I didn’t know how much of a untruth this might be. Much of the rest of the day felt like one, since I was pretending not to have a plan. Before dinner we watched Rolf Harris daub paint on canvas to reveal the shape he was sketching, and Toby gave a happy gasp as the subject of the painting grew identifiable. Now I realise Harris might already have made his film that warned against paedophiles—it was released later that year—and I wish this were the only reason why these memories feel treacherous as quicksand. It was my turn to read to Toby in bed, and he joined in the tale of Thumbelina, insisting I continue when I gave way to his voice. As we read aloud together I had a sense that he was secretly amused. I was more at ease with the pleasure he took in Thumbelina’s flight that saved her from marrying her subterranean suitor, the mole, though I couldn’t tell why. Toby gave an odd laugh when her diminutive prince was daunted by the enormousness of her saviour, the sparrow. Once the tale was done, Lesley came upstairs to say goodnight, and I took the opportunity to sneak into our bedroom.
That night Lesley slept long before I did, and Toby had been asleep for hours. My thoughts were keeping me awake, especially the fear that Lesley mightn’t need the alarm to rouse her. In fact both of us were asleep when Toby came into the room. “Mummy, daddy, they’re outside.”
His urgency sounded not too far from panic. I’d grown insensible enough to leave most of my memories behind. “Whatoby?” I mumbled.
“The children. They’re waiting for me.”
As Lesley opened her eyes I regained my sense of the situation. “I’ll go,” I told her and struggled out of bed.
From the window I saw a large white minibus parked across the end of the drive. It was as silent as it was unmarked, and I thought the driver might not have sounded the horn. Surely this just meant he didn’t want to disturb our neighbours, but the unannounced presence felt ominous, as though it represented an assumption that we had no choice over yielding Toby up. I put on my bathrobe and slippers, which left my feet aching from the gravel by the time I reached the bus. “I’m sorry, we’ve overslept,” I said.
The long-haired burly driver met this with an uncommunicative blink. Behind him half a dozen children of various ages were strapped into their seats, looking eager for some kind of release. “Do you have many more pickups to make?” I said.
“Six with yours,” he said and swept a greying lock of hair behind his right ear.
“You go on and collect the rest. I’ll bring my son in the car.”
Another blink erased any trace of an expression from the driver’s eyes. “I’m paid to get them all.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll explain if it’s necessary. My son won’t be ready for a while, but he’ll be there by the time you are.”
The driver twitched his eyebrows in the facial equivalent of a shrug. “They won’t let him in if he’s late,” he said and started the bus.
Returning to the house, I heard Toby in the bathroom. As Lesley looked out of the kitchen with a packet of cereal in her hand she said “Why did you turn off the alarm?”
“I picked up the clock in the night. I must have done it then by mistake.”
Just the last two words weren’t true. When Lesley gazed at me I was afraid she’d found them guilty, but she said “So have you asked the bus to wait?”
“The driver’s on a schedule. I told him I’ll take Toby.” Without a pause I said “Could you look in at my department and ask someone to run Diary of a Country Priest?”
I felt more ashamed of putting her to trouble than of all the subterfuge, especially when she gave me a resigned smile. “Toby,” she called up the stairs, “daddy will make sure you aren’t late.”
As I showered and dressed I heard her keep telling him not to rush his breakfast. I was less than halfway down the stairs when I saw him stand on tiptoe to unlatch the front door. Whenever we were held up on the roads through Liverpool, by tailbacks or traffic lights or behind parked lorries or at roadworks, I sensed his yearning to be reassured that we wouldn’t be out of time. Sometimes he clasped his hands together in a gesture like a sketch of praying, or else his leg began to jitter up and down beside the gear lever. His anxiety seemed to crowd out mine, until I was close to regretting the plan I’d contrived on his behalf.
He grew more nervously impatient, gripping his legs as though to still their restlessness, once we left the outer towns behind. Beneath a slow plump whitish sky the open countryside let us see for miles ahead, but there was no sign of the bus. He lurched forward against his safety belt when the gates at Safe To Sleep hesitated over admitting us, and I was about to lean out of the car to show my face until the gates swung inwards. We were just a few yards along the avenue when I saw them creep shut in the mirror.
A few cars were parked in front of the expansive sandstone house, but no buses. As I halted the Volvo beside the cars, Phoebe Sweet opened the front door to wait at the top of the steps. Her broad maternal face looked concerned even before Toby ran to her. “Mr Sheldrake,” she called while she patted Toby’s head, “Is there a problem?”
“They never woke me up,” Toby protested.
She turned him by his shoulders to gaze into his face. “Who didn’t, Toby? Careful, now.”
I saw her steady him as he almost lost his footing on the steps. “Mummy and daddy,” he said. “Their clock didn’t work and I haven’t got one.”
“Don’t worry even a titchy bit. You’re the very first to arrive, so you should thank your dad.”
Toby turned his head while she kept hold of his shoulders. “Thanks, dad.”
He’d never called me that before, and I couldn’t help feeling he’d matured more swiftly than I’d noticed. “So long as I’m some use,” I said, a bid at a joke.
“I can’t imagine anyone saying you weren’t. Now come along, come in.” She steered Toby into the house and then glanced back. “Both of you,” she said, “of course.”
I’d set foot on the bottom step when she swung around. “Just a moment, Toby,” she called.
I wondered if she’d changed her mind about letting me in, and what I could have done to cause it. As she stood in front of the doorway I wasn’t far from fancying that she’d grown as weighty as a statue, and just as immovable. I was opening my mouth, though I wasn’t sure whether to call Toby or ask what was wrong, when I heard a car approaching up the avenue. “We’ll just see who this is,” Dr Sweet said.
As Toby reappeared a green Volkswagen emerged from the drive. I always thought the humped carapace of those cars resembled a shell more than the insect they were named for. When the car drew up beside mine Toby said “Daddy, it’s Chris.”
“She’s the lady who referred you to us,” Dr Sweet let me know.
I took the tall newcomer to be in her thirties. Her long smooth plumpish somewhat oval face was fringed by short soft black hair. “Chris,” Dr Sweet said, “here’s Toby’s father.”
“Mr Sheldrake.” The woman strode up to me and held out a hand, searching my face with her large dark eyes. “At last,” she said. “I’ve already met your wife.”
Her hand was so cool it came close to chilling mine. “I’m glad to meet you finally,” I said.
“Don’t say it’s final.” She appeared to consider smiling as she released my hand. “You’ll be glad I sent Toby here,” she said.
I thought it best to silence any doubts just now. “I don’t need to ask if you’re happy with the treatment for your own child.”
“Indeed you don’t,” she said as she returned to the car. “It’s all I could have hoped for.”
I wanted to believe that she had no reason to feel otherwise—that I’d let my imagination get the better of me, taking my concern for Toby close to paranoia. I watched her stoop to remove her toddler from the child seat in the car. As she bumped the door shut with her hip and made for the house without bothering to lock the vehicle, he gazed up from her arms. His face took after hers so much that I could have imagined that his large dark eyes were keen to share all th
e knowledge hers contained. When she climbed the steps I kept pace with her, having thought of several issues to raise so that I could stay close. “How young was he when you diagnosed him, if you don’t mind the question?”
“Ask anything you’d like to know, Mr Sheldrake. He was hardly born. That’s how it is with all of them.”
“It was with Toby. I only wish we’d known you then.” As she favoured me with a sidelong smile I said “Does the cure take longer if they start it when they’re older, do you think?”
Dr Sweet glanced back from ushering my son across the lobby. “It’s the same for all of them, Mr Sheldrake. Once they start they all progress together. That’s another reason why it’s so important to treat them as a group.”
When she turned away I murmured “I think I’m being told off for making Toby miss the bus.”
Chris widened her eyes, which remained as dark. “How did you do that?”
“Lesley and I overslept, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t think anyone should blame you. I’m sure you’ve lost plenty of sleep over your son.”
“And you over yours, I imagine.” Since she appeared to feel this needed no response, I said “Have you diagnosed many cases?”
“Quite a few in my time. I believe you’ve seen them.”
I thought I must have misunderstood. “You don’t mean all the children who come here.”
“Yes, all of them. You’ve experienced what happens when someone else diagnoses your case.”
“I wasn’t criticising, I assure you.” I found I didn’t quite know what I’d meant, and looked away from her challenging gaze only to meet a miniature version. “That’s an alert little chap you have there,” I said.
“He’s eager for the world.”
“That’s how children should be.” We’d halted at the foot of the stairs, midway between Phoebe Sweet’s office and the sleeping room, and I had a sense that everyone was waiting for me to leave, though surely not the babe in arms. I tried not to feel unreasonably persistent for asking “Why do you think all these cases have been developing so recently?”
“Maybe it has to do with how the world’s changing. Or maybe they’ve been with us in the past and just not recognised for what they were.”
“So what would they have been taken to be?”
Chris gazed at me as the child in her arms did, and I had the impression that she was in no hurry to answer. She was parting her lips when Toby cried “Here’s the rest of us.”
I heard an exhalation loud enough for a substantial chorus of breaths. It came from the doors of the bus that was braking at the near end of the avenue. The bus halted by the steps, and as the children made for the house I saw them trooping towards sleep. They looked so calm I could have fancied they were sleepwalking although awake. Surely this wasn’t just inaccurate but absurd, since their eyes were wide and eager. Dr Sweet moved to the doorway, and Toby joined her as if to help her welcome visitors. “That’s my dad,” he kept saying with what I hoped was pride, or “There’s my dad.”
“Is he with Doctor Chris and Doctor Phoebe?” one of the older girls asked.
“No, he’s just my dad. He had to bring me this once.”
That didn’t sound much like pride, and I felt faintly abashed as I followed everyone towards the sleeping room. Chris had gone ahead as if she and her child were leading the procession. “You all know where the toilet is,” Dr Sweet said, “and then you’ll be ready for the rest.”
As children queued outside a room off the corridor I felt prompted to ask “The rest of what?”
“Ready to go for the rest we bring them, Mr Sheldrake.”
I watched Chris lay the toddler down on a mattress by the window at the far end of the sleeping room and straighten up to gaze at him. I supposed I ought to be impressed by how he adopted the seizure position without being arranged or even told, but I found this unsettling in such a young child. As I tried to think of questions to ask, both women turned their eyes on me. “I’ll see to settling Toby down,” I said, “since I’m here.”
I had to wait for him to leave the toilet, by which time quite a few children had given me rather more than a glance on their way to the sleeping room. Toby emphasised his with a wincing frown, which he renewed when I took his arm to help him lie on a mattress. “I’ll be all right now, dad,” he muttered.
I was embarrassed to embarrass him at his age. As Chris rejoined Phoebe Sweet in the corridor I followed her to murmur “Could I have a word?”
I expected them to realise I preferred the children not to hear, but they stayed outside the sleeping room. “What is it, Mr Sheldrake?” Dr Sweet said without lowering her voice.
She looked as immovable as she had at the top of the steps, and I could only speak lower still. “As long as I’m here, do you think I could watch this session? I’d really like to see how it works. I’ll be absolutely unobtrusive, I promise.”
I imagined only the women could hear until a boy lying close to the corridor protested “Toby’s dad isn’t staying, is he? We won’t sleep.”
I might have wondered if this was a plea or a defiant statement of intention. “You won’t even know I’m here,” I tried to assure him.
“We will,” another boy cried, and a girl contributed “It’s got to be just Dr Phoebe and them.”
“Well, Mr Sheldrake,” Phoebe Sweet said, “do you think you have your answer?”
As I tried to come up with a way to justify lingering I saw that almost every child was waiting for my response. Only the toddler had kept his face turned up, away from me. When I saw that Toby was no less anxious for me to leave than the others were, I gave in. “I’ll see you when they bring you home,” I told him.
“I’m sorry you were disappointed,” Dr Sweet said. “I’m sure you understand.”
“I’ll see Mr Sheldrake out, Phoebe,” Chris said.
I kept my reaction to myself until we reached the steps. “Forgive me, but how is it that you’re staying if I can’t? Is it because your son’s so young?”
“No, Mr Sheldrake,” the paediatrician said and let me see how deeply dark her eyes were. “Dr Sweet and I will be having a professional conference.”
I wouldn’t have imagined that my face was capable of growing hotter than it had when I’d embarrassed my son in front of all of them. “Sorry,” I mumbled and headed for my car. As I climbed in she gave me a bow I hoped wasn’t meant to be ironic, and then she returned to the house. My head was a jumble of thoughts and emotions, and my feeling that there was a thought I should have didn’t help me think.
I was back in Liverpool and driving to the university when what I’d overlooked caught up with me. My whole body convulsed, and a thoughtless reaction made me stamp on the brake, very nearly causing traffic to pile up behind me. As irate drivers sped past me, blaring their horns, the clamour felt like a succession of alarms that were sounding in my head far too late.
8 - Secret Names
“Could I speak to one of your paediatricians?”
“What’s it concerning, please?”
Having failed to anticipate the question, I fumbled for an answer. “I’d like to make an appointment,” I said.
“Is it concerning a child?”
“It would be.” In case the woman on the switchboard recognised the sarcasm, I scrambled to add “My wife’s and mine.”
“Did you want to speak to anyone in particular?”
“I believe she calls herself Chris.”
“Do you have a last name?”
I was afraid so, but didn’t want to risk making a mistake. “Are more than one of them called that?”
“I don’t think so.” After a pause that might have represented thought or consultation the woman said “I expect you mean Chris Blone.”
“Now you say it, that sounds very much like her.” I was glad nobody could see my face as I said “I only heard the name once, and I couldn’t be sure.”
“I’ll put you through.” A silence made me hol
d my breath, only for her to say “Putting you through.”
I sucked in another breath to hold and clenched my teeth. I was grinding them hard enough to hear as well as feel by the time a voice spoke. “Chris Blone. Please leave your number and I’ll call you back as soon—”
This was all I heard before cutting her off. I hadn’t realised how much I had been hoping to be wrong, but I couldn’t mistake the voice. I took time to calm my breathing down, though not my thoughts, and then I dialled again. “Did you just try to connect me with Chris Blone? She isn’t there.”
“I didn’t think she would be. You can leave a message.”
“I’d rather speak to her personally.” I had to tell the lie so as to ask “Would you know where she might be?”
“She’ll be at another facility. She’s there quite a lot of the time, but I’m afraid I can’t give out the number.” The operator might have been offering me a tacit apology by saying “It’s to do with her own child.”
I already knew which place that was. I thanked the operator and let the phone drop on the cradle. I’d been right in recognising how Chris had stooped to place her child on the mattress and bowed to me from the top of the steps, that snakelike trait that I’d originally encountered in her father. There was worse to confront, not least how Claudine had directed Toby to be Mr Blone when they were playing in the garden, a game surely based on the treatment at Safe To Sleep. I was dismayed not to have identified Chris sooner—her face ought to have been familiar, even if motherhood had lent it plumpness—and unnerved to wonder if she had recognised me. I ought to find out all I could before I told Lesley what I’d learned. I left my office to fast that I almost forgot my briefcase.
I did my best to look unstoppable, but as I came in sight of the car park I saw the vice-chancellor approaching along a transverse path. I stared straight ahead as though I’d located my car and put on speed as well, but he called “Dominic, a brief word if I may.”
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