The Soul of Discretion

by Susan Hill

  ‘I did. I felt strange – as if I was there and not there, sad and not sad. It was very muddled and emotional. We just stayed like that for a while, me holding Nanoo’s left hand, the nurse holding her right, and then, as if she just knew now was the moment, the nurse got up and went out quickly, and a minute later, my mother was there with her, pulling her dressing gown on. It was November, it was quite cold – we didn’t have warm bedrooms then – but the nurse had a one-bar heater on. My mother looked at me, and I thought she was going to tell me to go back to bed, but she didn’t. We were waiting, and I knew my mother was standing a bit away from the bed because she was frightened – anything to do with death and dying really bothered her, she couldn’t deal with it. And then the most extraordinary thing happened – my grandmother started and her eyes opened wide … she was trying to sit upright but of course she was too weak. She didn’t look at any of us, she looked ahead – not blankly, she was looking at something. Then she gave a big sigh – as if everything was suddenly all right, everything was as it should be. And then she turned her head and looked straight at me with such a long, loving look, such a sweet, loving look …’

  Elaine had tears running down her cheeks now but Cat did not stir or speak.

  ‘And then she just lay back and took one breath and that was it. No more breaths. The room was absolutely silent and still, and I felt that we were in a sort of bubble, a timeless bubble, not related to anything else … and then I heard my mother draw in a breath. Because there was a light – it hovered just over my grandmother, it reflected on the wall – it was a dim light, and blue, the most intense blue, and so beautiful. My grandmother’s face was beautiful too … it seemed to have changed in just those few seconds and she was a girl, or a young woman again, and every worry and pain line had gone – they were just smoothed out. We all three of us stayed still and I don’t know how long it was but it felt as if it was out of time and just going on and on. And then the light faded away very quickly and my grandmother was dead and my mother was making funny little sobbing sounds. And that was it. And it was as if, when I’d woken up in my bed earlier, I was going through what would happen … I remember lying in bed feeling so peaceful and so happy for Nanoo and somehow just accepting – and although I didn’t actually see it again, the light seemed to be still there somehow, all round me. It stayed with me for days – until her funeral. They were all for my not going to that but I was furious and I made such a fuss they let me … I said Nanoo especially wanted me to go, so in the end, they let me. The blue light was round me at her burial, but after that it seemed to dissolve away and I never had it round me again. And that is as true as the truth can ever be, Doctor, and if you think I’m mad and deranged or whatever, it doesn’t make a spot of difference. It never has. I’ve just lived with it for the rest of my life. I’ve never told anyone. I tried to tell Neil – my husband – and then Jack and Angie, but they didn’t want to know. My mother never referred to it. I didn’t try to talk to anyone about it, but I read some article in the paper about a woman who had had a similar experience – not the same, but like enough to make me know at once. The nurse prepared my grandmother, but then the doctor came to do the certification, and of course the undertaker, and all of that took over and I never saw that nurse again. I wanted to so much. I badly wanted to talk to her but I didn’t know how I could get in touch with her, so that was it. But it’s true, Doctor, whatever you think of me – as true as anything I know.’

  ‘Why would I “think” anything of you? Of course it’s true. I’ve known this – almost every doctor and nurse will have experienced something of this sort when they’ve been with dying patients, and there’s plenty of research about it done by highly regarded medics come to that. It is certainly not hallucination and not the result of overwrought imagination – these experiences are often dismissed as being nothing more than the result of high doses of morphine but in fact drug-induced hallucinations are quite different. So you’re certainly not alone, far from it. And thank you for telling me, Elaine. How do you feel now, after talking about it?’

  ‘Every time I remember it – actually, I don’t even have to do that, it’s with me all the time. It has always been there – part of me, if that doesn’t sound strange. When I do think of it deliberately, I feel – reassured? Helped? Yes. I’m not afraid of death though I don’t want to die in agony, of course I don’t, I don’t like to imagine the physical process. But I’m not afraid of dying because I was there with Nanoo and it was – good. A positive thing, even though I missed her so much because I loved her. But I always knew everything was all right.’

  Elaine fell silent for a moment. ‘Why does everyone try to change the subject, do you think?’

  ‘Fear. The old embarrassment?’

  ‘I think there’s more to it. When people had a faith, they accepted death – it was part of the whole business, if you know what I mean. But now everyone is afraid to look stupid, gullible, they believe death is the end, so anyone who starts to talk about an afterlife, or anything spiritual, is automatically deluded or deranged, or indulging in fairy tales. And if you think death is a big black nothing, you probably prefer not to discuss it, I suppose. People have their own beliefs but it isn’t right to dismiss everyone who has other opinions, is it?’

  ‘No, absolutely not. Respect other people’s experiences and feelings and views, however different they are. My mother was a doctor, and not any sort of believer, but she always said it was her job to listen and not pass judgement, not dismiss anything. She was right. It’s arrogance to do otherwise.’

  ‘I’m very lucky to have you here to talk to.’

  ‘I so often wish I could go into med schools and hospitals and explain about listening. All doctors need to listen more. Lack of time the excuse of course, but people waste plenty of it on stuff that doesn’t matter a jot.’

  ‘The worst is when you’re treated like a child. “Now, now, let’s not talk about nasty things.”’

  ‘But don’t you think people try to change the subject and chivvy you into being bright and chirpy because it makes them feel better – never mind how you feel?’

  ‘You see, I keep wanting to talk to Jack about my will … it’s nothing complicated, there are just one or two things I’d like to be given to certain friends, you know, sentimental things – but he shuts me up, every single time, he goes all chirpy and makes jokes, anything to avoid facing the conversation. It’s made me very sad sometimes and then I’ve been angry – I shouldn’t be angry, I know, they can’t help it.’

  ‘Can’t they? What are they afraid of, do you think?’

  Elaine sighed and rested her head back.

  Cat got up. ‘I have to go. But I’ll pop in again soon. And thank you.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘You’ve made me realise something I sort of knew but hadn’t quite worked out – how important all this is and what I want to try and do about it, even if it can only be in a limited way. So yes, thank you, Elaine.’

  Cat bent down and hugged the woman gently, noticing how little there was of her body to grasp. She would come back, and soon. She had learned the lesson about putting things off and then to regretting it.

  ‘If there’s anything you need or if you want to have a word on the phone, please ring. I’m at home most evenings, other than Tuesdays which is my choir practice or you can leave a message for me at the surgery. I want to make sure everything’s covered so that you’re as comfortable as you can be and I’ll organise one of the hospice nurses to come in as well, if you think that would be a good idea. I know them all, I’ll make sure they’re properly briefed – no sing-along and no bingo.’

  Elaine smiled. The colour was touching her cheeks again, and her eyes were lively. Something so simple, Cat thought as she left, and look at the difference it makes.

  The end of St Luke’s Drive had been fitted with blocks to stop cars using it as a rat run, and as she unlocked her own car, Cat noticed another trying to negotiate
an awkward three-point turn a few yards away. It was a fast, smart Mercedes coupé. She recognised it, and waved.

  ‘I thought satnav was supposed to know these things,’ Rachel called out of the car window. ‘Now look at the mess I’m in.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll guide you down – but stop when you’re the right way round again, I haven’t seen you for ages.’

  The turn was managed easily between the two of them.

  ‘What are you doing out here anyway?’

  ‘Delivering a parcel of books. Someone impatient for new things we didn’t have in stock, and they came in today so I thought I’d add the personal service element. And I was on my way home. You?’

  ‘Seeing a patient. Listen, I’ve got to collect Felix and then I’m heading home. Come to tea? Glass of wine?’

  Rachel smiled with real pleasure. ‘Love to. I was only going to watch a film I downloaded weeks ago.’

  ‘Sad.’

  ‘Tragic.’

  ‘Right, here’s the front-door key to the farmhouse, go in and put the kettle on, I’ll follow with the boy. Unless Hannah is already back but I doubt she will be. Sam’s at cricket nets.’

  Rachel caught the key, gave Cat a thumbs up, and sped sleekly off.

  Forty-one

  For a split second after the sirens had wailed up to full volume, Ray Norman had gone through the emergency procedures in his head, beginning with total lockdown. Then, the full implication of what he had been told hit him. The escaped men were Will Fernley and Johnno Miles. He unlocked his own mobile, the only place on which he had the contact number stored. It was picked up after a single ring.

  ‘Ray Norman. We have a breakout, two men, one of them Johnno Miles.’

  ‘Wait a moment please.’ There was a thirty-second pause before he came back. ‘OK, here’s the procedure. Continue with the routine as normal, lockdown, short tannoy announcement, all officers to posts on the unit, all men in the public area, rooms to be vacated and locked temporarily. No one outside the building. Local police are being informed from here as we speak, and will be with you fast. Continue with them as normal, their Chief knows the score, he will inform any others strictly on a need to know. Police units across the county and adjacent will be put on alert. Within the prison, there is no need to know, you are the only contact, talk to no one else. If the media descend, press conference only, statement as per, ensure you use Miles’s legend as his only story. Repeat. Nothing to be said to break his cover. Answer questions briefly, mainly to maintain public confidence. You know what’s going to happen the minute they hear “escaped paedophiles”. We don’t want panic, schools closing, all that. No risk, no danger, police fully deployed blah. You’ve got all of it?’

  ‘When you catch up with them – and you’re pretty much bound to, I’d have thought, there’s no hiding place round here – then what?’

  ‘Arrested and taken into custody. We deal with everything. But they won’t be coming back to you.’

  The receiver went to tone, the governor slipped the mobile into his inner pocket. Seconds later, he heard the police sirens coming closer and fast from the main road. Ray was listening to them, cursing the day he had agreed to have an undercover cop on the premises, when the first person came banging urgently on his door.

  Forty-two

  ‘Flat on your back, pull the branches over you.’

  Simon did as he was told with an urgency he did not feel. The police helicopter was starting to circle the surrounding area, flying low. In a few minutes, they would be right over the dyke in which he and Will were concealed – and pretty well concealed, he thought – but if the crew caught sight of anything resembling men on the run, as per their instructions, they would not drop down further to investigate. Only one or two police would know the score but the helicopter crew would be included in that and made aware that one of the escapees was working undercover, though they would have been given no further information. They would make a great show of searching, and then buzz off.

  It was unpleasant in the ditch, the vegetation scratching their arms and faces, the mud and slime at the bottom rank-smelling as they disturbed it. It was close, and humid, and another twenty minutes before the helicopter went out of their hearing. They waited quarter of an hour before Will said he felt it was safe to move on. Another hour of trudging and crawling slowly along and he stopped and turned his head.

  ‘OK, in about a hundred yards, we climb out of here and make a short dash skirting the side of the field, to a crown of trees. Not many of those around here and I’ve had it marked out. We won’t be seen in there, the foliage is pretty dense and the grass is high round the edge. We hole out there until dark. Then we’ll make our way about five miles to a farm. The house is empty but the stables are in use. That’s the next hiding place.’

  ‘You seem to know all this like the back of your hand.’

  ‘I do … and what I don’t know I’ve mapped out for weeks – months. Only worry is if they use night-flying helicopters with thermal-imaging cameras but those will pick up horses and with luck we’ll blend in with them. Otherwise, if we’re in a ditch or out in the open lanes and fields, we’d be picked out as the only heat source for miles and they’d have us.’

  ‘Listen, where exactly are we heading and how long’s it going to take? I’m bloody starving and we’ll need water again.’

  ‘The bottles have to last us until we get to the farm. There’ll be a stable tap.’

  ‘All right but then where?’

  ‘Andrew’s,’ Will said curtly. ‘Let’s get a move on, shall we?’

  Half an hour after reaching the shelter of the trees, they were both flat on their backs asleep. There was a slight breeze and there was shade. That was all they needed. They lay a few yards apart, under the shelter of different trees. Simon smelled the earthy smell and the dry-leaf smell and the smell of his own sweat. It was cool now. He was exhausted, but too alert to sleep very deeply and he was the first to wake. There was a deep silence, broken far away by the sound of a tractor. He looked over at Will. He was on his side, head on his left arm, snoring slightly.

  Whatever happened in the long run, he knew they were not going to be hunted down and arrested within the next few days. The London team would get what they needed from Ray Norman. His own job was the same – to stick close to Fernley and try to get names, details, everything and anything that would lead them to the paedophile ring. Until he had something, he would not be expected to run off, nor did he want to. In fact, he felt more optimistic than he had done inside Stitchford. Out here, he had far more chance of bonding with Will and ingratiating himself well enough to be let into secrets. Inside, there had always been a risk, and always others about, and a general atmosphere of watchfulness. Plus the therapists, on the alert for any close relationships and bent on breaking them up. One-to-one friendships were always frowned upon.

  He rolled over and lay with his hands crossed behind his head, looking through the leaf canopy to the sky. Blue. Still. He looked over at Fernley again. Could he take a chance and try to make even the briefest contact via the device secreted on the Snoopy watch? No. Will might wake suddenly before he had any chance to cover up what he was doing. Not worth the risk.

  A collared dove settled in the tree and began to coo softly. Nothing else moved. Will slept on.

  Rachel came into his mind, her face clear and close in front of his eyes. Rachel. She deserved better. Any woman deserved better, he knew that. His family were used to this sort of thing, and even if they worried, took it in their stride. Not Rachel. He wished he believed in telepathy and could make it work. Wished, more mundanely, that he could contact her, or get a message to her. Knew that he could not.

  He loved her. But did he ever love anyone enough to let them make a permanent home at the centre of his life? He had minded more strongly than he knew was reasonable when she had moved in and started to make her mark on his flat, leaving traces of her presence everywhere. It was a statement and he had not be
en able to accept it. And if that was the case, how could he conceivably think of marriage?

  He couldn’t.

  Will Fernley woke and sat up in one single, alarmed movement.

  ‘It’s OK, nothing’s happened,’ Serrailler said.

  ‘Jeez.’ Will lay back. ‘Nightmares. You?’

  ‘Nope. Out like the proverbial. I’m bloody hungry though.’

  ‘Time?’

  ‘Half eight.’

  ‘Christ, we’ve been asleep for hours.’

  ‘We were knackered.’

  Simon stood and did some arm-swinging and stretching, trying to get his cramped muscles to ease. Lying on hard ground was not the best way to keep his back problems at bay. Will was doing press-ups but flopped onto his stomach after nine. ‘Not as fit as I should be.’

  They sat side by side, hearing the leaves rustle, the distant tractor, an even more distant train.

  ‘So – this Andrew whose place you said we’re going to. He the barrister guy?’

  Fernley nodded. ‘Top man.’

  ‘You said he won’t be there?’

  ‘Probably not, but he comes down on Friday afternoons, and if we’re still there, which I dare say we will be, we’ll meet up then.’

  ‘Is he prosecuting or defending?’

  ‘Mainly defending. Just once in a while he takes on a prosecution but it has to be worth his while. No legal-aid stuff.’