Guilt at the Garage

by Simon Brett

  No action was taken – or needed to be taken – against the Magic of Therapy Centre in Smalting. It was a bona-fide concern which rented out treatment space to various alternative therapists. All those who used it had produced some form of professional validation and the fact that among them was the occasional con artist was not the fault of the centre.

  Oh, and Carole finally allowed Jude to have a look at her right knee. It was on their return from a rather boozier lunch than Carole had intended at the Crown and Anchor. The weather had warmed up a bit, she was wearing a skirt and no tights, so there was no issue of undressing. Jude had noticed her hobbling on the way back to Woodside Cottage.

  ‘Let me just have a look at it,’ she pleaded.

  And Carole, who was in pain and had rung the Fethering Surgery that morning to be told she couldn’t get an appointment for three weeks, made the concession.

  Jude did not even get out her treatment bed. She just felt the swollen joint and identified the problem immediately. Dr Rawley’s diagnosis of arthritis had been (like so much else in his life) wrong.

  ‘Hm. Have you been doing something recently that involved a lot of kneeling?’

  ‘No, I don’t think I – ooh, yes, when I redecorated the spare room a few weeks back, I had to kneel a lot when I was painting the skirting board.’

  ‘And was that when the pain started?’

  ‘I can’t really remember but … you know it could have been.’

  Jude grinned. ‘There you are then. It’ll soon clear up. All you need to do is take lots of ibuprofen to reduce the inflammation and rest it up as much as possible.’

  Carole was very disappointed. ‘That’s just the kind of thing the GP would have said to me.’

  ‘So? That’s the standard treatment.’

  ‘Nothing more?’

  ‘Well, once the swelling’s gone down, I could recommend some exercises to speed the recovery.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Carole still felt short-changed.

  ‘What were you expecting?’

  ‘I suppose … something different from what I’d get at Fethering Surgery.’

  ‘There’s no need for anything different. My training and the experience I’ve gained over the years have given me a pretty good understanding of human anatomy. For a purely physical injury, the treatment I’d recommend is more or less exactly what a GP would offer.’

  ‘You mean’ – Carole couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice – ‘no healing?’

  Jude giggled. ‘What were you expecting – a bubbling cauldron and weird incantations?’

  ‘Well …’ Carole did not admit that she had been anticipating something along those lines.

  ‘When you consult me about something that needs healing techniques, then I’ll heal you.’

  ‘Oh. I think it’s very unlikely that I ever would consult you about something like that.’

  ‘So do I.’ Jude was having even more difficulty in suppressing her giggles. Through them, she managed to say, ‘I do have a stock of ibuprofen if you need some.’

  ‘That’s all right. I’ve got some in the bathroom cabinet.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Oh, but you haven’t told me …’

  ‘Told you what?’

  ‘What’s actually wrong with my knee. What have I got?’

  The barrier holding back her giggles burst as Jude announced, ‘Housemaid’s knee!’

  Carole was shamed by the diagnosis. Housemaid’s knee? Not only did the very name have overtones of a music-hall joke, it was also extremely common. Carole Seddon would never want to have anything associated with a housemaid.

  The moment she got back to High Tor, she rushed up to the spare-room office to look up her condition online. She was rewarded by a much better name for it. If the subject ever came up in conversation – unlikely but Carole always liked to be prepared – she would say that she had suffered from prepatellar bursitis. And she would say that it had cleared up of its own accord with ibuprofen, rest and exercise. She would certainly never admit to having been healed.

  Fortunately, the knee was almost back to normal by the weekend in March when Carole had her two granddaughters to stay. The weather was good, Lily and Chloe were at a delightful age, and they loved scampering around on the wide space of Fethering Beach. They made so much fuss of Gulliver that he thought all of his birthdays and Christmas had arrived on the same day.

  The grandmother indulged them all weekend. She took them to the wonderful aquarium in Brighton, where they went through glass tunnels with sharks swimming beside and above them. She also bought them seaside delights like fish and chips and Fethering rock, of which their parents might not have approved. But Stephen and Gaby never knew about these illicit treats because the little girls were sworn to secrecy. And no fish and chips or Fethering rock appeared in the expert photos and videos which Carole took on her new phone and WhatsApped back to Fulham. But the newly pink girls’ bedroom featured quite a lot.

  It was a wonderful weekend for three.

  The ripples from Bill Shefford’s death stayed with Jude for a long time. What hurt her was the harm that the actions of people like Jeremiah and Dr Rawley could do to the image of healing. Every charlatan publicly unmasked did lasting damage to her profession.

  And Jude was also starting to get itchy feet. The trip to Leeds had been part of it, but there was more than that. There were other lives she wanted to lead. She still very definitely believed in healing. But she wondered whether she believed in Fethering any more.