“How do you mean, leave it?”

“I just don’t want you to get upset, get worried, trying to sort out what’s beyond you. I don’t want that.”

“How can you say that? She’s my daughter, I can’t sit back and watch it, I have to sort it out, of course I have to. If I can’t do that for her c How can you say that?”

He let it go and started to drink his tea, watching the storm break and the rain hurl itself against the picture windows.

Forty-two

The receptionist put her head round the door.

“Can you see one more?”

Cat groaned. She had closed her computer and was checking through some notes. Morning surgery seemed to have lasted for five years.

“How many visits have I got?”

“Not too bad actually c Mr Wilkins has gone into hospital and Mrs Fabiani died this morning.”

“Go on then, but this is the last, Cathy.”

“I said you would. Only she has been waiting over an hour.”

The new receptionist was wonderful to work with, efficient, sympathetic, charming and organised. Her only problem was an inability to say no to patients.

Cat looked up as the door opened on Jane Fitzroy.

“I’m really sorry, I know you’ve had a long morning.”

“Sit down. I think I remember asking you to come and see me before now?”

Jane made a face. “I didn’t think I needed to and you know how it is c”

“Hm.”

“I’m surprised, really, I didn’t expect all this to go on affecting me, it’s over and done with. I ought to have put it behind me.”

“You had a frightening—no, a shocking experience. These things take longer than you might suppose. Tell me.”

“I just need something to help me sleep. If you can give me that, so I get a few decent nights, I’ll be fine.”

“Let’s see. I’ll give you a quick check-over first.”

“No, honestly, don’t waste your time, I’m a very healthy person. I just can’t cope with not sleeping.”

“Are you having flashbacks?”

“Sometimes. Yes, when I go back into the house at the end of the day c especially if it’s late. Yes. It’s really stupid, I know.”

“Not at all. Really normal and understandable. Panic attacks?”

Jane hesitated. “I’m c I get c I don’t know.”

“You know what form they take, though? You’re suddenly gripped by fear and panic out of the blue c you want to run away. Your heart pounds c sometimes you overbreathe, sometimes you start to shake. Some people feel nauseous or want to rush to the loo c some people feel giddy or faint. It does vary but the overwhelming feeling is one of fear. There’s a sense of impending doom.”

“Yes.”

“How often do you get them?”

“Oh, it’s only been a couple of times. Or so.”

“Or so?”

“A few.”

“Jane, you do not have to be ashamed of this. If I came to ask you to hear my confession I would expect to have to confess—everything. Now, I’m your doctor.”

Jane smiled. “OK. It’s getting worse. I seem to be having these attacks more often. Oughtn’t they to be less by now? I’m not dealing with this very well, am I? The other morning, I had to leave the eleven o’clock service c I couldn’t face it, I just froze. I had to get out. Everyone thought I was sick or something.”

“You were.”

“But how feeble can you get for goodness’ sake?”

“This has nothing to do with being feeble. I could give it the correct medical term of post-traumatic stress. It might help you to understand that this is not a moral issue, and it has nothing to do with your lack of nerve, Jane. But you’re right to think that being constantly short of sleep does not help the rest of it. I will prescribe you a short course of a sleeping tablet to break the pattern.”

“Oh, thank you, I—” Jane got up.

“That’s not all though.”

“I don’t want to take anything else c tranquillisers or whatever.”

“Not going to offer them. I think you’d benefit from a couple of sessions with a clinical psychologist. There are two excellent ones at Bevham General. You’d be able to talk everything through, and get some practical tips on coping with panic attacks and so on. It would really help you.”

“Not sure about that.”

“Really? Why, because you’re a priest and shouldn’t need it?”

Jane flushed.

“That’s rubbish and you know it. Listen, this is not going to go away by itself and it will start interfering with your ability to do your work—which is stressful enough. You owe it to yourself and to the job to get this sorted.”

“I didn’t think you were the kind to talk tough.”

“I am very, very good at that. You can take it.” Cat pulled the prescription pad towards her. “Get these. And have a think for twenty-four hours.”

“Thank you.”

“Lecture over.” Cat got up. “You’re my last. Off on the rounds. But listen, I need to talk to you about Imogen House. There have been one or two issues there c you’ll have come up against them by now.”

“Ah, Sister Doherty.”

“Sister Doherty indeed. Chris is out tonight at a meeting.”

They went out into the empty waiting room.

“Dr Deerbon, will you have a word with oncology at BG?” Cathy leaned over the reception desk.

“Yes. Jane—can you come to supper tonight? Potluck but in this weather it’ll be yet another salad.”

Jane smiled. She is not beautiful, Cat thought, she just misses that, but she has a face you have to look at and keep looking at. And her smile is something else.

“I would absolutely love to. I haven’t been out much. It’s just what I need.”

“Here c” Cat scribbled. “We’re easy to find. Fifteen minutes from the cathedral once the rush-hour traffic is over. Any time after seven.”

“Dr Deerbon, they are holding for you c”

“I’m there.”

She waved to Jane as she went to the phone, feeling pleased. An evening of surgery paperwork after she had put the children to bed had just metamorphosed into supper with a new friend.

Forty-three

“Nathan, have you got a minute?”

“On my way, guv.”

Simon swung his chair round to look at the heat shimmer over the tarmac of the station courtyard. The fan on his desk stirred hot air about and shifted the corners of the papers. But he was glad to be back. His week’s leave had not been the best and he suppressed the knowledge that it was mainly his own fault.

Nathan Coates came in whistling.

“You’re chirpy.”

“Morning, guv. Yeah, well, got some good news yesterday.”

“It’s triplets.”

“Gawd, spare me that—be like living in a horror movie.”

“Oh, I’m sure my parents wouldn’t agree with you.”

Nathan went red from the neck up. “Aw, guv c”

“It’s OK, I’m winding you up. Why should you remember I’m a triplet? So what is the news?”

“It is baby stuff though c me and Em went for a scan yesterday and it’s a boy.”

“If that’s what you both want, that’s great.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t mind either way, honest to God, but Em’s been dead set on a boy, she’s chuffed as little apples. What’s to do this morning then?”

“We’re getting a temporary replacement for Gary Jones. DC called Joe Carmody Coming from Exwood.”

DC Gary Jones had been involved in a hit-and-run incident the previous weekend when a getaway car had swerved into him. He was lucky to be alive.

“I’m sick and tired of drugs ops and it’s escalating. The Dulcie is getting out of control. I’m going to a cross-border forces conference about the whole thing next week. I’d like you to show this new guy the ropes here. There’s something for you to look at.” Serrailler got up and went to the map on his wall. “Here c Nelson Road, Inkerman Street, Balaclava Street.”

“Battle Corner c Nice and quiet round there usually.”

“There’s been some trouble c offensive graffiti, racist leaflets and posters, general nastiness.”

“Bit surprising.”