Luke winced. It set his teeth on edge.
‘However, we have a good twenty-five minutes today, so why don’t you start by telling me a little about yourself. Who you are—’
Luke looked at him askance.
‘Oh, of course I’ve seen you on TV once or twice,’ Terence responded quickly, ‘talking about your work for children with heart defects, and your involvement in various trusts and charities.’ He leaned in. ‘But let’s imagine I know nothing at all about you. You tell me about yourself.’
What on earth had Luke walked himself into? There was no easy way out of here. He might as well say something.
‘OK … well, you probably also know that I’m married to Alison Forde-Thompson. She’s running as an independent candidate in the local elections.’
Terence nodded.
‘And we have one child, Nina.’ He paused. ‘Since campaigning started, things have been … well, difficult for us all.’ In the run-up, Alison had been doing her utmost to link her election aspirations to Luke’s success.
‘I’m sure something like an election campaign would put a stress on any family.’
Luke gave a wry smile. He’d known it was a matter of time before Alison followed her father’s footsteps into politics. It was a natural progression from her PR world. She freely admitted to relishing nothing more than turning people to her way of thinking.
Terence sat blinking, waiting for a response. Disclosure did not come easily to Luke. ‘I guess it doesn’t help that my wife’s been spending quite a lot of time at Crow Hall. Her father’s place,’ he volunteered.
‘That’s Cornelius Thompson, the senator?’
‘Correct.’
A number of years earlier Cornelius had been forced to retire from office. Found drunk in parliamentary chambers, he added to his transgression by fondling a female colleague, and was abusive to the policewoman who’d tried to stop him leaving in his car.
His reputation had been rehabilitated since then by none other than Thompson Consulting, his daughter’s PR firm. Cornelius currently enjoyed the position of senator in the upper house – all courtesy of Alison’s persuasive powers. ‘I create myths and I make the ugly truths go away,’ she’d say.
‘So, the campaign has been hard on your daughter Nina?’ Terence probed.
‘She and her mother don’t see eye to eye.’
‘She gets on better with you?’
Luke thought carefully. ‘Yes …’ He hesitated. ‘That would be true to say. Alison says we’re thick as thieves.’
Terence made a note. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to say that what you say in here is confidential. I’m here to help. What you say in this room remains between the two of us.’
Luke shifted in his seat.
‘I’m not sure exactly,’ he started, ‘but I think … I think my wife may have left me.’ He rubbed his chin. He felt like a prize idiot.
‘I see. Why do you say that?’ Terence blinked slowly.
‘At first I thought Alison was spending quite a bit of time at Crow Hall, getting campaign advice from her father,’ Luke explained. ‘She’d sleep the occasional night there. But I noticed recently that there are large gaps in her wardrobe, like many of her clothes are missing. And she can be gone for days at a time.’
The therapist looked at him thoughtfully. Luke had a sudden insight into just how ridiculous he sounded. How could any fool not know whether his wife had left him? And why would he not simply confront her and ask?
‘Can I ask you something, Luke?’
He tensed. ‘Ask away.’
He’d answer if it wasn’t incriminating.
‘Do you love your wife?’
Luke exhaled.
Easy question.
‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ he replied. ‘I’m pretty certain Alison doesn’t love me. And to tell the truth I wonder if she ever did.’
Later that afternoon, back at the hospital, Luke grew increasingly ill-tempered. He kept spotting deposits of hair and dust along the corridors. The unkempt floors were symptomatic of a greater malaise at St Matthew’s University Hospital.
Luke encouraged a higher standard in the cardiac surgery unit. The cleaning rota he’d organised for the staff sitting room was working well, undertaken by the staff in the unit themselves without the help of slipshod cleaners.
Making his way towards the scrub room, he ruminated on the session with Terence Black. He’d had a plan of what he’d wanted to say going in there, but he’d been thrown off course. He’d wound up talking a load of old nonsense instead.
As he stood at the taps washing his arms, he glanced about the scrub room at his team. He frowned. Which one of them had betrayed him to Fran? A theatre nurse? One of the registrars? A senior house officer? They wouldn’t dare. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was a snitch.
Each time it had happened, there was alarm from those around him. Increased blinking, an exchange of glances, suspicious looks. Eyes questioning his and air sucks of alarm through the porous gauze of facemasks. He’d be breathless, paralysed, unable to function. And after what would seem like for ever, the feelings would subside. His pulse would slow to normal. He would breathe. Bit by bit, snippets of hushed conversation would return.
The last time it had happened, he had been concentrating on manoeuvring wire from a defibrillator. All of a sudden he’d gone rigid. Perspiration had trickled from his forehead. He’d floundered, unable to proceed. The whole terrifying episode had probably lasted only seconds but it was long enough for people to notice. The time before that, it had happened when he was making an incision into an artery for a catheter. Again, Luke had frozen, closing his eyes, trying to smother the host of unwanted images flooding his head.
It was clear to him that someone had voiced concerns about what was going on. And Fran had somehow surmised that Luke’s out-of-character behaviour was down to problems with his wife. Fran had never been a fan of Alison. As far as Luke was concerned, if his secretary chose to believe his behaviour was due to stress within his marriage, he wouldn’t disavow her. The one thing he couldn’t do was fool himself. He’d noticed a pattern.
Luke had been careful in choosing his secretary. In spite of that, an informality had found its way into their working relationship. Fran’s familiarity could be tiresome. And she saw too much. She definitely said too much. Luke was still annoyed at an exchange they’d had earlier in the week.
‘Not backwards in coming forwards, is she?’ Fran had remarked about Alison. ‘Making excellent use of your name.’ Her eyes were fixed on her computer screen.
Alison had double-barrelled Forde to her maiden name for the election. Prior to that she’d gone by Thompson.
‘Yes, indeedy, has her notions, that one.’ Fran reached across her desk for a pen.
Luke bristled. ‘Branding is key in politics and PR.’
Fran snorted. Her typing grew more vigorous. ‘Perfect timing also.’ Her voice was smooth, her fingers furious. ‘With your name splashed all over the newspapers.’
Of late there’d been a flurry of articles detailing Luke’s volunteer work in the broadsheets. Fran was right. The timing had been fortuitous. Though he tried to dispel the thought, he found himself wondering if his wife had somehow been behind those articles. He found it disconcerting to see the Forde name on every pole and hoarding in County Clare. What Fran had said struck home. His secretary had an uncanny knack of pointing out unwholesome truths.
It was late when Luke left the hospital at the end of his shift. He was relieved the procedure on the thirteen-year-old boy had gone well. He was strolling down to his reserved space in the hospital car park when he heard the electric whirr of a nearby car window.
‘Hey there, Luke!’
It was Johnny Whelan, a consultant in emergency medicine.
‘Johnny, how’s it going? A&E was mental today, so I heard.’
‘Like a zoo,’ said Johnny.
‘What we do for kicks,’ Luke said drily.
>
‘I’ve been meaning to ask.’ Johnny leaned out his window. ‘You on for Thailand this year?’
‘Maybe …’ Luke was caught on the hop. ‘I’ll need to check my rosters. The usual suspects?’
‘Yeah, same select bunch. You, me, and Hugh Smyth. The same old reprobates.’
‘I thought Hugh was out …’ Luke lowered his voice, ‘after last time …?’
Johnny grinned. ‘Miriam doesn’t know.’
Miriam was Hugh’s wife. They had three young kids.
‘What goes on tour stays on tour?’
Johnny winked. ‘Too right.’
Luke slapped the roof of Johnny’s car. The window was purring up when Johnny appeared to think of something else. He froze the window.
‘Maybe we could have a get-together in your basement? To kick things off?’
‘Sounds like a plan. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Top man,’ said Johnny.
For the first time that day, Luke felt a glow of pleasure. He was pretty self-sufficient. Although he had to admit he enjoyed the camaraderie of those Thailand trips. As he swung out of the car park to head for home, he tried his best to hold on to the warm glow.
Sebastian
‘Nina?’
Someone was home. Luke had seen the house lit up from the road above. Light bounced and danced off the glass walls.
‘Alison?’
Duffy came scudding and sliding across the marble hallway. Luke’s nostrils filled with the warm scent of baking and something else. Definitely not Alison. He’d seen her wear an apron once. For a photoshoot to launch a charity event.
His stomach rumbled. Apart from a few snatched mouthfuls, he’d been too busy to grab a proper bite to eat all day.
‘In here,’ a voice called out.
Luke followed the voice down the hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. It was Nina in the garden room adjoining.
‘Well, this is a hive of … of …’
He was about to say ‘industry’ but realised it didn’t fit. Industry suggested order, control, planning. What he saw was none of these things. He scanned the kitchen. Flour and cooking debris sat on the island among election posters and glossy pamphlets. Paint-splattered newspapers were strewn over the floor in the garden room. All Luke could see of Nina were two bare legs underneath the easel. His daughter was on a gap year, working part-time, and taking a night class in life drawing before heading to college in the autumn.
‘It’s my day off.’ She poked out her head from around the easel. She was wearing her glasses and a black T-shirt. It was covered in flour. ‘I’ve been painting.’
‘You don’t say.’
She stuck out her tongue.
God knows how his daughter ever got that part-time job in Spillane’s bakery in town. She always managed to look dishevelled, as if she’d been dragged backwards through a bush.
‘I guess it’s just the two of us this evening. Have you heard from Mum today?’ asked Luke.
‘I have. She wants me to order a birthday cake for some old dear at Inishcloon who’s going to be a hundred.’
Inishcloon was the local nursing home.
‘That’s all she wanted?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised, Dad. If it’s not about the election, she doesn’t want to know.’ Nina peeked out from behind her easel. ‘She’s too busy canvassing the incapacitated and the bewildered. She’s Election Bridezilla.’
Luke headed for the cupcakes, the dog at his heels. ‘I’m starving. I’d eat the twelve apostles.’
‘No!’
Luke stopped in his tracks.
‘I don’t think you’d like them.’ Nina scrunched up her face.
‘They look grand to me.’
‘No, really … I overdid the raising agent. Give me a minute and I’ll fix you an omelette.’
An omelette would do fine. She could hardly make a bags of that. ‘Let me see what you’ve been painting …’
Luke ruffled the dog’s head as he walked around the easel.
‘What on earth …?’ Luke felt the blood drain from his face.
‘It’s a first attempt.’ Nina sounded disappointed. ‘I can do better.’
It was crude. It was primitive. A novice’s attempt at life drawing. The subject: a bony dark-haired youth draped over what looked like their leather sofa, legs sprawled wide, genitalia on display, a knife and fork criss-crossed the concave stomach, eyes rimmed in black. In the bottom right-hand corner, she had titled the work, Eat Me?
‘What, no eyebrows?’ It was a ridiculous question but he could think of nothing else to say.
‘He shaved them off.’ Nina giggled.
Luke was looking at a real person. Not a creature conjured from her rich imagination.
‘Who is this … this person?’
‘A guy from my night class. His name is Sebastian.’ Nina angled her head to the side, surveying her work. ‘He’s really gifted. Look.’
She directed Luke to the kitchen table. There among the mess was another painting.
‘He’s so talented. Don’t you think?’
Luke pretended to examine the work, as if he were genuinely considering its merits. It was a good likeness. Some of the essence of Nina had been captured. That clever vulnerability. That blend of intellect and innocence. Her lovable goofiness. Agreeable Nina. Luke offered no opinion.
‘Aw, c’mon, Dad. You’re not going to come over all censorious on me, are you?’ She looked pained. ‘It’s a bit late for all that now. You’re the one who always encouraged me to experiment.’
‘Not exactly the kind of experimentation I had in mind, Nina.’
His daughter was eighteen. The fact that she chose to pose half-naked for some crude life drawing was her prerogative. This young fella, whoever he was, probably couldn’t believe his luck. Luke wanted to shake her but she had to be handled with care.
‘Wait ’til you see this.’
She danced across the floor to grab her tablet.
‘He’s really clever.’
She swiped her finger across the screen.
‘There,’ she said, her breath coming in excited bursts. ‘Isn’t it genius?’
Genius wasn’t a description that immediately sprung to mind. Adolescent and derivative, more like. Although the construct itself was good. It appeared a biblical homage at first. The expression on the face chilled Luke. Two manic, black-lined eyes were staring out at him from a plate. Unlike John the Baptist’s head, this youth’s head was flanked on either side by a knife and fork. The same bony, dark-haired youth as before. Nina’s new friend, Sebastian. Behind his head was the bloody, butchered head of a cow set on a pole, its tongue lolling from its mouth.
‘Powerful, isn’t it?’
Nina’s cheeks flushed with excitement.
‘Doesn’t it look like the cow is about to eat Sebastian? It does, doesn’t it? And you’ve no idea how long it took us to drill a hole through that old table. Ages. But it was worth it. A statement like this would make people think twice before they ate meat, don’t you think?’
‘I’m starving, Nina. What was that you said about an omelette?’ That was quite enough about this guy Sebastian. But Nina hadn’t heard. She was too busy admiring the freakish work of her newfound friend.
It was to be expected that there’d be a boyfriend some day. But did Luke really want someone like this in his daughter’s life … this weirdo? He eyed the cupcakes with suspicion. Too much raising agent, my arse. Did she think he was soft in the head? Luke thought back to the strange smell when he’d come in. He’d play along for now. But he wasn’t stupid.
Tanya
Luke made a second appointment to see Dr Black. Instead of getting better, things were getting worse. Most nights the white bird came to him as he slept, and each time he would explode into waking. His heart would hammer violently against his chest and cold sweat would slither down his face. He’d noticed a deterioration in his performance at the hospital, and if he had, others had as
well. During the day he was too tired to be alert, at night he was too scared to go to sleep.
Terence Black’s clinic was close to St Matthew’s University Hospital. Luke would never have bothered going to see him otherwise. On this, his second visit, he sat in the waiting room doing a crossword instead of skulking in his car outside. He was against the clock and he hoped the therapist was keeping time.
Screwing up his eyes, he focused on the empty crossword boxes. He bit his lip. He was struggling with a clue. He texted Nina. ‘Clandestine,’ came her prompt reply. His mouth eased into a smile. They were alike in many ways.
At the nearby sound of a door opening, Luke looked up. Terence appeared in the doorway opposite. ‘Come on through,’ he beckoned. Luke got to his feet. On time today. A better start. The therapist glanced beyond Luke to speak to the woman at the reception desk. ‘Could you possibly mail through those attachments again?’ he asked.
Luke followed him through to the office and sat down in the same armchair as before. Terence was clearing the remains of a sandwich into the waste basket. ‘I’m glad you came back,’ he said. He proceeded to open the drawer of a filing cabinet under his desk. Retrieving a folder, he came to sit in the armchair opposite.
‘I’m anxious to get this sorted.’ Luke cut to the chase.
‘No problem.’ Terence cleared his throat. ‘All righty, last time we spoke, we touched on your wife and daughter.’ He settled back. ‘So, how are things there?’
This time Luke was ready.
‘Fine. Nina seems to be enjoying her gap year, trying out new experiences before going to college.’ He filled Terence in on the paintings and on Nina’s new friend. He took a moment before continuing. ‘Her mother dismisses her efforts a lot, unfortunately. In as much as Alison has time to think about anyone else’s endeavours.’
‘And how do you feel about that?’
Luke immediately regretted opening up. He sounded needy, petulant.
‘I suspect Nina’s behaviour is driven by a craving for her mum’s attention,’ he said hastily. ‘And I wonder sometimes whether her newfound interests are really genuine—’
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