The Anna McColl Mysteries Box Set 1

by Penny Kline

  I turned off the main road, pulling down the visor as the sun shone directly into my eyes. The fields looked yellow and parched but the hedgerows were still green and lush. Here and there the road became dangerously narrow as cow-parsley stuck out, obscuring the view and leaving insufficient space for two largish cars to pass, let alone a couple of trucks or a tractor.

  In less than five minutes I would have reached the hospital and there would be no time to think about what I was going to say to William Stringer. But in any case it was no use trying to work anything out in advance. I would have to follow his lead, accept any criticism he had of the way I had handled Luke’s case and take it from there.

  I turned in to the hospital gates, parked, and steeled myself for whatever William Stringer had in store for me.

  *

  Luke was in the Occupational Therapy building. Henry Anayake was off duty, but another nurse, a large auburn-haired woman with a friendly, easy-going manner, told me the OT would be quite happy for me to interrupt the class.

  ‘D’you know how he is?’

  ‘Luke? Oh, he’s much better, love. Doing well.’

  ‘Really? D’you mean he’s stopped talking rubbish? He’s behaving rationally?’

  If it was true I was furious that Stringer had failed to get in touch.

  The nurse pursed her lips, thinking about what I’d just said. ‘If you want my opinion, for what it’s worth, I’d say he’s a little tired, a little anxious, but over all not too bad at all.’

  I tapped on the door of the OT building and entered, looking quickly round the room and spotting Luke at the far end, bent over a large piece of drawing paper. I introduced myself to the therapist and asked if I could talk to him.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She looked a little fraught, as though the job was getting her down, or maybe she had problems of her own. ‘Today’s Luke’s first time with us. He’s doing some drawing.’

  ‘Hallo, Luke,’ I said, crossing the room and sitting on the empty chair beside him. ‘How are you?’

  He had seen me come in but had chosen to keep his head down.

  I tried again. ‘What are you drawing?’

  He kept his right arm on the paper and with his left hand selected a black felt-tipped pen. It was the first time I had noticed he was left-handed, although, come to think of it, it was the first time I had seen him holding a pen. He had drawn a series of enclosed shapes, like amoebas or small puffy clouds. The shapes were joined by thin wavy lines. In one corner of the paper was the head of a man. A face with its cheeks blown out, like the West Wind at the edge of a map or a giant in a children’s story book. He could draw quite well but had attempted to disguise his skill by adopting the style of a child of three or four.

  I watched as he outlined the shapes in thick black waterproof ink. Then, without a word, he stood up, handed the paper to the occupational therapist and left the room.

  He was waiting for me outside and one look at his expression convinced me that the play-acting had come to an end.

  ‘They want me to leave.’ He was standing on one leg with his other foot wrapped round his ankle.

  ‘Is that what Dr Stringer said?’

  He shook his head. ‘I can tell.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, ‘you wait in the ward and I’ll go and speak to him.’

  He started walking away, fast, and I had to run after him to ask which ward he was in.

  ‘Down the end,’ he muttered. ‘Clarence Ward.’

  ‘All right, you stay there, I won’t be long.’

  William Stringer’s door was ajar but he was away from his office. I searched for the auburn-haired nurse and found her locking up the drug cupboard.

  ‘Sorry to bother you again, but d’you know where I could find Dr Stringer?’

  ‘He’s in a meeting, love.’

  ‘Another one?’

  ‘That’s right.’ She didn’t ask who I was. Neither did she tell me when the meeting would be over.

  ‘I wanted to talk to him about Luke.’ She thought for a moment, sticking her fingers in her mouth and tapping her nails against her teeth. ‘You could speak to Dr Chin. She might be able to help.’

  ‘All right, where would I find her?’

  The nurse started walking and I followed. Halfway down the passage she knocked on a door and put her head round.

  ‘Someone about Luke Jesty.’

  Dr Chin came out and invited me in. She was small, only five foot one or two, and had a rather beautiful face apart from the faint pockmarks on her cheeks.

  ‘How d’you do?’ She pulled out a chair, then sat down beside me, not behind her desk.

  I explained who I was, how I had come to visit Luke but now had the impression the hospital wanted to discharge him.

  ‘Dr Stringer tried to get in touch with you,’ she said. ‘Luke can go home as long as he has someone to look after him.’ Silently I cursed Heather, who must have forgotten to pass on the message. Just wait till I saw her, although on second thoughts I would probably let it pass.

  ‘What did Dr Stringer think? What was his diagnosis?’

  ‘Oh, nothing too serious. Luke is a very nervous young man, I think, but there’s no evidence of psychosis.’

  ‘So all the time he was behaving like — ’

  Dr Chin held up her hand. ‘Sometimes we all need to hide. For Luke perhaps this was the only way he knew.’

  ‘He lives in lodgings,’ I explained, ‘but they’re very good to him. I’m sure it’ll be all right.’

  ‘Good.’ She opened a folder lying on her desk and turned several pages. ‘When Luke was admitted there was some doubt about the diagnosis.’

  ‘Yes, he had some of the symptoms of a paranoid schizophrenic — ’

  ‘But to you it didn’t ring true.’

  ‘No. At least — ’

  ‘You were quite right. More of a compulsive neurotic, I’d say. And you’ve been treating him for how long?’

  ‘Just a few weeks.’

  She smiled and closed the folder. ‘Well, I hope you’ll be carrying on the good work.’

  She wasn’t being patronizing, just doing her job. Her perfectly reasonable aim was to play down any problems and hand the responsibility for Luke back to me.

  ‘You want me to take him now?’ I asked. ‘I think perhaps I should phone the people where he lives — to let them know we’re coming.’

  ‘Of course.’ She pointed to the telephone on her desk, then stood up and left the room.

  It seemed like a long time before Elaine answered. I had expected her to be at work and it threw me a little when I heard her voice, although I wasn’t sure why.

  ‘Elaine, it’s Anna.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She didn’t ask what I wanted.

  ‘Look, I’m at the hospital, and the thing is, Luke’s much better, almost back to his old self, so they want to discharge him.’

  There was silence at the other end of the line and for a moment I thought we must have been cut off.

  ‘Elaine?’

  ‘I don’t think he should come back here.’

  ‘Oh.’ I wanted to say ‘Why not?’ but I controlled my impatience — just. It would be best to give her a chance to explain in her own words.

  ‘I’m not sure we know enough to help him,’ she said. ‘I mean, you’re a professional, it’s different for you.’

  ‘He’ll still be coming to see me once a week,’ I said feebly. ‘Perhaps more often.’ But even as I spoke I knew I was wasting my time. Elaine was the type who made up her mind about something and stuck to it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Anna, I really am.’ She didn’t sound it.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said coldly, ‘I understand. I’ll talk to you later when I come to collect his things — if that’s all right.’

  ‘Of course. Whenever you like. There’s usually one or other of us at home.’

  I sat, staring at the desk, wondering who to phone next. Mr and Mrs Jesty? But the White Cottage was hardly the best place
for Luke’s convalescence and it was always possible that Peter Jesty would think up some excuse for refusing to have him. His brother Michael? I had no idea of the size of his flat in Portishead but if, as I thought, it was in the new development on the waterfront, he was bound to have a spare bedroom. Portishead might be better for Luke. Quieter, by the sea, away from the scene of the accident and the herbal remedies shop.

  Taking Michael’s business card from my wallet, I dialled the number of the cleaning agency.

  ‘Good morning, can I help?’

  It was a man but it certainly wasn’t Michael.

  ‘Could I speak to Michael Jesty, please?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s in London.’ The voice was slightly effeminate. I imagined a young man with his hair in a pony tail and a collection of rings in his ear.

  ‘D’you know when he’ll be back?’

  ‘Couldn’t say, I’m afraid. He may be staying overnight. I could give him a message when he returns.’

  ‘No. No thanks.’

  Elaine and Doug had let me down. Peter and Brigid Jesty were out of the question. Michael was away. I could try Social Services but how would Luke react to being placed in a hostel surrounded by total strangers? That left two choices, which might as well be narrowed down to one. I could plead with Dr Chin or William Stringer to keep Luke for another few days, or I could take him back to my flat. Perhaps that was what I had wanted all along. A chance to discover what was going on in Luke’s mind. A way of remaining involved, of keeping control of the situation.

  When I left the room there was no sign of Dr Chin. I walked slowly down the corridor to Luke’s ward and found him sitting on the bed with his zip-up bag beside him. He looked up and rubbed the back of his head. He reminded me of a dog hoping to be taken for a walk. I thought about the accident, six years ago. What kind of dog had it been? Something large and black, that was how Michael had described it. Most likely Peter Jesty had taken the poor creature to the vet the same day and had it destroyed. Eventually I would persuade Luke to tell me about it. But that conversation was some time off.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We’ll go and look for the doctor, then I’ll take you home.’

  8

  Luke was in the bathroom, washing his hair. I took it to be a sign that he was feeling a little better. On the way back from the hospital he had hardly spoken a word. When I explained that he would be staying with me for a few days he just nodded. He looked pale, washed out, defeated. But back in the flat he had begun to look a little more cheerful. The sun was coming in through the living-room window. Ernest, sitting in his wheelchair on the lawn, had looked up and waved.

  ‘It’s not really my garden,’ I explained, ‘but if you want to go down Pam and Ernest won’t mind at all.’

  He had made no comment, just asked if there was any shampoo, and when I showed him the bottle muttered something inaudible and closed the bathroom door in my face. He wasn’t being rude, just Luke-like. I was disappointed, I suppose I had hoped the shock of Paula’s accident would be cathartic, shake him out of his withdrawn state, give him a new start.

  I had decided to give him my bedroom and sleep on the sofa in the living-room. That way, in the morning, he could have a lie-in and I could eat my breakfast and prepare for work in peace. There was a slight problem about where to keep my clothes but I would have to remember to collect what I wanted the evening before. Anything that needed hanging could be left on a hook by the front door.

  Luke’s zip-up bag was lying on the bed. I cleared the top drawer of the chest of drawers so he could put away his few possessions. It hardly seemed worth it, but when I had collected the rest of his stuff from Doug and Elaine’s there might be enough to fill one small drawer.

  The bathroom door opened and Luke emerged, holding out his dripping hands.

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ I fetched him a clean towel, then told him I was going to make something to eat. Would pasta be all right?

  He nodded slowly, taking the towel but remaining in the door-way. I knew I ought to be relieved that the paranoid babbling had stopped, but now I was irritated by his passivity. In spite of everything that had happened he owed me some kind of explanation. Instead he had regressed to the emotional age of a five-year-old. He would do as he was told but beyond that I could expect nothing.

  ‘After we’ve eaten I’m going round to fetch the rest of your clothes,’ I said.

  He kept his head down, pretending to be studying a scuff mark on one of his trainers. ‘How long will I be here?’

  ‘I don’t know. Just a day or two, I expect.’

  He followed me into the kitchen. ‘I missed my appointment,’ he said. ‘I was meant to come and see you on Monday.’

  ‘You can come next Monday,’ I said crossly.

  By next Monday would he still be staying in the flat? If he was there wouldn’t be much point in him coming all the way to my office. Already I was beginning to regret my decision. After all, even though Elaine and Doug had refused to have him back, it was hardly my responsibility to find him somewhere to live.

  I knew, from Janos, there were no rooms to let in the house across the road and, in any case, I had taken the trouble to find him lodgings with Elaine and Doug precisely because it was bad for him spending so much time on his own. In a few days’ time I would take him to see them, and when they realized he was perfectly rational surely they would agree to let him live with them again.

  Taking spaghetti sauce from the freezer compartment, I eased it out of its container and dropped the solid lump into a pan.

  ‘Listen, Luke,’ I said, ‘after the accident, when they brought you back to Doug and Elaine’s, it was terrible, I know that, but how did you think pretending to be psychotic was going to help?’

  His head shot up. ‘What?’

  ‘There was no need. It just made everything worse.’

  I was watching his face, feeling a mixture of compassion and irritation. I was putting pressure on him, but only because I wanted to help. His hand had gone up to his mouth and he was tearing at the nail of his little finger.

  ‘All right, if you don’t want to talk about it. As long as you realize no one’s blaming you for what happened. It was an accident.’

  He continued to chew his nail but he had turned his back and was staring out of the window. His hair had grown, even during the last few days. He had shaved, but not very well, and when the sun came out from behind a cloud I could see patches of straw-coloured stubble. Where his T-shirt had slipped towards one shoulder there was a line dividing his sun-tanned neck from the whiteness of the rest of his body. I wanted to shake him, to force him to break down, then to comfort him, make him better. But it wasn’t going to be like that.

  ‘Sometime you must go across the road and see Janos,’ I said. ‘He’s cleared away the rubbish at the back and started making a garden.’

  He turned away from the window, then sat down heavily and rested his elbows on the table.

  ‘While you were in hospital I went to see your parents,’ I said. My voice sounded falsely unperturbed. ‘They were sorry about what’s happened. They sent you their love.’

  It was untrue. He knew it was. I felt angry with the Jestys for forcing me to pretend they had shown more concern. Brigid Jesty had appeared upset but I suspected her agitation had more to do with her husband’s hostile reaction towards me than worry about her son. Or was I being unfair to her?

  Luke frowned. ‘What did my father say?’

  ‘Your father? Oh, well, not very much really.’ I hesitated, wondering how much to tell him about my visit. ‘Your parents never met Paula, did they?’

  It was the first time I had mentioned her name. I expected a sharp reaction but he just shook his head.

  ‘Luke, how well did you and Paula know each other?’

  ‘She worked in the shop.’

  ‘Yes, I know that, but you saw each other after work as well, didn’t you?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘You were fond o
f her?’

  He looked at me suspiciously. ‘We used to go for a walk. It was better than going back home.’

  ‘Yes, I see. Did you know she used to be married?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘She told you about it?’

  ‘Not much.’

  Questions, too many questions, but if he was going to stay in my flat I deserved to know what had been going on. I lowered spaghetti into the boiling water. ‘Did Paula ever see her ex-husband?’

  ‘What for?’ he said flatly. ‘They didn’t have any children.’

  ‘He’s an actor, isn’t he?’

  But he was thinking about something else. His shoulders were hunched up and for an instant I had a clear picture of his father bending down to avoid knocking his head on the door frame.

  He turned to face me. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘Nothing. I just mentioned that Paula’s ex-husband’s an actor. Someone said he was in that television series about a psychiatrist.’

  ‘What? Oh, that.’

  I ploughed on. ‘Did he give her any money?’

  ‘He’s out of work most of the time. She was better off without him. Anyway he lives with someone called Liz.’

  ‘Liz who?’

  ‘What?’ He was twisting one leg round the other and his clenched fist was pressed against his mouth.

  I decided to change the subject.

  ‘Your mother,’ I said, ‘I hadn’t realized she used to be an actress.’

  ‘What about it?’ The colour rose up his face. The deadpan voice had disappeared.

  ‘I met your brother too. He came to the office, wanted to know how he could help.’

  This time he looked genuinely surprised. ‘Michael? What could he do?’

  ‘Well, for a start he thought you might need some money. I don’t know if you’ll want to go on working in the shop but I thought it might be better to find something else. Anyway, it’s not all that long till you start at the university.’ I pulled open the drawer in the kitchen table and pointed to the box of cutlery. ‘A couple of forks should do us.’