by Penny Kline
‘Well then, my dear, the Jesty boy.’
In the ordinary way I dislike being called ‘my dear’ but just at that moment I found it stupidly comforting.
‘How’s he been?’
‘Difficult to say,’ said Stringer. ‘How long has he been coming to see you?’
‘Oh, not very long,’ I said rather too quickly. ‘He took an overdose of paracetamol about three months ago, back in April.’
‘Paracetamol?’ Stringer leaned back in his chair. ‘Could’ve been the end of him.’
‘Yes, I know. Luckily he brought most of it up on the way to the hospital. They kept him in overnight, then sent him home the following morning.’
He nodded, pushing a finger behind the collar of his shirt to ease the pressure on his neck.
‘He was seen by a psychiatrist before he left hospital,’ I said, ‘and she — I’ve forgotten her name, I’m afraid — anyway it was agreed that he should come and see me on a regular basis.’
‘You’d been seeing him before the overdose?’
‘Oh, no. He was living in one of the houses opposite my flat in Cliftonwood. Janos, who lives in the basement, came and told me what had happened. I think he thought I was a doctor.’
‘Fortunate you were on the spot.’
‘I thought Luke was going to throw up in my car, but he jumped out when the lights turned red. Afterwards he told me he’d been worried about spoiling the seat covers. That’s Luke all over. He’s extremely anxious, quite obsessional, but there’s never been any sign of psychosis.’
‘I see.’
I was talking too much. What was William Stringer thinking? That I’d rushed in where angels feared to tread? That Luke was schizophrenic and I’d been treating him for anxiety neurosis? That my treatment had forced him into a psychotic state?
He smiled encouragingly. ‘And the night before last there was a road accident?’
‘Yes. Outside the Hippodrome.’ I started telling him about Paula Redfern and Luke’s job in the herbal remedies shop.
‘You knew this poor woman?’
‘No, I never met her. I don’t even know how well they knew each other.’
‘Does Luke have any relatives living near by?’
‘Yes, his parents and a brother. I don’t know where the brother lives but I’ve met the parents. I went to tell them about the accident.’
‘Good. They haven’t been to visit as far as I know.’
‘I don’t think they’re expecting him to be in hospital more than a day or two.’
Stringer nodded, scribbled a few notes on a pad, then stood up and patted me on the shoulder. ‘He’s making a convincing job of passing himself off as schizophrenic. Why would he want to do that?’
‘I suppose it’s a kind of escape. Better than facing up to how bad he feels.’
‘Perhaps.’ He held open the door. ‘Come back whenever you like. I’m sure Luke will want to see you. Hey, don’t look so worried, I don’t have to tell you how difficult a lot of diagnoses are, how the patient can change from one state — ’ He broke off, glancing at his watch and picking up a file that was lying on his desk. ‘Anyway, keep in touch. ’Bye for now.’
I walked down the corridor and out of the door at the far end that led out into the grounds.
*
There was no sign of Luke and for a moment it occurred to me that he might have seen me and started walking back to Bristol. Even now he could be standing on the grass verge trying to hitch a lift. But why would he do that? He was the one who had wanted to come to the hospital in the first place.
Then I spotted him, leaning against the Occupational Therapy building, his eyes closed and his head well back as though he was enjoying soaking in the sun.
‘Luke?’ I walked towards him but he kept quite still. ‘Hallo, how are you?’
He stepped forward and held out his hand. ‘Nice to meet you. Or so they say. Today if I may.’
I sighed. ‘Shall we sit down for a moment.’
He walked a few paces behind, then joined me, sitting at the far end of a rickety bench with one of its wooden slats missing. His breathing was fast and shallow. I touched him on the shoulder, then withdrew my hand quickly when he jumped and a long shudder seemed to run through his body. He was scratching at a mark on his jeans. He licked his finger, rubbed at the stain, then began laughing under his breath like a child trying not to giggle while being told off.
‘Have you seen the doctor yet?’ It was a stupid question but I was trying to force him to give me one straight answer.
Blowing out his cheeks he started making a sound like squelching mud. Then he bent down and peered under the bench.
‘They’ll be here soon,’ he whispered. ‘Soon, about noon, in the light of the moon.’
*
Turning into the gates to Ashton Park I drove carefully over the bumps in the road, put there to discourage motorists from taking a short cut, or at the very least to slow them down. It was a route I rarely took but I needed to walk in an open space, to clear my head, think things out. All the way back to the city I had been trying to justify my decision not to tell William Stringer about Luke’s violent fantasies. Luke wouldn’t say anything himself. If he spoke to Stringer at all it would be a jumble of incoherent sentences, linked by the sound of the words rather than any meaning they might have.
Knowing Luke, he could keep it up almost indefinitely. No doubt he had read about a research project, quoted by first-year psychology students full of righteous indignation at the use of psychiatric labels. It had been arranged that perfectly normal people should be admitted to hospital, complaining of hearing voices, then start behaving normally. In no instance had any of the staff detected that the pseudo-patient was actually quite sane. In my opinion it was an unfair experiment. Why should the staff have seen through it? Surely normal people would have asked to go home.
I parked on the grass next to a white hatchback containing an elderly couple who appeared to be fast asleep. Closing the door carefully so as not to disturb their dreams I started up the steep hill, making for the coolness of the wooded area to the west of the parkland.
A plan was forming in my head. I would give myself seven days to look into what had been going on in Luke’s life during the last few weeks and make sure nothing had happened that could have pushed him into actual violence. As well as that I would find out as much as I could about the accident. If at the end of a week I still had doubts I would go back to Stringer, and then to the police, and tell them about the fantasies. That way I was being fair to Luke, respecting the confidentiality of what he had told me, but acknowledging that in certain circumstances I was equally responsible for making sure that other people were protected. From Luke? Paula’s death was an accident, of course it was, and even if — I forced myself to face the possibility without my thoughts shifting to a safer topic — even if my worst fears proved correct Luke was now under close supervision, no danger to himself or to anyone else.
I needed to know more about Paula Redfern. Apart from the small amount of information passed on by Doug — that once, probably several years ago, she had been married — all I knew was that she and Luke had worked in the shop and, now and again, been to the cinema together. The shop — that was where I would have to start. Not today, it was far too late. Tomorrow, after my three o’clock client. I just prayed to God I wouldn’t find a CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE sign stuck on the door.
5
It looked dark inside but when I pushed the door it swung open with a tinkle of Chinese bells. Behind the counter a young man with spiky black hair like a bottle brush was sitting on a tall stool, reading the latest issue of Venue. He looked up briefly then continued running his fingers down the list of entertainments on in Bristol during July.
I had passed the shop scores of times but never been inside in case Luke thought I was checking up on him. Already I had involved myself in his life far too much, helping him to find new lodgings and change jobs, and he had g
one along with what were really my decisions, not his. It was true he had an obstinate streak in him. Even so I was inclined to agree with Elaine who felt that usually in the past Luke had waited for someone else to organize his life.
The shop was smaller than I expected with a short counter on the right and behind it three pine shelves stacked with glass jars filled with herbs. There were scales for weighing two- or four-ounce packets and, at one end of the counter, a selection of books labelled FOR REFERENCE ONLY invited customers to look up the remedies for their ailments. I picked one up at random and flicked through the pages, coming to a stop at Nervous Debility. A quick look indicated that there were several suggestions for dealing with the problem. Camomile, lime flower, or a recipe which included dock root, juniper berries and red wine. It sounded fairly disgusting — unless the wine was strong enough to disguise all the other flavours — but perhaps it did the trick.
I wondered if Luke had returned from his sessions with me, pessimistic, jaded, to be greeted by Paula with a herbal remedy she considered far superior to any treatment the Psychology Service could provide.
The young man behind the counter was whistling an old David Bowie song.
On a noticeboard on the wall opposite the door, cards advertising a variety of alternative therapies and treatments had been pinned at random. Iridology, Reflexology, Dream Analysis, Body Toning. I approached the man, clearing my throat in the hope of gaining his attention.
‘I didn’t expect to find you open.’
He hesitated a moment, then spoke looking down at his magazine. ‘Oh, you know about the accident. I’m just filling in for a couple of days.’
‘I’m a friend of Luke’s.’
‘Luke? Oh, the blond guy. Pretty cut up about it, is he? I heard he was with Paula when it happened.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Pedestrians don’t stand much of a chance in this City.’ He glanced at me, then shrugged. ‘I only met her a couple of times.’
He was dressed in a pink sleeveless T-shirt and baggy white dungarees. He looked about twenty-three or four but the spots round his mouth were the kind boys usually grow out of in their late teens. ‘You knew Luke, did you?’
He shook his head. ‘Only by sight.’
‘Yes, I see.’ I thought fast. ‘Look, the reason I’m here, I didn’t know Paula either, but Luke’s taken it very badly and I need to find out how well he and Paula … ’
He didn’t look up. ‘Search me.’
‘Well, d’you know of anyone who could help? Someone I could talk to?’
‘You could try Carl. Paula’s ex-husband. He’s an actor, used to be in that television series about the psychiatrist.’
‘Carl Redfern? Paula was married to — ’
‘The guy who owns this shop’s a friend of Carl’s. I guess Carl told Paula they needed someone to work in the shop.’
‘D’you know where Carl Redfern lives? I don’t suppose his number’s in the book.’
He shook his head. ‘Ex-directory, doesn’t want all his fans ringing him up.’ He grinned. His teeth were so white I wondered if they were his own. ‘Hang on.’ Tearing a corner off one of the herb bags he wrote down an address.
*
The house was in Redland. It was an old coach house that looked as if it had been converted during the last couple of years. Along the top of the garden wall a wisteria, which must have been planted years before the conversion took place, was in full bloom. The long mauve flowers hung almost to pavement level. You could tell it was an up-market area. Nobody had wrenched them off and thrown them in the gutter.
There was no doorbell, just a heavy iron knocker in the shape of a monkey’s head. I lifted it, then let it fall with a dull thud that might or might not have been audible inside the house. While I waited I wondered if Heather had remembered to tell Martin I might not be back in time for his meeting to discuss the setting-up of more self-help groups. He would be annoyed about it but by tomorrow he would have calmed down. In any case, meeting Carl Redfern was far more important.
The door to the coach house swung open and a man stood in the entrance hall, rubbing his hair with a towel.
‘Yes?’
‘Carl Redfern?’
‘Yes.’
‘My name’s Anna McColl. I’m a friend of Luke Testy.’
‘Who?’
‘He worked in the shop with Paula.’ With a sinking feeling I realized it was possible Carl Redfern had not heard about the accident.
‘Oh, I see.’ The edge to his voice had disappeared. He knew what had happened. For a moment his face assumed a mournful expression, then he flicked back his hair and held out his hand.
‘I do apologize. You’re … I didn’t quite catch … ’
‘Anna McColl.’
‘Scottish?’
‘My father’s father.’
He grinned. Now that he had removed the towel I could see that his hair was thick and iron grey, cut short at the sides and longer on top.
He followed my eyes, then laughed. ‘I dyed it for the show, a rather tasteful shade of rosewood brown, but it never really suited my complexion.’
I looked away, irritated that he had cast me in the role of one of his fans. It was true that his face was familiar but if the boy in the herb shop hadn’t mentioned the television series I think I might have mistaken him for the jolly father in a commercial for vegetable soup. Light blue eyes, a straight broadish nose, a deep cleft in his chin and a mouth that turned up slightly at the corners. He was very attractive, there was no doubt about that, but perhaps not quite so devastating as he imagined.
‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ I said, ‘but I wondered if I could have a quick word.’
‘Well, yes, I suppose.’ He had adjusted his voice again so that he sounded more like the recently bereaved. ‘As you can imagine I’m feeling fairly shattered.’ Dabbing at his bare chest with the sopping wet towel he waited for me to elaborate.
‘Luke Jesty’s one of my clients,’ I said. ‘I’m a psychologist.’
‘Are you indeed? A real live clinical psychologist? So this is a professional call. I don’t know if I could be much help. Paula and I were divorced two years ago. Obviously if you lived with someone for five years it’s a shock to hear … Well, I don’t have to explain to someone like you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I had no right to turn up like this.’
‘You had every right if it’s part of your job. What time is it? Four thirty. Can you be gone by five? Sure? Right you are. Come along in.’
He was dressed in a pair of green denim shorts. He must have had to breathe in hard to pull up the zip. He was older than I had expected. If he and Paula had been married for five years and they had divorced two years ago, that probably meant she had been in her early thirties, as Doug had suggested. Carl was nearer forty-five.
‘Sit wherever you like.’ He offered a choice of chairs, perching himself on a window seat that ran along most of one wall. Behind I noticed a small conservatory and behind that a narrow garden, filled with tall broad-leaved plants. A red-brick wall separated the coach house from a larger, three-storey building.
‘Drink?’ He stood up, took a T-shirt from the back of a chair, and pulled it over his head.
‘No thanks. Look, I’m really sorry about Paula. I didn’t actually know her myself but I know she was very kind to Luke.’
‘Having it off, were they?’ The T-shirt had an Escher print on the front: a hand drawing the cuff of another wrist, which in turn was drawing the wrist of the first hand.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘They were friends.’
‘Just good friends. Impossible. Oh, your patient’s gay, is he?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘How old?’
Just for a moment I thought he was asking my age. ‘Oh, Luke. He’s twenty-two.’
‘Right. Bit of a hard luck case, is he? That would’ve suited Paula down to the ground. Abandoned pussy cats wer
e her real speciality.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Poor old thing, the last person she ever needed was someone like me.’
People react to death in all kinds of different ways. For Carl Redfern the death of his former wife was just another instalment in an on-going soap opera. But perhaps I was being unfair. Why should he express his real feelings to a total stranger?
He read my mind. ‘You think I don’t care.’ Picking up the towel he dabbed at his face and neck. ‘As a matter of fact I do but I can put a brave face on things when it’s required.’
I made no comment.
He smiled. ‘Now you’re going to draw me out of myself, give me some psychotherapy. Fair enough, but you’ll find I’m quite well up on the techniques. You saw the series, I expect. If you remember I played the shrink’s husband, a bit of a bastard but with a heart of gold when the chips were down.’
‘I think I saw one or two episodes.’
‘But you don’t remember me.’
‘I’m not sure.’
He laughed. ‘Why should you? The show folded eighteen months ago. Actually filming stopped six months before that. Since then I’ve been enjoying a well-deserved rest. Ah well, if they want me they’ll send for me. Now, how can I help?’
I wondered how much to tell him about Luke. If I mentioned the hospital I would be breaking a confidence. On the other hand, I could hardly expect him to co-operate if I kept him in the dark.
‘Luke’s in hospital,’ I said. ‘He’s a very anxious kind of person at the best of times and the accident has affected him badly. He’s in a state of, well … ’
‘Sure.’ He glanced at a clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Right, I’ll tell you everything I know about Paula on the understanding you’re out of here by five o’clock sharp.’
‘That’s what I agreed.’
‘I know, but it must have sounded a little odd. I’d better explain. Liz, the person I live with, she’s the love of my life but … She can’t help it, I imagine there’s a name for people so insanely jealous they have to check up on your every move.’