Look Behind You (5 page)

‘And Chloe was at home when you last saw her?’

‘Yes. Did she tell you what happened when she was hospitalized before?’

Summers nods. ‘She did. But it will help to hear things from you, since Chloe clearly doesn’t remember the incident. The last thing she remembers is your party.’

‘Yes. It was my fortieth. Lots of friends were there. It was a good night. And then…’ Liam glances at me with sadness. ‘The day after the party, Chloe told me she was pregnant.’

I stifle a sob.

‘But…in the early hours of the following morning, she had a miscarriage.’ Liam tightens his arm round my shoulder. ‘After the miscarriage, she became depressed. She wasn’t eating or sleeping, and she’d lost all interest in life. So I insisted she went to see her GP, who prescribed some antidepressants and sleeping tablets. Unfortunately, she had some kind of reaction to the antidepressants, though, and…well…’ He looks over at me to check I’m OK.

‘Carry on. I want to hear this,’ I say. Maybe ‘want’ is the wrong word. I
need
to hear this. Need to know if I’m going insane. Again.

Liam makes a sound like a sigh. ‘Chloe suffered from hallucinations and exhibited paranoid behaviour. She thought a man was chasing her, trying to kill her. I came home from work and found her in the garden, scratching and digging at the path. She was screaming, trying to get away from whomever she thought was chasing her. When I tried to help her, she was confused and disorientated. She just fought back.’

My cheeks burn with embarrassment, self-loathing, disbelief.

‘We had to have her sectioned for her own safety.’

An involuntary gasps escapes my lips. If Liam hears it, he ignores the sound and carries on talking about me. I’ve been reduced to a mere spectator in my life.

‘The antidepressants were stopped immediately, and she was given anti-psychotic drugs until she appeared to return to her normal self.’

‘How long was I in hospital for?’ I force the question out, even though the words seem to stick on my tongue.

Liam gives me a sideways glance. ‘A week. Then you had an outpatient appointment with the psychiatrist. But we all thought you were getting better. They didn’t think there would be any lasting effects from the drugs when they were out of your system. But now this has happened and…well, you must know how this sounds, Chloe. It’s all so far-fetched. And so much like what happened before. We don’t want to waste the police’s time, do we?’ He strokes my shoulder and looks at Summers with an apologetic expression.

And that’s when I really start to question myself. Did I really wake up in that place? Did I really escape? Or have I imagined the whole thing? Is this some kind of relapse?

‘I think you can let us be the judge of what’s wasting our time.’ Summers gives Liam a courteous smile. ‘What happened when Chloe was released from hospital?’

‘She was signed off work, so she was just at home, recuperating from it all. She seemed to be OK—a little depressed, still, about losing the baby. She still had trouble sleeping, too, but things were getting back to normal, or so I thought.’

‘Did you contact her while you were away in Scotland? Maybe we can establish exactly what day you went missing, Chloe.’ Summers looks pointedly at me.

‘I rang her mobile phone when I arrived, but then I was up to my neck in work and didn’t have time to contact her. We’re launching a new diabetes drug soon, so it’s been a very hectic time.’

‘You work for Devon Pharmaceutical?’ Summers asks.

‘Yes.’

‘What does your job entail, exactly?’

‘I oversee the manufacture of our drugs, amongst other things.’

‘Does Devon Pharmaceutical carry out animal testing?’ Summers crosses his legs.

‘Yes. And I can see where you’re going with this, but our company has never been a target for that in the past.’

‘So you’ve never personally received any threats in connection with your work?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Let me just confirm that the last time you spoke to Chloe was on the sixth of May, when you arrived in Scotland?’ Flynn asks.

‘Yes.’

Flynn writes it down. ‘She didn’t mention that she was going anywhere or doing anything in particular?’

‘No.’ He glances at me, wearing a look of concern. ‘She hasn’t been out of the house much since the miscarriage.’

‘And she didn’t tell you anything that could be cause for alarm?’ Summers asks.

‘Definitely not.’

‘Did you fly back from Scotland today?’ Flynn asks.

‘Yes, although I wasn’t due back for another four days. I got the taxi to drop me off at home on the way back from Stansted airport. Then I left my suitcase there, got my car keys, and drove here straight away.’

‘Was there any sign of disturbance or forced entry at your house?’ Summers again.

‘No. I didn’t notice anything like that, but of course I only had a quick look.’

‘I’d appreciate it if you’d do a thorough check when you get home and let me know.’

‘Of course.’

‘Can you give us the names of any friends or family who might’ve seen you before you disappeared?’ Summers asks me then.

‘Liam’s all the family I have,’ I say. ‘And my best friend Sara is in India, travelling.’

‘What about your family?’ Summers asks Liam. ‘Would they have checked up on Chloe while you were away?’

‘No. I’m an only child, and my parents were middle-aged by the time I came along, so they passed away years ago. There’s only my cousin, Jeremy, and his wife, Alice, but they live in Kent. The last time we saw them was at my party when they stayed the night and left the following morning.’

‘How about any work colleagues?’ Summers asks me. ‘Anyone you were close to at the college you might’ve seen?’

I think of Jordan then, but it’s not as if he would come to the house. If Liam found out, he would’ve got angry. ‘No,’ I say softly. ‘They’re just colleagues, not friends.’

Summers lets out a deep breath and stands. ‘Well, we’ll start making some enquiries. I’ll liaise with Dr Traynor to see when you’ll be fit enough to accompany us out to the woods. And if you think of anything else, let us know, OK?’ He pulls a card out of his pocket and hands it to me, but Liam is closer and takes it before I can.

Liam shoves it into the pocket of his suit jacket. ‘We will.’ He stands up. ‘Perhaps I can have a word with you before you leave?’ He angles his head towards the doorway, and a look passes between them both. Liam leads the way into the corridor, and I see him talking earnestly to Summers and Flynn. Summers looks over at me briefly.

I fidget with the bed sheet as Summers nods several times and Flynn writes something down in his notepad before leaving. When Liam returns, he sits on the bed next to me and takes my hand in his. I try to look him in the eye but find I can’t. Instead, I stare at the sheets.

‘Whatever am I going to do with you, my love?’ He strokes my hair gently.

6

‘How are you feeling?’ Dr Traynor enters the room, forcing the swirling thoughts of panic in my head to stop abruptly.

‘Tired. I’ve got a headache and still feel a bit sick.’

‘That will be the concussion. It’s only mild. You’ll feel more like your normal self in a few days.’

But what is my normal self, I want to ask. I don’t know anymore, not after what he and Liam have told me. I sit up, pushing the bedside table away. The remains of a stodgy lasagne and soggy chips sitting on top of it making me feel sick now. I’d managed to pick at it but the fear and anxiety has bitten away at any hunger.

‘No appetite?’ he asks.

‘Not really.’

‘You need to eat to regain your strength.’

‘Have you eaten the food here?’

‘Good point.’ He smiles and sits down next to me. ‘Has your husband left?’

‘Yes. He needed a shower and something to eat. He’s coming back later with some clothes and toiletries for me.’

‘Good. In the meantime, let’s carry out a few tests if you’re up to it, shall we?’

‘OK.’

‘I’m going to ask you a series of questions to check different areas of your memory. Just answer them as quickly as you can.’ He opens the notes on his lap and clicks the top of his pen. ‘What’s your full name?’

‘Chloe Benson.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-seven.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Poplar Close’

‘How long have you lived there?’

‘Just over two years.’

‘Good. Who am I?’

‘Dr Traynor.’

‘Which year is it?’

‘2013.’

‘Which month is it?’

‘May.’

‘Who is the Prime Minister?’

‘David Cameron.’

‘Can you count backwards in threes starting from five hundred?’

‘497, 494, 491, 488, 485, 482, 479, 476, 473, 470—’

‘OK, that’s good. Can you count backwards in sevens?’

The sevens are harder, but I manage. He recites five lines of poetry and asks me to repeat them back to him, which I do.

He hands me a sheet of paper with various shapes on it. After I’ve studied it, he takes the paper away and says, ‘Where did you grow up?’

‘Here in Welwyn Garden City. Then I went to university in London and moved back here afterwards.’

He scribbles something down. ‘What did you study at university?’

‘English. Then I did a teacher training course.’

‘Which shapes were on the piece of paper I just showed you?’

‘Stars, triangles, squares, oblongs, something that looked like a palm tree.’

He tells me a sequence of words that I have to repeat back to him. Then a sequence of numbers. He holds up cards with pictures of different animals on them and asks me to call out which one he’s holding up. Finally, he closes his notes and places the pen on top. ‘Good. Very good.’

‘It doesn’t feel good from where I’m sitting.’

‘You have what is called amnesia. It could be from the bump to your head. After a concussive injury, brain cells not destroyed are sometimes left in a vulnerable state for a time but eventually heal themselves. It could also have been brought on by a delayed side effect from the antidepressants.’ He pauses, as if he’s making me aware some bad news is coming. What could be worse, though, I have no idea. ‘We did a blood test when you were admitted and found Silepine in your system, which is a sleeping tablet. Apparently, your GP prescribed it to you at the same time as the antidepressants to help you sleep. It’s possible they gave you some kind of similar reaction to what happened with the Zolafaxine.’

‘What? But I…they…no.’ I try to speak, but my mouth just flaps open and closed. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up with my mouth. ‘I don’t take sleeping tablets. I’ve only ever taken them once in my life when I was having trouble sleeping at university. They made me feel so terrible and drowsy the next day that I’ve never taken one since.’

‘Silepine aren’t like the old sleeping tablets. They don’t have the horrible drowsy effect the day after.’ He looks at his notes. ‘We only found a moderate amount in your system, but nevertheless, if you were allergic to them, it could have caused you to exhibit the same psychosis-like symptoms as before. Hallucinations and amnesia in themselves are also adverse side effects of Silepine, although, again, they’re very rare.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t take them. I…’ I can’t speak then. It’s just not possible. Any of this. It’s not real. How can it be? But I can’t deny I took them when a blood test proves I did.

‘When the hospital released you after the incident with the antidepressants, we advised you not to take any other medications. Sometimes, once you have a reaction to one it makes you more susceptible to have a reaction to other drugs.’ Dr Traynor clears his throat. ‘But it would appear that you did take them. What other explanation can there be for them being in your system?’

‘Why would I take them, then, if you told me not to?’ I challenge him.

‘I’m afraid we can only advise patients on their care. Sadly, they don’t always take our advice. Liam has mentioned you were still having trouble sleeping, so it’s possible you decided to take them anyway. Or perhaps the grief became more severe and escalated into depression once more and you wanted to harm yourself.’ He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Depression can sometimes be difficult to assess.’

I know all about it being hard to assess. I never knew about Mum until it was too late. But even so, I stare at him with alarm. ‘You mean I…wait. You think I took them to try and
kill myself
?’

‘It’s possible. Or it could’ve been a cry for help. And that’s what we’re here for. To help you.’

‘No, I wouldn’t have done that. I just wouldn’t.’ I must look wild as my gaze flits around the room, hardly resting on one thing while I try to make sense of what he’s saying. The bits and pieces of me don’t seem to fit together properly anymore. Everything’s wrong, out of place, like a scattered jigsaw puzzle.

‘Unfortunately, you can’t remember exactly what did happen, so it’s entirely possible that you did.’