From a Safe Distance (28 page)

Helen desperately wanted to get back to her original house, Sycamore. She had put a good deal of effort into improving the systems, and morale, both on Grove and Birch, and her enthusiasm was now beginning to wane. She would come home with horror stories about the residents and Max could see that the job was taking it out of her. She really should see a doctor; her headaches and tiredness continued to worry Max.

At the end of the first week, as they sat at the table again after dinner, Helen told Max how Nat had come into the office, her long, dyed blond hair flowing loose. She was wearing make-up, earrings and a chain round her neck, and she had rings on three fingers of each hand. Helen repeated their conversation, putting on a convincing accent for Nat.

‘I said to her, “Before we start, Nat, I want to remind you of what I said before: those rings are unhygienic, given the work we do. And you should tie your hair back. If it got caught in the hoist or something, you'd know about it.”‘

Max nodded and found himself smiling with anticipation.

‘Nat sniffed, and chewed. “Sandra and Jean didn't mind”, she said.'

He laughed at the intonation.

‘Then I said, “Well I'm Helen, and I do mind. Besides
which, it's not just me being awkward. It's a Health and Safety issue.”‘

‘You old schoolma'am!' Max blurted out, teasing.

Helen looked at him across the debris of their meal. ‘But it's true, Max!'

‘Oh, I know that. So what happened next?'

‘Well, I realised this wasn't a good start if I wanted Nat's co-operation, so I got her to tell me about herself and what she thought she'd achieved at Squaremile. And I congratulated her on her promotion.'

‘You buttered her up, you mean.'

‘I did. I'm not proud! But at least then I was able to reintroduce the idea of a taped conversation. And I got what I wanted.'

By the end of the following evening, Max had finished transcribing Liz's and Nat's interviews. They would be ready if required. The other recordings Helen had made in between, during the week, turned out to be unusable for one reason or another, although they gave Helen a certain amount of information. Helen had been shocked and angered by Nat's complacency. Vee was dead, after all, and Nat could only snigger when she was mentioned. Max too was disappointed by the attitude of the juniors, although Liz's attitude was not as destructive as Nat's.

On a more positive note, however, Max and Helen were pleased by the fact that the recordings would provide the evidence they needed, excellent ammunition for what lay ahead. They knew that very soon they would have to round off the report and approach someone with a view to organising a meeting.

Sandra was due back in a week, on Thursday. They decided to start by going to Jack Marshall in the end, as he was Helen's line manager and Max thought they should follow protocol after all. The Friday before, she tried to see Jack, but he proved elusive and then had the weekend off. Max knew Helen didn't like Jack, but he wasn't sure why. At last she was able to make an appointment with his
secretary for Tuesday at 11 a.m. in his office. She asked if Max could also be present. He had one patient at ten, then he was free until 2 p.m. But Jack's secretary would not agree to it, even though Helen claimed she needed the moral support of her husband. According to the secretary, it was strictly Squaremile business; a psychiatrist was not thought necessary.

Max noticed that the combination of seeing Jack Marshall and Sandra's imminent return made Helen more than usually anxious. She focused on her appearance, despite her exhaustion. The day before, Max had gone to Vee's inquest, which was pretty wearing, then he had worked on the Vee report and his own notes late into the night. But at the moment, Helen was obviously in need of reassurance.

‘Max, you don't think this top is too low-cut, do you?'

‘You look fine, darling, as always. I just wish I could be there to see Jack with you, but it'll be OK; there's no need to worry.'

Helen gave Max her helpless child look and he wondered what kind of man Jack was to inspire such apparent fear. Max drove her to Squaremile. It made sense to use one car when they were both in on a Tuesday, even though it meant he had about an hour and a half before his first appointment. He parked round the back of the Day Hospital and staff lounge, where there was some outdoor seating.

He sat on one of the worn leatherette benches in the staff lounge with a coffee. This lounge must be due for a facelift, he thought, as he noticed the ubiquitous magnolia was peeling round the doorframes and under the windowsills. A group of metal-framed chairs had been arranged round each of the two large tables, one at each end of the room. The black padded built-in seating stretched in two arcs under the windows, giving the impression of eyebrows, with the tables as eyes. These were the meanderings of a tired mind. There
were
other tables and chairs, next to other windows. Where the bridge of the nose would be, to his left, stood a
huge plant resembling a palm. But what had once been considered good design was now shabby and in need of some tlc. Max was alone except for the bar staff, clattering crockery and cutlery.

A length of brown carpet, sunk into the floor, extended from the admin. block offices at one end to the Day Hospital at the other, dividing the seating area from the bar. The office he borrowed every week was the first on the right in the Hospital.

Jack Marshall appeared, heading towards the admin. offices. Max had only met him once, briefly, before today. They were about the same age, but Jack still had a full head of hair, which is more than Max could say, and a lean physique, suggesting he had once been a runner. His bearing was such that Max guessed he had been in the Forces. Max stood up.

‘Ah, Dr Greenwood. I'm seeing your wife this morning.' His Birmingham accent hadn't registered last time, but this was their first proper conversation.

‘That's right,' said Max.

‘She's a very attractive woman,' he smiled. ‘You should be careful!'

Max smiled back. ‘I know. I'm a lucky man.'

Jack went on his way. Max decided to go next door, to the borrowed office, to do some paperwork, but he was preoccupied with the Project and his concern over Helen. His desk was under the window, and a movement outside caught his attention. A little way off, Jack Marshall was talking to a woman in her late forties or so, with short fair hair, whose body language was very controlled; no doubt she was aware that people might be watching. Then Jack raised his arm to indicate that they should go indoors. Max moved aside quickly as they approached the entrance to the right of his window. He could hear their voices but couldn't make out any words. They went through the staff lounge to Jack's office and Max eased across in his seat.

He realised it was time for his patient, and looked up just as she was arriving with a care assistant. Half an hour later,
after arranging a follow-up appointment, the care assistant wheeled her away. Max came out of the office as the woman he had seen outside with Jack was making her way back along the brown carpet, still talking to him.

‘I know it's not good, Sandra, but you'll have to tell them – .'

‘– Oh, look, Jack, they won't say anything … '

‘Hello again, Dr Greenwood.' With a nervous laugh, Jack interrupted what was clearly a very private conversation. ‘Have you met our Health and Safety Officer, Sandra Wheatley?'

Sandra smiled. ‘You must be our weekly psychiatrist.'

‘That's right. Well, I'd better be on my way, if you'll excuse me.'

Helen had decided she should see her GP, without telling Max. Her appointment was at 11.30, after Jack. Having brought the spare car keys, she drove the three miles to the village, hoping she would be back in time to meet up with Max for lunch.

Dr Conway was a small, dapper man of about forty, his jet black hair brushed with grey at the temples. Dark, intelligent eyes shone from under his thick brows.

‘Hello, Mrs Greenwood. Take a seat. We don't see you in here very often! What can I do for you today?'

‘I'm a bit worried.' To her surprise, she found it difficult to admit she had a problem, now she had the chance to do so. She had always been fairly healthy and far more concerned with helping other people through
their
difficult times and health problems. ‘I've been having terrible headaches.'

‘How often?'

‘They're getting more frequent – nearly every day, or part of a day now, in fact.'

‘And when did they start?' Dr Conway sat back in his chair, watching her and listening intently.

‘Oh, about two months ago, I suppose.'

‘What does your husband think? Did he get you to come here?' He chuckled. ‘I know what health professionals are like when it comes to seeing doctors.'

‘He doesn't know. That is, he knows I get headaches, but not how bad they are. So far I've managed to control myself so that … He doesn't know I'm seeing you today, although I think he might be starting to get worried.'

‘Are the headaches worse in the morning, or later in the day?'

‘Oh, first thing in the morning, there's no doubt! I have to have painkillers ready by the bed or I can't get up.'

‘Do you have any other symptoms?'

‘Such as?'

‘Dizziness, clumsiness, ataxia, nausea, for example?'

‘I have noticed that I'm more clumsy lately. I keep dropping things, spilling drinks, that kind of thing. I keep getting pins and needles in my right hand. Max won't let me wash up nowadays. And some days I have to take an afternoon nap, which I never used to do. My eyes just won't stay open if I'm not at work.'

‘Right. I see.' Dr Conway glanced at the reference books on the shelf above his desk.

‘What do you think it is, doctor?'

‘There are a few possibilities. Is there any hereditary illness in your family?'

‘Not that I know of. Can I ask … ?'

‘Go on.'

‘Is there something wrong with my brain? Like a tumour or something?'

‘Hmm. We can't rule it out. I'm going to refer you for tests, including an MRI scan. In the meantime, I'll prescribe you a stronger painkiller.'

‘Thank you.'

He printed off the prescription and filled in a form.

‘Here. Have the blood test today – the nurse should still be there.' Helen made to get up, but he went on: ‘Before you go, Mrs Greenwood, I'd like to make two recommendations. One, that you don't drive and two, that you talk to your
husband. The one will necessitate the other. But things would be made easier anyway if you discuss it at this stage.'

‘Rather than wait for some worse news, you mean?'

‘Well, yes. But more importantly, he is your husband. I'm assuming that your relationship is good?'

‘We're fine.'

‘Well, he's there to support you. You don't have to deal with everything on your own. He would come to you if he had a problem, wouldn't he?'

‘I expect so. But you make it sound so easy!'

‘OK. You can drive back up to the Centre, but not after that. Come and see me again when you've had the tests: the scan appointment should come through quite quickly, and we'll take it from there.'

Luckily she was able to park the car in the same space, although there was still the chance Max had missed her. It was a blustery day at the end of March, sun alternating rapidly with cloud. One moment the café tables nearby were gleaming, too bright to look at, the next they were a dull grey. Groups of people came and went. Max and Helen, meeting for lunch, sat indoors by the window with their trays.

‘You're miles away!' said Helen. ‘Don't you want to know, then, how it went with Jack?' She had given him the chance to ask, but now his time was up.

‘Sorry dear. How did it go?' Max felt a surge of excitement, in spite of everything.

‘It was … interesting.' She looked left and right. ‘I don't want to go into too much detail here, but he said … ' She waited for a screaming child to be taken out, then watched Max unwrap his sandwiches. She said she couldn't face anything to eat. She leant forward, confidentially. ‘Jack said he had every confidence in Sandra, even though he admitted there had been one or two complaints from other staff which is why, he says, she was moved off the house. I said I wondered why Sandra hadn't been demoted or disciplined, rather than promoted.'

‘How did he respond to that?'

‘He wasn't prepared to explain; he just said there were other issues involved.'

‘But I thought you were going to try and arrange a proper hearing, for our report.'

‘I was, but other things got in the way.'

‘What about Vee? Did you talk about her?'

‘He maintains Sandra did all she could to help her – .'

‘– I can't understand it!'