From a Safe Distance (5 page)

‘Well, if you put it like that, I suppose so.'

Max picked up his case and coat. ‘I've had an idea,' he announced. ‘I want to be honest with Helen. And I want to get her involved. Thanks, Simon, but I know where to start.'

While a definite plan of action eluded him at this stage, he continued recording his thoughts at home. This had become not only a routine but a necessity; he realised it was keeping Vee alive for him. He would find the right time to talk to
Helen and he would read the book. This decision made him feel more confident.

He hadn't told Simon or Helen about Jim's visit to Porteblanche that week, and how he had been persuaded to keep his copy of the book rather than give it back to Vee's family. Jim had told Max that he played a “very important part” in the book; this was intriguing. While talking to Simon, he had realised that Helen was the obvious, perfect person to help him – that is, of course, if things worked out– because Simon was right: he would not be able to act alone.

The light in the attic room changes. Max finds himself in a lecture theatre, addressing a group of medical students about the effects of suicide on hospital personnel. He is in a spotlight, on the platform. Their faces are in darkness; all he can see is a rough arc of light, which moves according to who is speaking, at the top of each head, lighting up hair as if there is a projector behind them. He begins: –

“When someone dies like this, the people involved in her care cannot help feeling guilty. We always think we should have seen the signs and acted more quickly”.

“But we can't see into their mind, can we, so what can we do?” A student in the front row blurts out.

“Exactly. If someone is really determined to do something, there is very little anyone can do about it. Criticism from outside is not helpful, nor is hindsight. They do nothing to assuage guilt. We have to absolve ourselves if we are to continue, in order to give the best care possible to our other patients. I have never experienced – and I hope I never do – the kind of difficulties, the mindset that leads to suicidal thoughts, so I cannot hope to appreciate how a patient was feeling on a daily basis”.

The lecture theatre fades, the light returns to normal. But he still has a vague sense that Vee is watching him. There were plenty of reasons why he should
not
go on with some kind of investigation, especially with regard to confidentiality: he hoped he would not be put in an awkward position
regarding Vee. On the other hand, Vee did choose to make aspects of her life public in the first place by writing
Doors Closing
.

It was his last day at Porteblanche. He had to remind Helen of that, when she started to ask him again what he had been doing working so late. She'd had to throw away his dinner last night and wasn't happy. At breakfast he pointed out that from now on, she would be desperate to get him
out
of the house rather than back in it.

The last ever ward round: Max felt a kind of excitement. Wearing a dark, smart suit for a change, he went down the stairs and reached the long, spacious corridor, a light green tube lit from the right by a pale afternoon sun. The echo of his footsteps as he made his way to the acute wards filled him with a sense of the importance of this moment in his life. He would probably only get to see two or three patients today who were ready for discharge, as his colleagues were already looking after the others.

He was surprised at how his last day had crept up and was here, now. As he entered the first ward, Simon was just leaving.

‘You won't disappear at five, will you?' the younger man said quietly.

‘Why?' Max raised his eyebrows in feigned innocence.

‘Well, you never know, there might be drinks in it,' he replied, tapping the side of his nose and heading for the door.

‘More than one?'

Simon grinned as he went out into the corridor. When the rounds on both acute wards were over, Max had cards and good wishes from the nurses, then champagne and gifts in the largest office upstairs.

He was frogmarched up there by two nursing assistants, who announced: “We found this unsavoury character lurking on the wards!” A cheer went up. But because of the impending work concerning Vee, he didn't feel as if he was really retiring.

The office had looked bare as he shut the door for the last time, but he knew that a fresh young doctor would be moving in before long. He wished whoever it was the best of luck; he had seen a lot of changes during his career, some of them not for the better. The textbook he had used when training, by Slater and Roth, had emphasised the dignity of patients and inculcated respect for them in their suffering. Nowadays, he felt, basic kindness was sometimes forgotten, replaced by reliance on medication.

He brought the fat folder home again of course, along with three boxes of books from his shelves. Helen's photo sat on the top of one box, smiling up at him as he took it to the car. One of the nurses carried the other boxes out for him, but at home, Helen wanted the whole lot put up in the attic office straight away. He was pretty out of breath when he'd done that. He was not as fit as he might have been. Helen had on more than one occasion suggested he go to the Well Man clinic, but he never seemed to get round to it.

Helen had taken a few days off to coincide with Max's retirement, but that day she was meeting a friend. All the same, as expected, she was desperate to know what he was up to.

‘It's just that, well, I thought the work you were doing in the evening would stop once you finished at Porteblanche! What is that great fat folder, anyway?' Helen pulled the bedroom curtains back rather more sharply than usual when she came in from the shower. ‘And I want to know what was in that envelope you've hidden somewhere!'

‘Oh, I
will
tell you darling,' he replied, at once anxious and trying to appease.

‘And one more thing: I'm not letting anything get in the way of a holiday somewhere nice and warm. After all, psychiatrists retire a decade earlier than a lot of people, so
my man of leisure should make the most of it.' Helen put her hands on his shoulders, smiled and kissed him.

‘We'll have to see what we can do then,' he replied, looking into her eyes.

Helen went on getting ready. She had been working at the Squaremile Centre for the disabled for ten years, mostly as Manager of Sycamore House; now she wanted to go part-time so that they could be together more, with Max retired and both their girls at university. It was quiet each time Grace and Anna went away and it took some getting used to. Helen thought Max had earned a proper break too; at the same time, she feared that the fat folder might represent competition against a holiday, and was determined to find out what it was.

Max refused to be drawn; he was not about to embark on a lengthy explanation when Helen was going out.

‘When you get back.'

‘Owa. Can't you give me something to go on? Only if you're going to spend more time on that than on me, I think it's only fair you tell me about it.' She sat on the bed next to him, wrapped in her white robe, pretending to sulk. He took her hand and thought for a moment. She was looking at a bruise on her knee, while her freshly washed, neat black hair was slowly cascading over her face.

‘Come back to bed.'

‘I can't. I'm meeting Sally, remember?'

He watched Helen as she finished dressing. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror, turning and smoothing her clothes over her slim figure. He felt proud. He lay back on the bed, wanting to put off showering, wanting Helen. But he also knew he had to pick the right moment to ask for her help – and talk about Vee.

The next morning Helen seemed to be in a bad mood. She said she didn't want him to come with her to Howcester to get the groceries, thank you. The coating of snow was practically gone. She could manage, she said. So off she went, muttering and turning every small movement into a major
event. Meanwhile, he sat in the living room, flicking through the holiday brochures Helen had picked up the day before, egged on, no doubt, by her friend Sally. He wondered why she was so huffy. Then the phone rang. It was Jim. Max remembered having scribbled his home number on the card he'd given him at the funeral. The young man had been to see his sister's grave, and wanted a quick chat.

‘I've been meaning to ask you, Jim – where are your sister's ashes buried?'

‘In St. Peter's, Howcester, with her father. Oh, and the inquest is on March 4
^th
– but no doubt you'll get a letter.'

‘Oh yes, thanks. By the way, Jim, I've decided to read the book. And I'm going to talk to Helen.' There was a loud clattering noise. ‘Oh! that's the post. Hang on … ' There were a couple of cards. It explained Helen's mood. It was February 10
^th
, their anniversary! ‘Jim, I'm going to have to go now.'

‘One last thing, Max: even though you and I have not worked together, I know your reputation. Social services will miss your contribution. Happy retirement!'

He'd better do something about this. They tended to ignore Valentine's Day because it was so close, but it meant doing
something
! She'd be back before long.

When Helen opened the front door with a large number of bags, Max came downstairs from the attic and pretended he'd forgotten the date to start with. He stalled. Next he tried to embrace her, but she had “all this shopping to put away”. Then the florist's van turned up not a moment too soon, and he let her answer the door as if he couldn't be bothered.

‘Oh, Max, you old devil! They're lovely. Come here!'

‘Is Madame free zis evening?'

‘Pourquoi?'

‘Parce que I ‘ave booked a tebell at ze Franch restaurant, Lisette's, for ett o'clock.'

‘I might be.' She pretended to start sulking again, but couldn't keep it up. ‘Would you like this?' She went over to the utility room and, reaching behind the door, pulled out
the heavy country jacket, still in its polythene cover, that he had admired recently in a shop window. ‘Try it on!'

‘Oh, I'll try it on all right!' He chased her up the stairs and she shrieked in mock alarm.

They lay naked on the bed after making love. He looked at their reflection in the mirror opposite while playing about with their feet. It reminded him of how they used to be before the girls came along. Helen was staring at the ceiling; he noticed her cheek move.

‘What are you smiling at, beautiful lady?'

‘Oh, I was just thinking about when we first met.'

‘On that bateau mouche on the Seine. Quite romantic, I s'pose.'

‘I don't know if it was a bateau mouche, a vedette or a navette – I never really worked out the difference. But a boat of some sort, anyway. You were with your parents. You came over to ask me something, thinking I was French! When I didn't understand your best efforts – and I had you going there, didn't I, for a while! –' she laughed, ‘you were embarrassed to discover that I was in fact from Edinburgh!'

He kissed her shoulder. ‘It was a long way to go to find what was already at home.'

‘Your parents; am I right in thinking that it was their first time abroad, ever?'

‘You are. But I was worried that they were here in Howcester and I was so far away. I tried for two years to get a post down here, as you know, then when I did … It was as if I'd gone to Edinburgh just to meet you, pick you up and then take you away.

It was a shame my mum and dad weren't around long enough to make it to the wedding, but I shared yours.'

Helen laughed. ‘Hey, Max. Isn't it nice to have time together, to talk?'

‘Yes, darling.'

Helen was relieved to find the old Max again. For the past few months his sense of humour, important not only for his job, had been noticeably absent. The sex was better, too.
Propped up on one elbow, she recalled their time in Edinburgh.

‘D'you remember how we used to meet up in that café near the Royal? You were like a teenager! Hadn't you had a girlfriend before me? I've been dying to ask you – I'm surprised I never got round to it. You were such a geek!' She smiled, that amazing smile. How could she upset anyone when she smiled like that? But for a moment he too pretended to sulk.

‘Actually, I did have a girlfriend before you.' He smiled at her. ‘But I behaved like that with you, I know, because you were a precious jewel. I was in awe; I couldn't believe you were mine.' As soon as he'd said this, he felt a pang: it was a wave of jealousy from Vee, watching, listening.

‘Oh, Max! That's a lovely thing to say!' She went into her baby voice: ‘But whatever you were, or are, like, I think you're dead sweet.' She dabbed him on the nose with her finger. ‘The best hubby and the best daddy, ever.' Then she stretched, got up and pulled on her dressing gown, and resumed her usual voice. ‘I'm cold!'