A Family Affair (30 page)

Paul took the steps two at a time and Helen followed.

‘I'm sorry, it's a bit of a squeeze getting in,' Steve said and as they slid through into the hall Helen saw Walt sprawled on the floor. At a glance she knew he was past help.

‘Where's Vanessa?'

‘In the living room with Heather.'

Leaving Paul with Walt, Helen hurried along the hall. Glad was sitting in one of the fireside chairs, staring into space, Heather was on the sofa, cradling Vanessa in her arms. The child was silent now; Helen guessed she had gone into shock. A faint smell of gas still lingered.

‘Oh, Doctor, I'm sorry!' Heather said inconsequentially as she noticed Helen's finery. ‘You were out somewhere and we've spoiled your evening.'

In the midst of mayhem and tragedy it was the sort of response that might have sounded ridiculous but Helen had heard it – or something similar – many times before – a not unusual attempt at almost banal normality.

‘It couldn't matter less,' she said. ‘Now – let's have a look at this little one.'

‘What a night!' she said to Paul much later. ‘So much for Matthew's soirée!'

‘At least it gave us an easy get-out,' Paul said. ‘Sometimes getting away from these things can be very difficult.'

Helen laughed. ‘That is wicked of you! And I can't imagine the soirée is still going on now. Enid didn't strike me as the night owl type.'

They were driving back to Valley View House. The clock on the dashboard showed one thirty and the valley was silent and dreaming beneath the star-studded velvet of the night sky.

Helen had accompanied Vanessa and Heather to the hospital for X-rays and a thorough check on the little girl, whilst Paul had waited at the house for the police to arrive and then the removal team from the undertakers. By the time Helen got back from the hospital, Walt had been taken away to the mortuary to await the necessary postmortem, for under the circumstances neither he nor Helen had been able to sign a death certificate. Helen was relieved to find him gone; she didn't want little Vanessa traumatised any further.

‘It's the sort of experience that could mark her for life,' she said to Paul now. ‘I only hope they'll talk to her about it and encourage her to do the same.'

Paul threw her a quizzical glance, steering the car into Mill Lane.

‘She's too young for that, surely.'

‘Old enough to know what happened. If they try to make her forget, maybe to all intents and purposes she will, but in fact all that will happen is that it will be driven deep into her subconscious. She'll never deal with it, Paul, just remember she was terrified and carry a child's terror into adulthood. There'll be a trigger – the dark, maybe, or stairs, or something equally innocuous that she associates with her terror and she'll never encounter that without it setting her off. Phobias are made of this.'

‘You're getting a bit deep for me. I didn't do any psychology.'

‘Neither did I. Well, not much, anyway. But believe me, I know from personal experience.'

‘You?'

‘Me. For as long as I can remember I was terrified of birds. Really freaked-out terrified. When I was little I had nightmares about them. I'd wake up thinking my hot-water bottle was a dead bird and I'd lie frozen, afraid to move a muscle in case I touched it. Afraid to get out of bed too, thinking I might step on one. Even when I grew up it wouldn't go away. I'd miss a bus rather than pass a pigeon and the seagulls.' She shuddered, remembering.

‘Are you still afraid?' Paul asked curiously.

‘No, that's the whole point. When I was at med school there was a guy who'd done a degree in psychology. We got talking and he asked if he could hypnotise me. I thought it was a load of rubbish, doubted he could even put me under, but I was intrigued. So I agreed.'

‘And?'

‘It took a couple of sessions before he found what he was looking for – and those sessions were an experience in themselves. I thought I was still fully conscious – relaxed, yes, but totally in control – and then I'd hear myself saying things in this little child's voice – really weird things, like: “Mummy said I didn't have to paddle today'cos I've got a cold, but Daddy let me,” and I'd be describing my dress and my sandals, even my pushchair.'

‘Making it up to please him.'

‘That's what I thought at first. But it wasn't that. It was – weird. And then we got to it. I'd been with Dad for a walk in the woods at Alcombe. Some boys were there, shooting. They killed a rook. It fluttered out of the bushes, dying, right at my feet. I said in that same little child's voice: “It's dead! I don't want it to be dead!” And then I was crying, sobbing, tears streaming down my face. He told me there was nothing to be afraid of, that I was grown up now, and now that I understood, I'd lose my fear.'

‘And did you?'

‘Yes. Not immediately – I had to relearn years of responses. But gradually the terror went away. Now it's gone completely. And I can actually remember that fright with the reaction of an adult. So you see I am living proof of the damage that can be done. My mother had told me to forget it – it was over; she never talked it through with me. I don't want that to happen to Vanessa.'

They had reached Porters Hill whilst she was talking and Paul had pulled up beside the gate. The moon was bathing the valley in light so that the grass took on a silvery sheen and the houses on the far side of the valley were clearly visible. No lights showed at any of the windows; they might have been alone in a silent shadowy world. The sharing of the confidence had made Helen feel closer to Paul, she was surprised at the shaft of warm awareness as she glanced at him. He was looking straight ahead; his profile was strong and unexpectedly attractive. She caught at herself, caught at the sudden surge of emotion which was exciting her and making her feel oddly vulnerable both at the same time.

‘I shall keep an eye on her, anyway,' she said. ‘In fact, I might just have a word with Heather and tell her what I've just told you.'

‘Be careful. People round here are very wary of anything that borders on the psychiatric.'

‘Don't I know it!' She remembered her aunt Grace, her mother's sister, who had suffered so badly from the clinical depression which was described so cruelly hereabouts as ‘going funny'. To go funny was almost a crime, certainly the cause for scorn and derision, as if the subject was to blame for their illness. Pneumoconiosis, hernias and heart disease were acceptable, nervous disorders were not.

‘Heather's young though,' she said. ‘I'm sure she would be more open-minded. We're not living in the Dark Ages any more, for goodness sake.'

‘Hmm.' It was no more than a thoughtful expulsion of breath, followed by silence. Helen looked at him, puzzled.

‘What was that for?'

‘No reason.'

‘It must have been! What were you thinking?'

Yesterday, much as she had enjoyed his company, she would never have pressed him for his private thoughts. That she did so now was a mark of the new intimacy.

‘About Heather.'

‘What about Heather?'

He glanced at her, running his fingers thoughtfully around the steering wheel.

‘Have you looked at her records?'

‘Yes. Why?'

‘There's nothing before she came to Hillsbridge.'

‘The family moved from Bristol during the war, didn't they? I assume Heather's records were lost in the bombing.'

‘Possibly, I suppose. But all the others survived. It's my opinion that Heather's have disappeared for a reason.'

Helen was completely intrigued now.

‘What do you mean?'

He was staring straight ahead again now, still fingering the steering wheel.

‘I looked after Heather when she was having Vanessa. I delivered her in fact. Heather insisted Vanessa was her first child. But she wasn't. I didn't make an issue of it – there were no complications, no real reason to press Heather for details she obviously wanted to keep to herself. But Vanessa was not Heather's first pregnancy. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind. She'd had a baby before.'

Helen was silent, digesting this information.

‘General practice is full of surprises,' Paul said with a grin. ‘Never assume you know a patient, Helen. Most people have a cupboard full of secrets.'

‘I know that,' she said shortly. ‘I'm not totally naive.'

‘I never thought you were. But you do tend to think the best of people.'

‘Is that so bad?'

‘No. Just typically you.'

‘And what,' Helen asked mischievously, ‘is typically me?'

He turned to look at her again. A corner of his mouth turned up; by the bright moonlight she could see it quite clearly.

‘A bit fiery, a bit defensive …'

‘Being a woman in a man's world has made me that!'

‘And really altogether rather nice.'

‘Nice!'

‘A bit more than nice.'

‘Oh.' She was embarrassed suddenly. ‘You mean I'll do.'

‘I reckon.' He paused. ‘How would you feel about doing this more often?'

She knew what he meant; chose to be deliberately obtuse.

‘Spend our evenings dealing with death and trauma?'

‘Not exactly. I was thinking more of the social aspect.'

‘Ah.'

‘You're still involved with that Guy fellow.' He said it so quickly, so defensively, she realised that beneath the down-to-earth side of him which he chose to show to the world, he was actually rather vulnerable.

‘No,' she said. ‘No, I'm not. That's over.'

‘Well then …'

‘Is it wise?' she asked.

‘When was wise ever worth bothering about?'

‘True.' When had she been wise? She hesitated; threw caution to the winds. ‘All right. Just so long as we don't get involved.'

‘Did I ask you to get involved?'

‘No.'
But you meant it. I know you meant it.

‘So what are you worrying about?'

A hundred and one things. Mostly how we would be able to go on working together if we want different things, want to move at a different pace.

‘Paul, I …'

And then he kissed her. Afterwards she was never sure how it had come to happen. Only that she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers and it felt good. Very good.

‘I suppose I shouldn't have done that,' he said, releasing her.

‘No, you shouldn't,' she said. ‘It's exactly the sort of thing I was afraid of.'

‘I suppose that's why I did it,' Paul said. ‘What were you just saying about confronting your fears? That if they're left to go inward they just get worse? I thought if you're into all this Freudian stuff it might be just the kind of therapy you needed.'

‘I see,' Helen said. ‘So it was a form of treatment.'

‘If you like. Did it work?'

The moon was very bright. She thought afterwards it initiated a sort of madness.

‘I'm not sure,' she said. ‘Perhaps you should give it another try.'

He did.

‘Any better?'

‘Let me sleep on it,' she said.

‘I hear poor Walt Simmons has gone,' Charlotte said.

She was wearing her Sunday-best dress, sitting on one of the hardbacked chairs in Dolly's living room with her bag and a cup of tea on the table in front of her. She had been there for the half-hour since Dolly had cleared away the dinner things and replaced the tablecloth with one of the cream centrepieces Charlotte had crocheted for her and a glass jug and basin full of sweet william and snapdragons, waiting for Helen, who had promised to take her for a run in the car. But now that Helen was here, she wasn't sure she wanted to go out. It was a hot afternoon and there was so much traffic on the roads these days it worried her; even sitting in the back seat like a passenger in a taxi she found it difficult to relax, with motorbikes roaring past and other cars coming from all directions. It was a sign of getting old, she supposed, you felt more vulnerable, nervous of things you could have taken in your stride when you were twenty years younger. Besides, she wanted to talk to Helen and talking wasn't easy when the conversation had to be conducted over her granddaughter's shoulder.

‘You went there when it happened, did you?' she asked now.

‘They're my patients, yes.'

‘So what was it then? A clot, I heard.'

‘That's close enough,' Helen said. She didn't want to talk about it – though it was common knowledge now that Walt had suffered thrombosis she was still uncomfortably aware that she was discussing a patient. Even though it was only her grandmother she was talking to, even though it would go no further, she didn't want to give anyone the slightest chance to consider her guilty of breach of confidence. ‘Dolly said … And her niece is the doctor …' was all it would take. Like Caesar's wife, she must remain above reproach.

‘Are you ready to go then?' she asked, changing the subject.

Charlotte sighed, finished her tea and got up. Her ankles bulged over the top of her shoes; even with a notch cut in the leather they felt tight.

‘You're sure you'll be all right, Mam?' Dolly asked, coming in from the kitchen with the tea cloth still in her hand.

‘Of course I'll be all right!' Charlotte said, a touch impatiently. If there was one thing worse than getting old it was having your children
treat
you as old.

Helen had parked her car in the lane behind the rank of houses; she armed Charlotte out and installed her in the back seat.

‘I thought we'd go up to Masbury Ring. Or Deer Leap. What do you fancy?'

‘Deer Leap would be nice.'

Helen had taken her there before; she liked to sit in the car and look down over the vista of countryside, green and unspoiled, though in truth nothing could match the way she had felt with her first sight of the Hillsbridge valley so many years ago. Then she had been a young bride, and to her the rolling fields, the rows of cottages stacked like the fingers of a hand into the hillsides, yellow lias and smoke-blackened grey, all in the shadow of the sentinel batches – the Black Mountains – had seemed an enchanted place. Lovely as it was, the acclaimed beauty spot could not even come close to stirring her as the Hillsbridge valley had stirred her then, but somehow it evoked the memory and as they drove home she said to Helen: ‘I'd like to drive up to Greenslade Terrace. I'd like to see my old home again.'