From a Safe Distance (25 page)

‘Oh, she doesn't bother me.' I try to pick up some of the grass, then sit in one of the second-hand chairs. Its rounded wooden arm-rest bears the scars of its previous life: two heat rings from ancient cups of tea at an unknown address.

‘Are you OK, Vee? You seem … tense.'

‘I am. Look, I'm not being horrible, but I really need a bit of time on my own. Take Matthew to Mum's and say I'll ring her in the morning. Sorry, Jim.'

He gives me a significant look. ‘OK.'

‘Oh, before you go – here. I ran off a draft of the book for you to read. Would you like it?'

‘Thanks, Vee. Should be interesting.'

I kiss Jim, but Matthew doesn't want my kiss. My baby – Max's baby, would have grown up by now. I had to stop
myself wondering about what might have been. I don't intend to be around when Max reads about it.

I slept. It must have been about seven o'clock that evening when the phone woke me. It was just one of those annoying cold calls, so I hung up. The tension in me seemed to have unravelled itself, but the background feeling was still there. I tried to analyse it. I suppose I had trained myself to do that since the psychology sessions with Lucy. There was grief and helplessness. There was fear. There were the taints of everything that had happened which should have been different, better, marking me like the scars of a whip.

I expect Mum will pop in again tomorrow, now I'm only ten minutes' drive away. She loves to help me make this my home, because she senses I don't care about it yet. We go shopping, we go out for lunch – something we never used to do when I was younger, until the time she stayed with me in West Pluting. She wants to help in practical ways. She says Ron will help me decorate, but in the end I have to say I'm not ready. Why? She asks. It's a difficult question to answer without dragging the past back on to the scene and risking tears.

Perhaps I will be ready in a few months.

Simon's son Jackson had been stealing money from Helen's purse, to buy alcohol. When she found out, she had a row with him and his father while Max was in hospital; she'd kept this from him so as not to worry him when he was ill. But they were both glad when Simon announced that he'd found somewhere else to live. He wouldn't say where, but he was very apologetic and assured them he would repay the money as soon as he could.

Max knew Simon was finding things difficult; he hadn't even charged him any rent. But he couldn't help feeling disappointed and taken advantage of. Max tried to find Simon, who had not been in to work as expected for several days. However, despite his efforts to track him down, Max never saw or heard again from his former colleague, or Jackson. In fact they were on file as missing.

Helen was sitting in the reclining armchair the next morning, looking pale.

‘Are you alright, darling?'

‘I've got a terrible headache,' she said in a hoarse voice of suffering. He offered to get her some painkillers, but she said she'd just taken some. ‘Besides which, we're nearly out.'

‘You've got to be OK for tonight, my love.'

‘What's tonight? Oh, yes. Your farewell dinner at Lisette's. I'll try. Max? Could you pop to the chemist's for me?' She closed her eyes and he didn't feel he could broach the subject of Vee's book. They only had one more chapter to read. He wanted to know more about what happened with Sandra; in particular, he wanted Vee's description of
how things were between Sandra and Helen, followed by what Helen herself felt, of course.

He felt that writing about Vee had eased his guilt. It was probably just the act of expressing himself on paper that created this illusion. This led to the recognition that he hadn't really started work. It would have been too easy, in his profession, to become inured to individual suffering, to diagnose, treat and send people on their way without feeling their pain. Of course a degree of detachment is necessary. But in focusing on Vee, he had rediscovered why he became a doctor in the first place.

He didn't know if Simon had ever had that experience. An unexpected sense of relief, at the departure of their guests, was overshadowed by a new concern however: Helen's health. But they were both tired; he hoped that with quiet nights and good rest, she would soon be back to her old self. He began to wonder if he hadn't taken her for granted, for years.

Lisette's, where they had had their anniversary meal, was his favourite restaurant. Set back from the road and about twenty minutes away by car, it had a well-known chef, so whatever you chose was sure to be top quality, both visually and on the palate. Sue, a fellow consultant, and her husband Chris, a clinical psychologist, both from Porteblanche, picked them up at seven. The car was filled with perfume, smart jackets and sparkles on the ladies. Helen always felt a little left out on such occasions, and today she had to make a special effort for Max as well. Aware of this, Max told her how lovely she looked and didn't make any demands while they talked shop, the easiest option nevertheless.

‘So, Max: how's retirement?' Chris turned slightly in the passenger seat and smiled.

‘D'you want the psychological version?'

Chris laughed. ‘Any version you like.'

‘Well – Helen will back me on this – I've been a bit lazy so far.' he glanced in her direction and saw her raise her eyebrows briefly, then turn away. From the driving seat Sue chipped in.

‘I think you probably deserve a rest. This job can really take it out of you. Helen told me you had a heart attack. Are you OK now?'

‘Fine.' Max noticed that Helen was still staring out of the window into the night, so he squeezed her hand. They pulled up in the restaurant car park. When they had ordered, Sue said she had some news.

‘Did you know, Max, that the Porteblanche wing is set to close in six months' time?'

‘No, I didn't. Where will everybody go?'

‘It was announced last week and should be in the local rag by now. They'll have to go to Okebury, which is where I'm off to, or Marmston.'

‘But Marmston's
miles
away, the other end of the county!' Max could foresee all kinds of problems. ‘I don't suppose there'll be any more beds available either. When will they realise that closing a place down doesn't take away the need for it!' Helen rubbed his knee under the tablecloth. ‘Do they imagine that if they go round closing hospitals – and it's not just psych wards – there won't be any more sick people? Where will it end? Hospitals seem to be going the way of post offices!'

The news about Porteblanche put Max in a bad mood and he did not enjoy the evening as much as he might have done after that. From Sue's expression, she realised she'd made a faux pas; it was Max's special evening, after all. Meanwhile he recalled something Vee had written: she thought that every time she grew attached to a place, or it had some significance for her, someone would come along and tear it down. He knew what she meant. The worst part though is not just being powerless, but being powerless when those who
do
have the power don't know what they're doing.

Helen's behaviour concerned him too; she had slipped out to the ladies to take some more tablets and she had nearly fallen over when she stood up from the table. She hadn't drunk anything. Sue and Chris came back home with them after the meal and didn't leave until about midnight, by which time it was too late to embark on any major
discussion. Helen was distant, disconnected from him, but at least he thought he knew why.

Tuesday morning came round again, and his weekly session at Squaremile. He did not see Helen at work. As usual, he borrowed one of the offices in the Day Hospital, and care assistants brought residents over for their appointments. He was glad there were no new cases today; the work was straightforward, checking how people were doing on their medication etc. In the evening Helen seemed a bit better; she was tidying the bedroom.

‘Darling … Tell me about Sandra Wheatley.' He sat on the bed.

‘Why do you want to talk about her?'

‘Because I think that if prejudice can only be tackled on an individual level, she's got to be that individual.'

‘Shall I tell you something you really don't want to hear?' She sat next to him.

‘Since you put it like that, how can I refuse?'

‘Sandra's got her promotion. She's now Health and Safety Officer, in place of Tim Clark. Everyone's wondering whose bed – .'

‘– D'you really think she'd do that? It's bad enough hearing she's been promoted. SHIT!' He thumped the mattress.

Helen went on, ‘When we worked together, that is, on opposite shifts, on Grove for a little while before I went to Birch, it didn't take me long to work out that she'd cut corners wherever she could and that she had favourites on the staff. She could take an instant dislike to people and once you were in her bad books, that was it.' Helen sighed. ‘You know, I should really have reported her when I was there then. I was sure she wasn't doing her job properly. But getting evidence is always the tricky part.' Helen stood up, wanting to finish tidying while she felt able to.

‘D'you think anyone will ever see through her?' Max asked.

‘Well, I think that's where you and I come in.' Helen began plumping up the pillows. ‘I'm thinking back over
several House Managers' meetings. She doesn't contribute a thing in the way of new ideas, just finds fault with what other people say. Then she pretends it doesn't matter to her what's decided. It wouldn't be so bad if she could come up with something herself to … ' Helen shrugged, ‘ … solve a problem, or … but she's so negative, she puts a damper on the whole meeting. Frankly, people are quite glad if she can't come. And another thing: I was over in Grove one lunchtime and saw her picking up a sausage from the floor and putting it back on a resident's plate.'

‘Hmm. Shows how much respect she has for them.'

‘It's what we
don't
see we should worry about. Oh, and she still gets her month off!'

His writing desk was piled high with papers and folders, some of which belonged to Grace. Unfortunately, the back numbers of
Shrink
had not obeyed their own imperative either, but he hated throwing them out. He moved the old patterned rug which they'd given up on downstairs because it always “walked” to where it was most inconvenient. Then he sat in the creaky chair at the other desk where the computer waited and switched on the lamp. He found Vee's diary again, tucked behind the monitor, and opened it near the end.

‘I can feel it starting again. A shadow that is inside me, not outside. It tightens my fists and I see two long thin tubes from them to the world, with papery leaves fluttering at intervals. They are very sensitive to what's going on. If anything disturbs the calm here they become agitated and start to entwine. They must not do that. Then I realise they are the ivy pulling me towards the white door. I don't want the anger it brings. I must stay indoors because everyone looks at me when I go out. I am ugly and I hate myself. I ought to know better. They're laughing at me now … '

There were only two more entries after this, but they were barely legible. This showed Vee descending into psychosis. She must have experienced fluctuations in mood and awareness, because when they met in August – for the last time –
he had not detected any psychosis. Anxiety was the predominant symptom then. Her mission was to deliver her manuscript. Naturally, he was concerned about her, but he could not have predicted what was to follow a month later.

Bella had, however, warned him that things were not going too well, so perhaps they should have had Vee back in. It's never easy, and as Simon had once pointed out, psychiatry is an inexact science, but these are human lives. He recalled what Bella said:-

“She's definitely having a depressive mood swing. Trouble is, she never realises how bad it's getting until it's too late and there's only one option left.”