by A J Waines
She stopped the recording, pointing at various men in dark suits. ‘There are a few guys who could be him,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember anyone talking about him, or ever being introduced.’
I took the remote and pressed pause on a scene that included the whole party.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked.
‘That’s one of the security guys.’
‘And this guy, here?’
‘I think he was an Earl or Lord from the local estate.’
I watched her eyes zigzag across the screen. ‘Perhaps he wasn’t there.’
She stood up purposefully. ‘Shall we look at it again, later?’ She didn’t wait for me to answer. ‘I want to get to some of the bridges this afternoon,’ she said. ‘It’s okay, I don’t expect you to come. I found a “Chandler” Bridge south of here. It’s the nearest one. There are others too that might be worth a look…’
‘Sure, but be careful, and make sure you’re back before it starts to get dark,’ I said, pulling on my coat.
‘I’ve got a map and a torch,’ she said, looking pleased with herself. ‘It’s nice of you to worry about me.’
I pulled on my gloves. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning at 10am for another session, before we go back to London.’
After I left Rosie, I went along to the Post Office to see if I could get a wifi connection. I wanted to take a look at the files Professor Dean had sent through.
Sure enough, there was an email from him telling me three files were attached, but when I opened it there was only one document I could download. The other two required a password.
Damn
As I read the professor’s email, I realised that even if I could access all three, we still had a problem:
I’m ashamed to say there are still a number of gaps. Erica’s husband said he was only able to find a few stray sheets from the notes she kept at home. I’ll try to get my hands on the rest for when you return. Attached is Erica’s last report summary and notes covering the first twelve months or so. Apparently, Rosie Chandler was Erica’s only patient just before she died. Hope it’s helpful in the meantime.
I left the Post Office, reading the first few lines of the single document I could open – the summary – as I strolled out onto the lane:
Rosie is a quiet girl – sad and secretive. Tragic and difficult upbringing. No real friends.
I wanted to read more, but it had begun to spit a sleety rain, so I pressed my phone against my coat and hurried back to my B&B. The radiator was switched off when I got to my room, so I turned on the fan heater and huddled over it until I could move my fingers again.
I read the rest of the report without taking off my coat.
Rosie had attended seventy sessions at Guy’s Hospital, but for the final five Erica had been on crutches after a bunion operation, so they’d met at her house in Chelsea:
I told Rosie I would be taking time off from Guy’s, but she was adamant that our sessions shouldn’t end. I was worried about her state of mind and, given her history of abandonment and the fact that I had only just sprung this on her, I offered her sessions at my home.
Rosie was unforthcoming during those weeks. She claimed I’d tried to use the operation as an excuse to end our arrangement. She seemed angry with me; aggressive in her tone at times. With hindsight, I think it’s been a mistake to see her at my house; she’s the sort of patient who needs distance.
Eighteen months is a solid stretch of time and Rosie hasn’t made any real breakthroughs in our work together. She doesn’t seem to be moving on and I’m not sure I’m the best therapist for her in the long run.
I’d conclude that Rosie is ‘deeply disturbed’ by her past losses and has not dealt with any of it. I also believe Rosie is suffering from extreme emotional isolation. Throughout our sessions she talks about her parents and childhood in a detached way, but never reveals her feelings about what happened. She is well-practised at bottling everything up and putting on a brave face. In spite of her reticence, Rosie claims that, with me, for the first time, she has found someone who genuinely understands her, listens and gives her validation. She claims this is the only time in her life when anyone has connected to her in this way. Nevertheless, I think a new approach would shake things up for Rosie and do her good. I think we’ve done all we can together. I’m going to suggest she sees someone else and we end our sessions.
That was Erica’s last sentence, written exactly a week before she died. Lights danced before my eyes. I could have written almost every word of it myself.
Chapter 37
Sam
The phone by the bed rang and I was jolted out of my trance.
‘I know our next session isn’t until tomorrow, but something occurred to me.’
‘Rosie…’
‘It was round about now when it actually happened. Late afternoon. I know the light was probably a bit different in October, but this is the closest I can get to actually replicating the situation. Can we go back? Have tomorrow’s session now, instead?’
‘But, it’ll be dark soon. We won’t be able to—’
‘The torch I’ve got is really bright, if we need it.’
‘You want to go back to the same spot?’
‘Yes. I can’t bear the thought of going back to London without finding out something new. I’ve been over to Chandler Bridge. There’s nothing there. It’s just a small packhorse bridge over a brook. I climbed down, but there are only rocks and ferns underneath. I must have got it wrong. I need to know I’ve tried everything…’
‘Okay,’ I said, switching off the fan heater with my foot. ‘I’ll come over to you again.’
I’d already looked up Cameron Hinds’ brother while I had a wifi connection at the Post Office and I’d found several reports about his conviction for money laundering, but they were several years ago. There were more recent references to him, but the dates didn’t fit. He couldn’t be a suspect for the van crash – he was in prison right through October. Back to square one.
It was rapidly heading towards dusk by the time I met Rosie. The torch I’d borrowed from Mrs Waterman had felt satisfyingly solid as I dropped it into my rucksack. Flecks of snow were speckling the ground and getting denser by the minute. I really wasn’t convinced this was a good idea, but I wanted to give it my all; one last chance, then we really were going to call it a day.
As we turned into the lane, I kept trying to think of a way to remind Rosie that once we got back to London our association would end. I’d explained this already, of course, but I wasn’t convinced it had sunk in. I wanted to say something there and then, but she was full of hope again as we made our final visit to the crash scene. I couldn’t spoil that.
She stopped at a break in the hedge and pointed to a sign that said public footpath.
‘I know a shortcut through the woods, it’ll save time,’ she said, tugging at my sleeve. ‘The snow won’t be so bad through here.’
She strode on and I followed close behind. It looked straightforward enough.
‘I came this way once with Richard, did I tell you?’ she called out.
A prickly branch sprung back in my face as she forged on ahead and I remembered how Erica had reported Rosie’s reaction once she’d told her their sessions were finishing. Angry…aggressive. I’d speak to Rosie on the way back, perhaps.
My mobile was on silent in my pocket and I was surprised when I felt it vibrate, indicating that there was a signal. Knowing it was likely to be work, however, I let the call go to my voicemail. I didn’t imagine it was anything that couldn’t wait half an hour, or so. A few seconds later it buzzed again letting me know a text had come through. I slowed down to read it as Rosie carried on. There was just enough light, but it was rapidly closing in; the path had quickly narrowed and the undergrowth on either side had risen, swallowing us up.
‘You all right?’ Rosie had stopped and turned around.
I glanced down and read the words again:
Just left a message. Call
me. Found out Erica’s death wasn’t straightforward. Minette.
‘We’re nearly there.’ She was getting impatient.
‘I need to stop for a moment,’ I said, fumbling with the phone, trying to access Minette’s voice message with my gloves on. ‘It’s the hospital. I might need to make a call.’
‘What’s it about?’ She came right up to my shoulder, peering over to get a look at my phone. I dropped my hand.
‘It’s a work thing, probably not important, but I should check, just in case.’ My words sounded forced.
Rosie looked put out, her top lip stiffened, her eyes narrowed – this was her time. She shrugged, folded her arms and watched me, offering no privacy.
As I pressed to access the message, I noticed the network connection was low and flickering. We were, after all, in the middle of nowhere.
‘Sam, I don’t want to worry you,’ came Minette Heron’s recorded voice. ‘But the police have been making further enquiries into Erica’s death. On the surface it looked as if she’d suffered a heart attack before she fell down the stairs, but it seems new evidence has come to light suggesting it might have been the other way around.’ Her words melted away into nothing.
There was a pause and I thought she’d been cut off. Then her voice came back. She spoke slowly and distinctly. ‘It’s not certain yet, it might never be, but it’s possible that Erica was pushed. The police are looking at the case again. I thought you should know. It’s obviously very upsetting for everyone.’
My immediate impulse was to call her straight back to find out more. What exactly had the police found? What made them think Erica might have been pushed?
Rosie, however, was standing so close that our coat sleeves made a shushing sound with every tiny movement. She exhaled noisily and waited.
I slipped the phone into my pocket. I had no option. I couldn’t call Minette back. There was no way I could have that kind of conversation with Rosie hanging on my every word.
‘It’s okay,’ I said breezily, without looking at her. ‘I don’t need to ring anyone.’
‘Let’s get going then,’ Rosie said, striding ahead. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this.’
Chapter 38
Sam
I should have been looking where I was going. I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off the path. I was so busy thinking about what Minette had said, that my heel slipped on an icy patch and the next moment I was face down in the crusty mud.
Rosie rushed to my aid. ‘Oh, shit, are you hurt?’
‘My ankle,’ I said.
I wasn’t sure whether the snap I’d heard was a tree root or a bone in my foot. I felt a sharp pain, like my leg had been walloped with a baseball bat.
Rosie took my weight, lifting me under my armpits. She shuffled me a foot or so to the edge of the path, so I could lean against a tree.
I was convinced my left ankle had already doubled in size. ‘I’m not sure I can walk,’ I said, with a wince.
‘We’ll call for help,’ she said confidently. She pulled out her phone, looked at it and waited. She left me hugging the trunk of the tree and wandered into a clearing, holding up the phone. She went a little further. ‘No signal,’ she called back. ‘Don’t worry. We’re nearly at the lake. We can flag someone down on the road.’
‘I’m not sure I can get that far,’ I murmured, my teeth chattering.
We were in the middle of barely penetrable wood-land and I could see no lights ahead. I reached into my pocket. No signal on my phone now, either.
I watched Rosie take in the immediate surroundings; lines of trees, layer after layer, impenetrable undergrowth, the path trailing into the distance. Where dense trees parted overhead, no longer providing cover, everything at ground level was disappearing under a layer of snow. The darkness was gathering momentum too, actively folding around us; the little daylight that was left was sliding down from the sky.
‘I’m not going off on my own,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to leave you.’
‘You’re going to have to. You need to find somewhere you can get a signal.’
‘Let’s at least find a spot where you can sit down and rest for a minute.’
She guided me towards a grassy ridge and helped me down. Barely any snow had got through to ground level at that point, so at least it wasn’t too wet.
I checked my watch. Nearly 4.30pm. It was only going to get darker and colder.
‘Looks like you’re stuck with me for a bit longer,’ said Rosie. ‘I wonder how long the batteries will last.’ The bright torch beam Rosie had bragged about wasn’t exactly blinding.
‘I’ve got one, too,’ I said, patting my rucksack.
She sat down beside me on the grass, then wriggled an inch or two to her right so that our arms were touching. I bent down to scratch my leg and pulled away a fraction.
‘What shall we talk about?’ she said. Far from sounding daunted, Rosie seemed uplifted by the situation. She didn’t wait for a response. ‘I’ve got you all to myself.’
She swung her legs back and forth, full of energy.
‘Do any of your patients ever become friends?’ she went on, without looking my way.
A loaded question. Difficult territory. ‘Very rarely,’ I said casually. ‘And only after a considerable break, usually by chance, further down the line.’
‘Can we do that? Be friends in a couple of weeks?’
I let out a tiny splutter of disbelief. ‘It doesn’t really work like that.’
An anguished look crossed her face. ‘You want our sessions to end when we get back to London. That’s the idea, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s what we agreed.’
‘You agreed,’ she said quietly.
‘Our relationship is unbalanced,’ I said. ‘It’s not really like being friends. I’m helping you with something specific and you’re paying me for that service. That’s not being proper friends, is it?’
‘But it could be – I just stop paying you and you stop trying to dig up my lost memories. Finito.’ She smiled. ‘We’re not taping this – so you can tell me what you really think.’
‘I…am saying what I think, Rosie.’
‘No, no, no.’ She shook her head with irritation. ‘I can see the terrible “professional versus personal” dilemma you must have been going through, but it’s okay now. We can’t carry on working together as therapist and patient. I get that. You want to end the professional side of things so we can have a proper relationship; closer, more real, like best friends or sisters – no more barriers, that’s it, isn’t it? Not a physical relationship, we’re not lesbians or anything – just together…’
‘No, Rosie. That’s not how it is at all. You’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion completely.’
‘I know this is confusing,’ she went on, regardless. ‘I know something happened before with another patient that…caused problems, but this won’t be like that, I promise.’
I snapped my chin back. Where the hell had she got this from?
‘Rosie, I don’t know what you think you know, but there’s no hidden agenda or mixed message here. Our sessions will end after today and we’ll have no further contact.’
She slapped her hand down onto a clump of moss. ‘Can’t you shake off the therapists’ cloak for FIVE MINUTES?!’ she fired back at me. ‘Then we might be able to have a normal conversation.’
I fixed my eyes on hers, my gaze unwavering. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. Once our sessions end we can’t just carry on seeing each other socially.’
‘But…I thought…’
Her mood changed in a flash; a frown knotting in consternation across her forehead. ‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’
It was my turn to be baffled. Where was this coming from?
‘Let’s see if I can walk,’ I said, using a tree stump to heave myself upright. ‘It’s getting dark.’
The last thing I needed was to be stuck out here with Rosie and her awkward questions.
As soon as I put weight on
my ankle it screamed, but I was determined to get moving. Rosie hooked her arm under my shoulder and we staggered back to the path.
‘If I keep my foot off the ground, I should be okay,’ I said, forced to lean into her for balance. I held the torch and we hobbled forward at a snail’s pace.
‘Tell me about this new man you met recently,’ I said, willing the discussion towards a different direction.
‘Oh, I said it was a guy so you’d think I’d been chatted up, but it was just a woman I met in a café. She’s all right, but she’s not very interested in me. That’s why this…you…have become so important.’
My head began to swim and I felt it roll against Rosie’s.
‘You okay?’ she said. ‘You’re shaking like mad?’
‘I feel really sick.’
‘It’s probably the shock. We’ll be at the road soon.’
I pulled out my phone again, but there was still no signal.
‘Do you love Con?’ she said out of the blue, rocking me slightly as we shuffled unsteadily onwards.
‘Con?’
‘Conrad Noble, you know, the one you went out with.’
How did she know about him?
‘Con and I split up ages ago,’ I said to satisfy her.
‘But you miss him?’
‘Sometimes. Feelings don’t always stop, just because you know someone isn’t right for you.’
She seemed to consider my words and started to hum tunelessly.
‘It’s been strange coming back here,’ she said, after a while. ‘It hasn’t got us very far has it? I still don’t know where my viola is. The business about the fortune under a bridge has led to a dead end. I’m not sure what I expected, really. Bit stupid to think I’d get the right bridge. What was I hoping for? A half-buried chest of jewels or a suitcase full of bank notes? Ha – what an idiot…’
She stroked a stray strand of hair from my eyes. She was more or less holding me upright now, both arms clasping me against her body like she was dragging a heavy sack.
