by Chris Simms
I can hear birdsong inside my house, she wanted to say. I think it might be following me around. ‘That’s right.’
‘Have you any pain in either ear?’
‘No.’
‘Feelings of nausea or dizziness?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t seem to have a blocked nose or the beginnings of flu?’
‘No.’
‘Have you noticed moisture or any kind of discharge coming from the inner ear?’
‘None at all.’
He leaned to the side, opened a drawer and removed a small black case. Inside was a piece of apparatus that looked to her like it belonged in a TV show. Dr Who’s sonic screwdriver.
‘This is an otoscope. It allows me to see into your ear.’ He got up and moved behind her. He clicked his fingers next to her left ear. ‘Did that sound clear to you?’
She nodded.
He clicked at her right ear. ‘And that?’
‘Fine.’
Good, I’ll take a look inside now. It’s not painful.’
She felt the nozzle of the thing pressing down on the lower part of her ear. Part of her wanted to jerk her head clear: the fear of one’s outer body being breached.
‘Nothing amiss there.’ He did the same on the other side. ‘Fine there as well.’ He came back into her field of vision and retook his seat. Removing a wipe from a pack on his desk, he began to clean the end of the otoscope. ‘Your inner ear is absolutely fine. There is a healthy shine to the tympanic membrane –’
‘Tympanic?’
He glanced at her. ‘The eardrum.’
‘Of course. Sorry – Owen was describing a crescendo earlier on. He mentioned the tympani; those tuned drums.’
‘Latin,’ Dr Ford smiled. ‘Gets everywhere, doesn’t it? All going fine with his preparations?’
‘The usual last-minute niggles. He’s such a perfectionist.’ She left her answer at that.
Dr Ford nodded respectfully. ‘Well, I’m glad to say your eardrums are perfectly fine. My guess is you have a mild viral infection. They normally settle down of their own accord after a week or so.’
‘A virus? So this noise is just a symptom of a virus?’ She felt giddy with relief. Just a virus.
He broke eye contact to carefully replace the otoscope. ‘That would make sense. You’ve heard the noise again?’
‘Yes. It was actually becoming quite annoying. Annoying and…actually, a little bit distressing.’ She smiled, but his head was still bowed as he fiddled with the catch on the case. ‘I was so afraid I’d developed tinnitus. Some people hear music or birdsong, apparently. I couldn’t imagine anything more tormenting.’
He looked up at last. ‘I don’t think you need worry about tinnitus. Anything else you’d like to raise?’
She tried to summon the will to tell him about her disrupted menstruation cycle. The first thing he’d ask was when she’d last had sex. But it wouldn’t be that: she and Owen rarely bothered any more. Certainly, not when he was preparing for a concert.
‘Laura?’
She shook her head. ‘No, that was all.’
‘OK. Let me know if the Ovaltine helps with your sleeping and let’s see you again in a fortnight.’ He nodded at the door. ‘You can book another appointment with the receptionist on your way out.’
‘OK, thanks,’ she got to her feet.
‘And Laura?’
She looked back. He was already at the keyboard, getting ready to type up the details of her appointment.
‘Let me know if you experience any changes.’ He glanced at her for the briefest instant. ‘To the noise.’
There was something furtive about his manner. ‘Changes?’
‘If it increases in frequency or volume...that sort of thing.’ He was now focusing on his monitor.
‘Right,’ she replied, feeling a little mystified. ‘Of course.’
She closed the door behind her and looked at the next person waiting. A young mum cradling a pale-looking baby. The little thing’s limbs were so limp, it could have been dead. Then she heard a rattling wheeze in its chest. She hesitated, wanting to run her hand over the soft hair on the infant’s head. The mother looked exhausted.
‘Sorry if I kept you waiting,’ Laura said, eyes drawn to the little thing once again. ‘Your baby’s beautiful.’
Thanks.’ The mum’s smile was forced. ‘She kept me up all bloody night.’
Her answer irritated Laura. The woman didn’t know how lucky she was. A thought flickered in Laura’s mind. I could offer to care for the baby. While the mum goes back to bed and sleeps. I could cradle the little thing in my arms, sing her songs, stroke her face. Smell her.
Dr Ford’s door creaked. ‘Bernadette Morrison?’
Chapter 9
Across the valley, she could see them in the field, brushing at the earth. Sifting for secrets in the soil. Before driving home, she’d popped into the convenience store just along from the doctor’s and bought some Ovaltine.
The small glass jar seemed from another age: rationing in the lean years after the war. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually bother drinking the stuff, but after the relief of Dr Ford’s diagnosis of a viral infection, she’d felt happy to follow his advice.
Coming out of the shop, she’d paused at the noticeboard in the post office next door. A photo of six little kittens arranged on a blanket jumped out at her. So sweet! They seemed to be nudging blindly about and she could almost hear their mewls. The message beneath the image said they were free to good homes, ready for collection mid-November. Just over a week ago. Wandering toward her car, she guessed they’d probably all been snapped up. Such a shame Owen couldn’t stand cats.
Jar in one hand, she unlocked the porch door to a mass of letters on the floor. Once in the kitchen, she put her slippers on and started to flick through them. She realised she was humming a song to herself. Her shoulders weren’t slightly raised and she didn’t have one ear turned, anxiously listening for the sound. It was all being generated by a virus, that was all. Thank God.
Among the junk mail was a stout A4-sized envelope addressed to Owen. It had been franked by a machine that identified it as having come from the Bridgewater Hall. Publicity, no doubt, about the forthcoming concert.
Below it was another letter, also franked. She frowned – this one had come from the High Peak Primary Care Trust. The letter inside wasn’t aligned correctly and she couldn’t quite see the name above the top line of their address. Was it to her or Owen? Putting it to the side, she turned on the kettle and removed her coat.
She really didn’t like coming home to an empty cottage so often. In Richmond it was never as quiet as this. Down there was a constant flow of traffic, the occasional siren in the distance, the bustle of a nearby city. Here it was all solitude and silence. Too much of it.
There seemed to be a bit of a commotion going on by the church. Two figures were hurrying across to a group of three others. Arms were even waving. My, my, she said to herself, perhaps they’ve found the rest of that arrowhead.
She opened the laptop and, out of habit, immediately checked her emails. Top one was a message with an unusual subject line. Hi there Laura, please don’t worry. She was about to consign it to the junk folder when she realised it had come via the Tinnitus Sufferers’ Association forum.
Of course, she thought. The message I sent in. Someone has already replied. She perched on the bar stool and clicked the envelope.
Welcome to the forum, Laura! My name’s Tamsin Harper and I’m one of the moderators. I live in San Francisco.
Laura paused. San Francisco. I went there once, on tour with The Royal Ballet back in the mid-nineties. The Sleeping Beauty. Romeo and Juliet. I had just made first soloist and my sights were already on principal. She carried on reading.
We’re eight hours behind you in England, so what am I doing sending messages at 2 o’clock in the morning? Well, my T has gone acute, in fact it’s been driving me nuts all night. Currently I have my maskers in
to help, but the noise is still like a hurricane blowing through a keyhole!!!
So, you’re hearing birdsong? Want to swap with me?! Seriously, I’ve traded messages with a few fellow sufferers who hear birds singing or music playing. Even specific songs sometimes. Over here, when it’s not standard whistling, buzzing, or hissing – but tunes or song instead – we refer to them as musical hallucinations.
Laura stopped reading. That single word was enough to make the stool feel like it was toppling over. She gripped the edge of the breakfast bar tight. Hallucinations. Hospital memories surged back. Some for the first time. The smell of baby lotion on the hospital sheets. Water that tasted of formula milk. Sometimes it even appeared white. She didn’t want to read the rest of Tamsin’s message. Placing the cursor in the reply field, she began to type.
Thank you so much for your kind message. I’ve just returned from seeing my doctor and he told me I have a viral infection that should clear up on its own very soon. Sorry to have bothered you, but it looks like I’ll be OK. Good luck with your own problem, kind regards, Laura.
She pressed send and then closed the laptop and pushed it away. I knew, she said to herself, that joining the forum was a bad idea. Why did I do it?
Over by the church, all of them were now gathered round one spot. Huddled in close. Something had caught their attention. She contemplated driving over to see what it was. They’ll have enrolled me next, she smiled.
The letter from the High Peak Primary Care Trust stared up at the ceiling. She tried to push back the upper edge of the cellophane window. It was too well attached to let her see anything. She cocked her head: why would Owen have been sent anything from them? He certainly hadn’t had any medical appointment since we moved up here. It must be for me.
Feeling slightly guilty, she extracted the smallest knife from the drawer and sliced the top of the envelope open.
It wasn’t to either of them. It was to the parent or guardian of William Hall. She recalled that the old couple who lived in Lantern Cottage before them were called the Halls. She knew she should return it to the envelope for resealing. She knew she shouldn’t read it. But now she was intrigued. She wanted to know more.
RE: William Hall, DOB 17.5.1996. Lantern Cottage, Coal Lane, Mill Brow, Oldknow, Derbyshire.
Assisted travel entitlement.
Dear Parent/Guardian,
Our records indicate that the assisted travel entitlement for William is due for review at the end of this year. It will help us to determine whether William should still qualify for assisted travel if you can confirm the following –
Does William still have a statement of Special Educational Needs?
Does he still attend the Skylark Centre in Rowarth three afternoons a week?
Do you still receive disability living allowance for William’s continued care?
She scanned down to the letter’s base. It had come from the Special Educational Needs Transport Team. She went back to the top. The date of birth given there put William in his late teens. What, she wondered, was wrong with him? Something profound, judging by this.
She wasn’t sure what to do; obviously the Travel Team needed to update their records. Just scrawling ‘return to sender’ on the envelope and putting it in the post didn’t seem enough. I should call them direct, she decided, explain I opened the letter in error and let them know William was no longer at this address. William Hall. She tried to remember the name of the parents. Edith and Roger? Yes that was it. Edith and Roger Hall – that’s what the estate agent said. Odd he’d mentioned nothing about a son.
Chapter 10
The wind was tugging at the last few leaves clinging to the trees which lined the graveyard’s lower edge. A couple finally lost the battle. They were whisked over the wall and banished to the wild grass beyond. Soon all the branches would be bare.
The church doors were shut so she continued on to the end of the graveyard. There were eight of them from the Archaeological Society and they were still congregated at one spot. An elderly lady saw her and several heads turned in Laura’s direction. They conferred quietly before Adrian Moore broke off from the group and made his way over.
‘Hi there,’ she smiled, pushing some hair from her face. The wind was being a nuisance. ‘Have you found something interesting? Only, I noticed the commotion from my kitchen window.’
He shot a glance in the direction of Lantern Cottage. ‘Ah – yes.’ His face turned back to her and she could tell he was weighing up what to say. The rest were watching and she got the feeling her presence there wasn’t particularly welcome.
She stepped back. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. Sorry.’
He looked at Lantern Cottage again. ‘No – you needn’t apologise. We’re in view from your window, simple as that. We have found something, yes.’
She wondered if it was an item of jewellery; something they’d like to keep quiet while they catalogued its position or whatever archaeologists did. ‘If you’re worried I’ll say anything, you needn’t be. I won’t say a word.’
He studied her again. ‘Well…’
‘Go on Adrian, for goodness sake, spit it out! We’re not a secret society!’
The comment came from an elderly lady in a red anorak. Adrian looked over his shoulder and she made a shooing motion at him with one hand. ‘Go on!’
He turned back. ‘It looks like it could be human remains. A skull.’
Oh, thought Laura. That isn’t what I expected. ‘A skull?’ All of a sudden the site didn’t seem quite so innocent. In fact, the shallow trenches now had a touch of something sinister.
He registered her troubled look. ‘It’s probably a peacetime burial. Wartime ones were normally dug outside the ramparts. It’s simply a grave – like the ones behind you.’
She looked briefly at the ranked tombstones.
‘It could be the offspring of a chieftain or other important person.’
‘The offspring? It’s not… not an adult skull, then?’
‘Doesn’t seem to be. Now, Mrs Wilkinson, I’m sure you appreciate there are people with less honourable motives than ours or yours. So I’ll have to ask that you treat this in the strictest confidence.’
‘Absolutely. What will you do – try and move it somewhere safe?’
‘Once we’ve ascertained what else is in the vicinity, yes.’ He moved away. ‘And we’re fast running out of light.’
She crossed her arms, unsettled by their revelation. ‘Can… can I bring you over some tea? Biscuits?’
‘Martin’s on the case now. But I imagine he could do with a hand.’
‘Hello!’ she called out, nearing the doorway of the church hall’s narrow kitchen.
‘Hi!’ He smiled, arranging cups on a tray. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
He’d got the same jacket on, but was now wearing brown corduroy trousers. They went well together.
‘Isn’t it exciting?’ she announced.
‘They told you? Adrian is treating it like they’ve unearthed the Holy Grail.’
‘He had to – once he realised I had seen across from my kitchen.’
Martin laughed. ‘Sworn to secrecy, though?’
She pressed a finger to her lips.
Grinning, he placed a few teaspoons on the tray.
‘Can I help?’
‘Would you? There are biscuits in that cupboard.’
‘OK.’ She squeezed past him. He was wearing aftershave: something woody. ‘Shall I just bring out the whole box?’
‘Good idea, we needn’t bother with plates.’ The two kettles clicked off and he started pouring water into each mug. ‘Who’d have thought they’d unearth something this interesting?’
‘I know. It’s all very dramatic.’
He continued pouring water. ‘Did you mention anything to your husband?’
She felt herself blush and was glad he was occupied with filling the cups. ‘I did – but he’s very focused on the coming performance. It’s a big thing for him: conducting his
own piece.’
‘Specially commissioned by the Royal Northern College of Music, too. It’s a sell-out, isn’t it?’
‘Apparently. And he’s only got three more days to get things perfect. Best we wait until it’s out of the way.’ She smiled conspiratorially. ‘I’ll start working on him then.’
Martin looked awkward. ‘Please don’t feel in any way obliged. He must be incredibly busy.’
‘He is. But he also has a soft spot for your church.’ She reached for the fridge door. ‘Milk?’
‘Yes the whole carton, I suppose. How about the dance class? Did you have any more thoughts on that?’
She took her time locating the plastic container. ‘I’ve been so busy getting things sorted at Lantern Cottage. I need to dig out my folder from when I took the classes at that prep school – see if anything could be appropriate.’ She knew she was stalling, avoiding the question. It was pathetic. But she couldn’t admit that the thought of a group of kids with severe disabilities terrified her.
‘OK, it was just a thought.’
She could tell from his voice her dissembling hadn’t gone unnoticed. She straightened up, milk carton in hand.
‘I haven’t mentioned anything to the people at the Skylark Trust,’ he added. ‘It’s not like there’s any hurry.’
Skylark Trust. She’d seen that name mentioned somewhere else. Where William Hall was going for his therapy. ‘By the way, did you ever meet the last people who lived in Lantern Cottage?’
‘No. Why?’
She waved a hand. ‘Just curious. The estate agent mentioned that they were an elderly couple. I think they moved because of the location. The narrow lane up and awkward steps inside. At least that’s what he said.’ She kept looking at his profile. His head was bowed as he fished teabags from the cups.