeans, a navy-blue jacket, dark hair, pale skin, nothing else. I heard a knock at the door and walked down the stairs.

Baird stepped into my house with an avuncular, possessive air that repelled me. I suspected that all of this wasn’t his idea, or at least that I wasn’t his idea, but that he was going to make a show of seeing it through. He stepped to one side to allow the others to pass. The man in the long coat was leading the girl by the arm, gently.

‘This is DC Angeloglou,’ Baird said. ‘And this is Dr Daley.’ The man gave me a curt nod. He was unshaven but looked none the worse for that. He looked around him with narrowed eyes. He seemed suspicious, as well he might. ‘And here is Miss Fiona Mackenzie. Finn Mackenzie.’

I held my hand out to her, but she wasn’t looking at me and didn’t see it. I turned the action into a meaningless fluttery gesture. I invited them through to where there was a sofa and we all sat down awkwardly. I offered them tea. Baird said that Angeloglou would make it. Angeloglou stood up looking irritated. I went with him, leaving silence behind us in the sitting room.

‘Is this really a good idea?’ I whispered as I rinsed out some mugs.

He shrugged.

‘It might do some good,’ he said. ‘We’ve got sod all else, but don’t tell anyone I said so.’

When we returned, it was to a silent room. Baird had picked up an old magazine from the floor and was looking at it absently. Dr Daley had removed his coat and, wearing a rather startling yellow shirt which might have come from an expensive Italian designer or from an Oxfam shop, was sitting beside Finn on the sofa. I held out two mugs of tea and Daley took them both and placed them on the table. He felt in his trouser pockets as if he’d lost something and didn’t know what it was.

‘Can I smoke?’ His voice was almost unnaturally deep, with a certain languid drawl. I remembered the type from med school. Socially assured in a way I never felt myself to be.

‘I’ll get an ashtray,’ I said. ‘Or an equivalent.’

I immediately felt more at home with him than with Baird or Angeloglou. He was well over six foot; the cigarette packet looked slightly too small in his long-fingered hands. He lit a cigarette immediately and was soon tapping the ash into the saucer I gave him. He must have been in his mid forties, but he was hard to assess because he looked tired and distracted. He had dark smudges under his grey eyes and his straight sheet of hair was a bit greasy. It was a curiously crowded face, with fierce eyebrows, high cheek-bones and a wide, sardonic mouth. Finn looked small and frail and rather bland beside him. The paleness of her face was only accentuated by her thick dark hair and her sombre clothes. She had evidently not eaten for days; she was gaunt, her cheek-bones prominent. She was unnaturally still, except that her eyes flickered, never settling on anything. Her neck was bandaged and the fingers of her right hand constantly strayed to the edge of it, picking at it.

I ought to be saying that my heart went out to this cruelly abused creature, but I felt too compromised and confused for that. This was an absurd setting for meeting a new patient, but then she wasn’t my patient, was she? But exactly what was she? What was I meant to be? Her doctor? Older sister? Best friend? A stool-pigeon? Some kind of amateur police forensic psychologist sniffing for clues?

‘Are you enjoying life in the country, Dr Laschen?’ asked Baird airily.

I ignored him.

‘Dr Daley,’ I said, ‘I think it would be a good idea if you and Finn went upstairs to look at the room where Finn will be staying. It’s the room at the back on the left looking over the garden. You can have a look round and tell me if I’ve forgotten anything.’

Dr Daley looked quizzically at Baird.

‘Yes, now,’ I said.

He led Finn out of the room and I heard them mounting the stairs slowly. I turned to Baird and Angeloglou.

‘Shall we step out into some of this countryside that I’m meant to be enjoying so much? You can take your tea with you.’

Baird shook his head as he saw the state of my kitchen garden.

‘I know,’ I admitted, kicking a pink plastic object Elsie must have dropped out of the way. ‘I had this vision of being self-supporting.’

‘Not this year,’ said Angeloglou.

‘No,’ I said. ‘It seems as if I’ve got other things to do. Look, Inspector…’

‘Call me Rupert.’

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.

‘Are you serious? All right. Rupert. Before I start anything, there are some things we need to talk about.’

I extracted the old envelope from the pocket of my jeans.

‘Is this official?’ he asked.

I shook my head.

‘I don’t give a fuck whether it’s official or not. You got my name as an authority on trauma.’

‘An authority on trauma with an isolated house in the country near Stamford.’

‘Fine, well, I should start by saying, even if it’s only to you two that, in my professional capacity, I don’t consider this to be professional.’

‘It’s convenient.’

‘I don’t know whose convenience we’re talking about, but Finn ought to be in familiar surroundings with people she knows and trusts.’

‘The people she knows and trusts are dead. Apart from that, she has absolutely refused to see anybody she knows. Except for Dr Daley, of course.’

‘As I’m sure you’ve been told, Rupert, that is a standard response to what she’s been through, and it’s not in itself a justification for projecting her into an entirely new environment.’

‘And we have some reason to believe that her life could be in danger.’

‘All right, we’re not arguing about that. I just wanted to give you my objective medical opinion.’ I looked down at my envelope. ‘Secondly, do you see me as playing some sort of informal part in your investigation, because if you do…’

‘Not at all, Dr Laschen,’ Baird said in a soothing tone that enraged me. ‘Quite the contrary. As you know, Miss Mackenzie has said nothing about the murders. But there’s no question of you being expected to poke around trying to stir up memories and find out clues. This would do more harm than good. Anyway, I understand that this is not your therapeutic style.’

‘That’s right.’

‘If Miss Mackenzie should wish to make a statement, she is no different from any other citizen. Just contact me and we will be glad to hear what she has to say. We in our turn may occasionally visit her here as part of our inquiries.’

‘What makes you think she’s under threat?’

Baird did a mock double take.

‘Have you seen her throat?’

‘Do murderers normally come back if they’ve failed the first time?’

‘This is an unusual case. They wanted to kill the entire family.’

‘Rupert, I’m not interested in the details of your investigation. But if you’re trusting me to look after Finn, you must trust me with any relevant information.’

‘Fair enough. Chris?’

Angeloglou, caught with a mouthful of tea, choked and spluttered.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s possible that there is an animal rights connection. It’s a line of inquiry.’

‘Why would they want to kill Finn?’

‘To save little pigs from having lotions and potions administered to wounds deliberately fostered in their flesh. She is guilty by family association.’

A sudden thought occurred to me.

‘When I was at university I was part of a group of hunt saboteurs. For a bit. I was arrested and cautioned.’

‘Yes, we know.’

‘Well, how do you know she’s safe with me?’

‘You’ve taken the Hippocratic oath, haven’t you?’

‘Doctors don’t take the Hippocratic oath any more. That’s a myth.’

‘Oh,’ said Baird, disconcerted. ‘Well, please don’t kill her, Dr Laschen. The investigation’s going slowly enough as it is.’

I looked at my envelope once more.

‘I have friends, a child, people coming to the house. What am I supposed to tell them? I’ve already told Danny – my, uh, boyfriend – who she is.’

‘It’s best to keep it simple. Complicated stories have a way of going wrong. Couldn’t she be some sort of student, staying with you? What about that?’

I was silent for a long time. I couldn’t deal with this.

‘I’m not interested in all these cloak-and-dagger games. I can’t manage it and it’s not going to be much help to Finn.’

‘That’s why we’re making it as simple as we possibly can. Dr Laschen, I know this isn’t ideal. Other arrangements would probably be worse.’

‘All right, I suppose I’ve already agreed.’

‘She could be helping you.’

‘I wish.’

‘And you don’t have to change her name much. Call her Fiona Jones. That should be easy for us all to remember.’

‘All right. But listen to me, Rupert, I reserve the right at any time to terminate this arrangement. If you don’t agree to that, you can take her away with you now. If, at any time, I feel this charade is bad for me, bad for my daughter or, for God’s sake, bad for Finn, then it ends. All right?’

‘Of course, Dr Laschen. But you’ll be fine. We all have great confidence in you.’

‘If that’s so, then your confidence is too easily earned.’

When we returned inside, I asked Dr Daley to help me take the mugs back to the kitchen. I wanted to talk to him alone. There was no chance of Finn following us through. There seemed to be no chance of that poor damaged girl doing anything at all.

‘Sorry to lure you into the kitchen,’ I said. ‘We should have had a proper talk before Finn arrived, but it all seems to be beyond my control. Which I don’t like.’

Dr Daley smiled with an automatic politeness. I stepped forward and looked at him.

‘How are you?’

He returned my assessing stare. He had very deep eyes, opaque. I liked that. Then his face relaxed into a smile.

‘It’s not been a good time,’ he said.

‘Are you sleeping?’ I asked.

‘I’m fine,’ he said.

‘You don’t have to impress me. You can save all that for your practice manager. I like vulnerable men.’

He laughed and then was silent for a moment. He lit a cigarette.

‘I feel I could have handled this better. And I’m sorry about all this as well,’ he said, gesturing with a vague kind of grace, as if at the whole situation in which we found ourselves. ‘I’ve only been obeying orders.’

I didn’t say anything. He began talking as if he couldn’t tolerate the silence.

‘Incidentally, I wanted the chance to tell you that I read your article in the BMJ, ‘The Invention of a Syndrome’, or whatever it was called, the one that caused all the fuss. It was splendid.’

‘Thanks. I didn’t think doctors like you would read it.’

His colour rose slightly and his eyes narrowed.

‘You mean a GP out in the provinces.’

‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant a doctor outside the speciality.’

It was an awkward moment, but then Daley smiled again.

‘I can remember a bit of it by heart: “dogma, based on unexamined premises and unsupported by demonstration”. The stress counsellors must have needed some counselling of their own after reading that.’

‘Why do you think I’m out here in the sticks setting up my own unit? Who else would employ me? By the way, I mean “the sticks” in the nicest possible way.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Dr Daley. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and picked up the mugs. ‘You wash, I’ll dry.’

‘No, you wash and then put them in the rack and they can dry on their own. How is Finn?’

‘Well, the superficial lacerations…’

‘I don’t mean that. You’re her doctor, what do you make of her?’

‘Dr Laschen…’

‘Call me Sam.’

‘And call me Michael. If you mean her mood, her degree of shock, then I’m talking beyond my field of competence.’

‘That doesn’t stop other people. What do you think?’

‘I think she is severely traumatized by what happened. Understandably traumatized, I would say.’

‘How is her speech?’

‘You mean from her injuries? It has been affected. There is some degree of laryngeal paralysis. There may have been minor lesions in the vocal cords.’

‘Any stridor or dysphonia?’

Daley paused in his scouring of a mug.

‘Is this your field?’

‘More like a hobby. It’s one up from stamp-collecting. Or one down.’

‘Perhaps you should have a word with Dr Daun at Stamford General,’ said Daley, returning to his scrubbing. ‘Anyway, she’s all yours now.’

‘No, she isn’t,’ I replied. ‘She’s your patient. I insist on that. This is irregular enough as it is. I’m helping out in an informal, I hope, supportive way. But I understand you’ve been her GP for years, and it’s absolutely essential that you should remain in place in her eyes as the doctor. Is that acceptable to you?’

‘Sure. I’ll do anything at all to help.’

‘I hope you’ll come to see her regularly then; you’re her only link to the world she comes from.’

‘There we are, finished,’ he said, having washed up not just the mugs but my breakfast things and yesterday’s dinner things as well. ‘I should say that I felt dubious about this. I mean about this as a plan. But the way it’s worked out, I don’t think Finn could be in better hands.’

‘I hope everybody is going to carry on being this supportive of me when it has all gone wrong.’

‘Why should it go wrong?’ Daley asked, but he laughed as he said it, his eyebrows slanting into a dark upturned ‘V’. ‘The only thing I want to say is that I’m worried about Finn being so cut off from her normal surroundings, from people she knows.’

‘I feel the same, I promise.’

‘You know about these things, but if I could just make a single suggestion, it would be that we should arrange for her to see people. Assuming that’s what she wants and the police agree, of course.’

‘We’ll take it slowly for a bit, shall we?’

You’re the doctor,’ Daley said. ‘Well, I’m a doctor as well, but what I mean is you’re the doctor.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I protested. ‘I’m a doctor. You’re a doctor. And we’ll just try to make the best of this stupid and tragic situation that we possibly can. Meanwhile, I shall want the details of medication, history and so on, and your number. I don’t want to have to go to Baird every time I need some information.’

‘It’s all in my bag in the car.’

‘One more thing. This situation is ridiculously vague, so I want to be firm about one thing. I’m going to tell you and I’m going to tell Baird that I want a strict time-limit for all of this.’

Daley looked taken aback.

‘What do you mean?’

‘If things work out, there’s the danger that we’ll become a replacement family for Finn in her new life. That’s no good. What’s the date now, January the twenty-fifth, isn’t it?’

‘The twenty-sixth.’

‘I’m going to be clear with Finn that whatever happens, however things go, this arrangement is until the middle of March – let’s call it March the fifteenth – and no more. All right?’

‘Fine,’ said Daley. ‘I’m sure it will be less than that anyway.’

‘Good. So, shall we join the ladies?’

‘You think it’s a joke, Sam. You wait until you get invited for dinner by the neighbours.’

‘I’m looking forward to it. I’ve already got my face-powder ready.’