Nowhere to Hide (29 page)

‘Are we done, Hugh?' she said. ‘Like I say, I've nothing to hide. If Standards want to talk to me, officially or otherwise, that's fine by me.' She made a move to rise from her chair, conscious now that she was keen to escape Salter's presence.

‘Okay, sis,' he said. ‘Look, I'm not a monster. I'm taking a hard line on this for your own good. There are people upstairs who wanted me to do more than rap your knuckles, and I can't promise they won't still want to pursue this. At the very least, you can expect that Professional Standards will want to interview you about Brennan. I'm sure you've got nothing to hide, but you'd do us both a favour if you kept a low profile. I'll make sure Standards don't do anything stupid.'

You're all heart, Hugh, she thought to herself. ‘Thanks, Hugh. I know you're just doing your job.' Jesus, no wonder she was good at this work, if she could lie through her teeth like that.

‘Good girl. Look, you've had a tough time over the last few days. And I know things are tough at home, too. Why not take the rest of the day off? Tomorrow we can get out heads together and decide what we do with you next. I'm afraid it'll be more backroom stuff for a while, but we can sort something out.'

In other circumstances, the ‘good girl' might have been the last straw. Today, she knew it was wiser to cut her losses. ‘That's kind of you, Hugh. I'll be in bright and early tomorrow,' she said. ‘Can't wait to get back to those old files.'

‘That's my girl,' Salter said, beaming across the desk.

She took a deep breath and swallowed any response she might have been tempted to offer. She turned to leave the room, being careful not to look back.

Not in a million years, Hugh Salter, she thought. Not your girl in a million fucking years.

‘Christ. How long's he been like this?'

‘It's been up and down. Some days better than others. But he's not been the same since he came out of hospital.'

Marie realised she'd been staring at Liam. He didn't seem to mind. He didn't even seem to notice, just at the moment. But that just made it worse. She tore her gaze away and looked over at Sue. ‘He seems a hell of a lot worse even than when I left.'

She was half-expecting Sue to respond with some acid jibe, but the carer seemed to have moved beyond that. Beneath her professional exterior, she seemed as distressed as Marie herself. ‘It's hard to tell,' Sue said. ‘Like I say, there've been good days and bad days. Today's probably the worst he's been.'

She's fooling herself, Marie thought. Or maybe it's because when the decline happens in front of you, even in a matter of days, it's less obvious than if you haven't witnessed the progression. ‘He wasn't like this when I left. Not as bad as this.'

Sue said nothing. Marie looked back to where Liam was sitting, slumped awkwardly in one of the armchairs. He'd looked up once when she'd first entered the room, and she'd been buoyed by the warmth of his smile. He'd looked as if he was genuinely pleased – relieved, even – to see her. He'd croaked out her name; ‘Marie. Hi, love.'

But almost immediately she knew that something was wrong. More wrong than when she'd left. He'd stared at her for a long moment, the broad smile fixed on his face. But the light had faded from his eyes. He'd been staring blankly at her, almost through her, as if he'd already forgotten she was there.

‘How are you feeling, Liam?' She'd lowered herself on to the chair next to him, taking his hand gently in hers. His posture seemed worse than before, too. Previously he'd sat upright in the chair, whereas now he was leaning to one side. He didn't look as if he'd be capable of dragging him-self upright as he had before.

He looked across at her, and she detected a faint note of surprise in his eyes. It took him a second to focus. ‘I'm– you know, not too bad. Mustn't grumble.' For a second, there were traces of the old humour in his voice. But it felt like someone responding by rote. Saying the things you were supposed to say in a conversation. Not Liam at all.

‘I'm back now, Liam,' she said. ‘I won't be going away again for a while.' She could feel Sue watching them from across the room.

Liam was looking ahead again now, his gaze unfocused. ‘That's good,' he said. ‘That's very good.'

The conversation had continued on the same lines. Marie offering breezy platitudes, Liam giving little, if any, response. Finally, she rose and stepped across the room to where Sue was standing.

‘What did the doctor say?'

‘What do they ever say? Not much. Seemed to think it was what we should expect.'

‘But this isn't Liam. Maybe it's a psychological thing. It's as if he's retreated into himself. Switched off from the world. I mean, it would be understandable enough –'

Sue was shaking her head. ‘They did tests while he was in hospital. Had one of the clinical psychologists visit him. They seemed pretty sure that this is – well, just the result of the illness. Just the next step.'

Marie opened her mouth to protest, but she knew she was clutching at straws. She couldn't deny what Sue was saying. Whatever was wrong with Liam, it wasn't simply a psychological problem. She'd been warned that this was the direction in which he was heading. She just hadn't expected to be heading there so quickly.

‘But everything I've read about MS,' she continued, knowing that now she was really speaking only to help order her own thoughts. ‘It never mentions this kind of development. They talk about minor mental impairment – forgetting words, that sort of stuff – but they don't talk about this.' She knew she was merely rehearsing the same discussion she'd had with Liam himself, weeks before. He must have known then that something was wrong. Seriously wrong. He must have realised that his mental capacities were slipping away, already begun to feel the fog closing in. Shit. What must it have been like for him?

And he'd not told her. He'd dropped hints but she'd been too slow or stupid to pick them up. But he hadn't come out and told her exactly what he feared, what he thought was happening. She'd left him here to face it on his own. The only consolation was that at least now he seemed calm enough. There was no sense of distress or fear.

‘They reckon it's the short-term memory that's affected most,' Sue said. ‘You can ask him something and he'll respond. But five minutes later he's forgotten about it. You don't realise at first. He's become quite skilled at covering it up. Always gives you the right kind of polite response.'

Marie wondered how long that had been going on, too. With hindsight, she could recall incidents where he seemed to have forgotten something obvious. But he'd made light of it. Said he'd always been scatterbrained. It was strange how she'd failed to spot what was happening. Perhaps she hadn't wanted to see it.

‘Christ,' Marie said, finally. ‘This is really it, isn't it? This is where it gets serious.'

She realised now that Sue had known all along how much Liam's condition had deteriorated. Perhaps she hadn't wanted Marie to come rushing back. Or, more charitably, perhaps Sue had been shielding her from the real gravity of the developments.

‘I've spoken to the social worker,' Sue said. ‘She's going to do an assessment. See whether she can get some more support. It won't be easy. They're cutting back everywhere. But Liam must be a deserving case.' She paused, as if unsure how to articulate her next thought. ‘I shouldn't say this, but in a way he's getting easier to care for. I worried that he was pushing himself too hard, trying to prove he could still do the things he used to. I used to get worried that if I left him by himself, he'd have an accident…' She stopped again, shaking her head. ‘I'm sorry. You know all this. It must be awful. I mean, I've grown fond of Liam. He's a lovely man. But for me it's just a job. At the end of the day, I can walk away, pour myself a glass of wine, forget about it till morning. You can't do that. He's your partner. You have to watch this happening. Shit–'

Sue had turned away, and Marie realised that the other woman was crying. It occurred to Marie for the first time that she'd misjudged Sue. She was only doing her job – rather more than her job, in fact. Marie had been projecting on to her all her own guilt and self-criticism. ‘I've been hiding from it,' Marie said, articulating her thoughts out loud. ‘I wanted to pretend it wasn't happening. That I could just continue like before. That everything would still be all right. But it's not going to be, is it?'

Sue was wiping her eyes, looking awkward, as if she'd allowed her guard to slip more than she'd intended. ‘Is that why you've come home?'

For a moment, Marie was tempted to lie. Instead, she shook her head. ‘No, not really. Just a work thing. But I'd have been back, anyway. Now that I've seen how he is.'

Sue nodded, her face expressionless. She was a good looking woman, Marie thought, but even in other circumstances she wouldn't have ever been Liam's type. Liam would never have fallen for the kind of woman who would want to take care of him. Instead, he'd fallen for a woman like Marie.

‘I don't know what to say to you,' Sue said, finally. ‘I mean, there's nothing you can say, is there? Not when things are like this.' She walked over to where Liam was sitting. His upper body had gradually been slipping sideways and he was twisted awkwardly in the chair. She took his hand and eased him back upright. For a moment, his eyes remained unfocused, then he blinked and glanced up at her. ‘Thanks,' he whispered, frowning. ‘Thanks. Sue.'

His mind wasn't entirely gone, then, Marie thought, and then felt guilty that she was already thinking that way. But that was how it was. It was happening. It was real. The Liam she loved was already slipping away from her.

‘I was going to get Liam some soup,' Sue said. ‘He seems to find that easier to eat. Shall I get some for you?'

‘No, I'm fine. It's not your job to look after me. Just do the best you can for Liam.'

As Sue disappeared into the kitchen, Marie took Liam's hand. He looked up at her and smiled. Just in that moment – in the shape of his lips, the expression in his eyes – she caught a glimpse of how he once had been. ‘Marie,' he said. ‘You're back.'

She smiled, struggling hard to keep her eyes from watering. ‘Yes, Liam,' she said. ‘I'm back.'

It was only later, after she and Sue had helped Liam into bed, that she noticed the text message.

While Marie had been away, Sue had made some changes in Liam's living arrangements. When he'd returned from hospital, it had become obvious that he would be unable to climb the stairs even with the carers' help. Fortunately, one of the two sofas in their living room was convertible into a sofa bed – they'd used it to accommodate occasional visitors before Liam had moved his studio downstairs. Sue had dragged that into the dining room and moved Liam's painting gear into a corner. It was hardly an elegant solution, but it at least meant the carers been able to help Liam into bed each night.

‘He needs a proper bed,' Sue said. ‘One of those electric gizmos that go up and down, so we can get him in and out easily and make sure he's comfortable. I've asked social services to look into it, though God knows how long it'll take.'

Liam had looked comfortable enough, though, and he was asleep almost immediately. He'd been getting increasingly tired, Sue told her, frequently nodding off as he sat in the chair during the day. She'd rearranged the visit times slightly so that the carers could get him to bed as soon as he'd eaten in the evening.

Jesus, Marie thought, after they'd finished and Sue had departed for her next call, was this what it was going to be like? She still felt slightly in shock. It was difficult to come to grips with the speed with which all this had happened. When Liam had first been diagnosed, she hadn't known what to expect and the supposed experts had hardly been able to enlighten her. It was the great unknown, the neurologist had told her. Things might remain unchanged for years, or there might be sudden declines. The general direction was downwards, but the speed was unknown.

Even so, she'd been assuming it would take years. But this was – what? Hardly two. And suddenly she was having to deal with something beyond her imaginings.

She made her way into the kitchen, deciding that this was probably an appropriate time to crack open a bottle of wine. As pulled out a bottle and fumbled in the drawer for a corkscrew, she pulled out her phone to check messages.

There were no messages, but there was a text. It was short and cryptic. An unfamiliar mobile number and the brief message: ‘Call. Use another phone.' She stared at the message for a minute, as if she somehow expected it to yield some more detail. Then she finished opening the bottle and picked up Liam's phone from where it had been left charging – for who knew how long – on the kitchen work-surface.

Would Liam's phone be safe? Probably. It was just a pay-as-you-go device he'd picked up after he'd mislaid a more expensive model – the loss probably another example, she realised now, of the way his memory had been declining.

The call was answered almost immediately, but there was silence at the end of the line.

‘Hello,' she said. ‘Who is this?'

‘Marie? Jesus, thanks for calling. I need a friendly voice.' Jack Brennan. ‘I'm in the shit, Marie. Deep, deep in the shit. Not sure how I'm going to extricate myself.'

‘Salter told me you'd been suspended. I should have called,' she said. ‘But I thought it might make things worse.' That was at least half true. She'd contemplated calling Brennan on leaving Salter's office, but had concluded it wouldn't help either of them if she appeared to be confirming Salter's suspicions about their relationship. Or had it just been cowardice? Either way, the idea had melted from her mind as soon as she'd been faced with the reality of Liam's condition.