The Comforts of Home

by Susan Hill

  Simon had gone up the stairs and Sam heard his footsteps first to the right, front, and then the back room. In the latter he paused.

  ‘Is she there?’ Sam called up.

  ‘No.’

  Sam hesitated. He had been told to stay where he was, but almost before he knew that he was going to do so, he stepped to the kitchen door and opened it.

  There were two mugs on the table, containing dregs of coffee. A washing-up cloth was draped over the taps. The chairs were pushed in. The range was out.

  ‘Perhaps she’s gone away,’ Sam said.

  Simon was standing in the doorway looking carefully round. He shook his head. ‘The jeep wouldn’t be here.’

  He looked over every flat surface, opened the food cupboard and the one under the sink. Everything was in its place. It was all very swept and clean.

  ‘Two mugs,’ he said. ‘Odd.’

  ‘Why? People never visit her then?’

  Simon shrugged.

  ‘Nothing we can do,’ Sam said. ‘You’ll have to get your mallet another time.’

  But Simon did not move, only went on looking at everything, and then went back to the hall, into the living room, upstairs again, left, right, landing. A cupboard opened and, closed. Another. Drawers slid to and, after a second, fro.

  ‘I’m going to take another look outside.’

  He seemed to be talking to himself rather than to Sam, who hovered in the doorway, gazing out. A sea fret was drifting up from below, gently covering the landscape, the house, the sheep behind. It left a fine veil of moisture on his shoulders and hair. The wind had died. It felt slightly warmer. The fast changes in weather, temperature, the look of the island, even its colours, delighted him. He thought he heard Simon shout to him but, if he had, his voice was muffled by the fret. After a moment, he emerged out of it, looming through the greyness.

  ‘Can’t see a bloody thing of course but there’s no one as far as the end of the track.

  ‘Could she have slipped and fallen?’

  ‘Possible but unlikely, I’d have thought. She wouldn’t have a reason to venture onto the cliff edge. She walked on the shore almost every day but she took the sloping path from the road. Anyway, there’s no point trying to get down there with this coming in. We’ll head for the village.’

  Sam ran to catch up.

  ‘Stick to me,’ Simon said. ‘Easy to become disorientated in a fret.’

  Sam did not reply, just trudged on, making sure he kept no more than a yard behind. It was miserable walking, heads down, no view, only a dogged pace and the eerie bleating of the sheep from somewhere beyond them, shrouded in the mist.

  The fret became denser as they closed in on the harbour, and until they were almost upon it, they could not see the lights from the houses or the pub. There was a din of music and voices as they went in.

  ‘God, the ceilidh, I’d forgotten.’

  Simon pushed his way up to the bar, shouldering a couple aside but they made room without comment. The doors of the back room were open and the band and the dancers were going full tilt.

  ‘You’ve a thirst on you then,’ Iain said, glancing up from pulling a pint of Guinness.

  ‘I need a word – has Sandy been in?’

  Iain hesitated, then said, ‘Havenae seen her but that’s no surprising. Take a look through for yourself. I’ve been here since crack of dawn and I’ll be here till crack of the next one.’

  He set the black foaming stout on the counter and took a glass down from the row above him in one smooth movement. ‘I’ll do yours when I’ve got through this lot and any minute now Lorna will be out with another tray of orders.’

  Iain’s wife was not normally on hand although they lived on the premises. She was sparing with her assistance and her presence. Simon had barely met her.

  ‘I’ll check.’ He went in to the packed back room, where the music and dancing were hotting up, but after watching carefully, and checking out those sitting on the benches round the edge, he was sure Sandy was not there. He returned to the bar.

  ‘I need a minute without the music and the blether,’ Simon said. ‘Can you give me that, Iain?’

  Iain paused. ‘What’s this all about? It’s a busy night in here as you well know.’

  ‘Sandy isn’t there.’

  Iain looked at him, caught his tone of voice. He put a full pint on the counter, then reached up to the ship’s bell and rang it long and loud enough for there to be quiet in the bar. ‘Just give them the word through there, somebody.’

  Within a few seconds, there was silence and a stillness as if they were attending a wake, not a ceilidh. Iain did not ring the bell like that without good reason.

  Now he nodded to Simon who stood in the centre of a small space they cleared for him. He was known to them. His history was known. His past history. The job he did. For a short time, he had the floor.

  ‘Just a heads-up to everyone. My nephew Sam and I called on Sandy Murdoch earlier – I had to pick up something – and there was no sign of her or of any break-in or trouble. Her jeep was there. But I haven’t seen her for a day or two. Last time was when she gave Sam a lift back to my place two nights ago in the storm. Not unusual for Sandy to be out walking, especially down on the shore, but there wasn’t a sign of her when I looked. I’m just a bit bothered. You all know Sandy – if you’ve an idea that she’s maybe gone away to the mainland or whatever, shout out and I’ll stop fretting. But Iain here hasn’t seen her and she’s generally about in the stores or helping out with the unloading. This isn’t my patch of course but once a cop … Anyway, thanks, back to the music.’

  Fourteen

  They had been haymaking all day. The warm still air was a whir of dust and noise, coming from the field opposite the house, but they had finished, beaten the rain forecast for the evening, and gone home. The silence was like an alternative noise, so shocking that it woke Richard Serrailler, sleeping through the hot afternoon in the shade. He sat up, and took in the difference around him. The sky had changed, there was a haze in the west, and the air was full of moisture and tiny insects.

  He called out to Delphine but she would not hear him if she was in the kitchen. She had looked better in the last couple of days, they had gone to the market together and she had bought a chicken, piles of vegetables, some spices, couscous and herbs, kilos of apricots to make a compote. She seemed to have come to, as if after a long sleep, to have shrugged off the low spirits that had wrapped round her ever since the accident, and become her old, easy-going, happy self. He was relieved. They had enquired about repairs to her scooter which were not as costly as he had feared. The work would take two to three days, longer if they had to wait for parts, but then she could be back on the road. Richard planned to drive behind her the first few journeys, and then she said she would perhaps have another full week off before going back to work. The subject of her staying at his home and looking after him had not been raised again. He was relieved. He liked Delphine, she was pleasant to have around, but he had no desire for her to be here all day every day. He was used to being on his own. He craved the solitude and enjoyed doing as he wished. Not that his habits had changed greatly. He had relaxed a little but he was a man of habit. He was never going to let himself drift into days of unpredictability and idleness.

  Now, he went through the open doorway, which had a fly screen covering it, into the cool house.

  ‘Shall we have a cold drink? Iced coffee in the fridge. I’m going for a shower first. Delphine?’

  She had probably gone to sleep. He was unsure if her inclination to go to sleep for chunks of the day was a result of the lingering effects of her accident, the heat, or perhaps boredom and mild depression. She needed to be back at work. He did not find moping or low spirits easy to live with. Meriel had been blessed with an equable temperament, so had Judith. Of his children, only Simon had occasionally been the heavy silent presence in the house, though mostly he had taken what Richard had always classed as his sulking, out.
r />   Delphine was not in the bedroom or the spare room, not on the sitting-room couch. He clicked his tongue in irritation, showered, took his iced coffee into the garden, with the Times crossword of the previous day – the newspapers arrived a day late – and the latest issue of the medical journal he used to edit and on which he still advised. After half an hour, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep. The shade was pleasing. The sun was moving round.

  Delphine would appear in her own time. The last thing he would ever do was go looking for her.

  Fifteen

  ‘It’s ridiculous, Kieron, you’re the Chief and you’re behaving like one of the Indians. You haven’t had a decent night’s sleep for nearly a week, you’re trying to do your own job and the job of half your CID. I’m surprised you aren’t out with the fire crew manning a hose. What are you trying to prove?’

  He had come in just after nine the previous night, grey with exhaustion, poured himself a small whisky, and fallen asleep on the sofa so deeply that after trying to rouse him several times, Cat had brought a blanket and a pillow and made him as comfortable as she could before going upstairs. He had not stirred until after seven, when she was putting on the kettle. Now he was back in the kitchen, having showered, shaved and changed.

  ‘It’s Saturday,’ Cat said. ‘I want to go somewhere.’

  Kieron looked doubtful. ‘I need –’

  ‘No. You don’t need. You need to spend a day with your wife and without your phone.’

  ‘No, I can’t –’

  ‘Yes. I will have your phone and I will look at whoever is calling, if and when they do, and if it’s the station, take a view.’ She reached for his hand. ‘Listen, I do understand, you know. Three major fires on your patch, terrible damage – though thank God no human casualties – and the buck stops with you. But not every minute of every day and half of every night, darling. What use are you to anyone if you let yourself get as exhausted as this? I want your company for a few hours. Let’s get out into the country and walk – it’s not wet, it’s not hot, it’s perfect. We can drive up to Starly and take the path up to the top. And never mind you, I need the exercise as well.’

  Kieron was silent for a moment. ‘I’ll do you a deal,’ he said.

  ‘Sounds ominous and if it’s “just let me pop into the station first”, the deal’s off before it’s on.’

  ‘OK, what about, just let me call in first?’

  ‘Hmm. If I time the call and you agree to let me take the phone from you if I hear you say “I’d better come in”.’

  ‘That’s a big ask. What if the cathedral has been set alight, or the Eric Anderson Comp, or –’

  ‘Then we will rethink. But they aren’t going to be.’

  ‘Deal.’

  He put his hands on her shoulders. Cat closed her eyes.

  ‘And …’

  Kieron groaned.

  ‘I want a good lunch out. Not just a sausage roll.’

  ‘Have you tried getting a sausage roll in the gourmet pubs round here?’

  The day was perfect for walking and so they took a longer route. Sitting on top of Starly Hill they could see the cathedral tower rising from the flatlands below, the silver curve of the river, the fields of sheep, looking as if someone had taken handfuls and scattered them. Their eerie cries came up on the breeze. But there was nothing eerie about the day or the mood.

  I am happy, Cat thought. I was certain I could never be so again, that a general feeling of well-being was the most I could hope for after Chris died. I would have settled for that.

  But I am happy.

  She put her hand on his. ‘Was that the phone?’

  She had been as good as her word and taken his mobile from him. It was safely in her jeans pocket and on ‘vibrate’.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You would tell me.’

  ‘I would.’

  Kieron lay back on the grass, hands behind his head.

  ‘In any case, from up here you’d see the smoke.’

  The Oak was another place that had changed hands. It had been old-fashioned, rather dark and uninviting.

  ‘You used to wonder if they fried a batch of chips first thing then just refried them through the day.’

  ‘Not any more apparently.’

  ‘I wonder if Luke’s partner has taken this over as well.’

  The pub was brighter, smarter, cleaner, with a new menu.

  ‘And new prices,’ Cat said. It was early for lunch and they were alone apart from a couple of smartly dressed women having cocktails at the bar. The old Oak would not have known what a cocktail was.

  ‘Has my phone rung? I ought just to check.’

  Cat gave him a look. ‘Half a pint of prawns and a peashoot and feta salad.’

  But they could talk without danger of being overheard and she had his attention because she had his phone.

  ‘Luke’s proposal,’ she said now. ‘I need your take on it because I’ll have to let him know soon if I’m on board or not.’

  Kieron took a long draught of his beer, and sat back. He was a good listener – like her brother, Cat thought. Two cops.

  ‘You know enough about my job to know that I’m not happy and that general practice is in a mess. Not enough doctors, too many retiring or leaving and not being replaced, an ageing population so more appointments needed, no real time to establish an ongoing relationship with your patients, too much form-filling and box-ticking, too much interference from too many layers of management. Result, dissatisfied public, who can’t get a GP appointment for weeks and burnt-out doctors who no longer find their work fulfilling. Luke’s idea is to address this by looking at it in a new way. The idea is that three GPs band together and form a practice. If the whole thing works, others would join but three to begin with. We would cover a geographical area – he hasn’t worked out the precise logistics but certainly the whole of Lafferton and the surrounding villages within a ten-square-mile radius.’

  ‘So you’d have a surgery in the town centre.’

  ‘No. This is the beauty of it. No surgery. No building. No office … except maybe one doctor would have an office in their house for a secretary – there has to be one – or maybe they could work from home. Not clear yet. We would be on call between us twenty-four/seven, and we would visit the patients at home. They wouldn’t come to us. We would divide the area.’

  ‘That’s a hell of a lot of driving.’

  ‘No more than doctors always did when they made house calls – visits were what happened after surgery or out of hours. Happy days.’

  ‘So you would be on at night and weekends.’

  ‘One in three at first, fewer as we grew.’

  ‘Do the sums work? The NHS is pretty strapped for cash.’

  ‘Ah. This is the nub. It wouldn’t be NHS.’

  ‘What, you mean private practice? I thought you were against.’

  ‘Chris would have divorced me for even considering it. But honestly … it has to be a better way. For some, all right, I know.’

  ‘How much per visit?’

  ‘It would work on a sub. You join and pay a monthly sum … probably around a hundred pounds per patient – paid monthly, quarterly, annually, whatever the individual chooses, by direct debit. That would cover absolutely everything except the cost of the meds.’

  ‘Which could be enormous.’

  ‘Could but usually not – most medicines we give cost less to buy than the price of an NHS prescription, unless you’re exempt. It’s an open secret. We would always recommend the NHS for emergency stuff and major illnesses – cancer treatments, cardiac bypass, all of that – so people would stay registered with an NHS practice. If you need to have your appendix out, the NHS is the only way and the best way and we’d take on all the post-op.’

  Their mains came, fish pies in individual baking dishes, topped with whole prawns. The old Oak had done fish pie, supplied, like the cottage pies, by a food wholesaler and microwaved.

  ‘It’s another world,’ C
at said, slicing it through to let the heat rise out. The inside was thick with chunks of smoked haddock, more prawns, white fish, mushrooms, in a creamy sauce.

  ‘So is private medicine.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you were so against it. So do you think the children should have gone to state schools?’

  ‘No. I think there should be a choice – same with medicine. I suppose I’m testing you.’

  ‘It sounds like medicine for the very rich, but actually, a hundred pounds a month is a supper out or half a dozen bottles of average wine or tickets to something. Not for the poor, no, but affordable for a lot of ordinary people.’

  ‘It sounds as if you’re sold.’

  ‘No. Kieron, look, I need your take, and if I think of doing it, I need your support – well, of course I do. You’ve got to be happy. But I promise you it won’t be me out all day and all night … we can consult on the phone, by email – it isn’t always necessary to visit. Plenty of simple things can be safely diagnosed at a distance, and if there’s any doubt at all, then we go.’

  ‘Lot of mileage but you like driving, I know. God, this pie is good.’

  The pub had begun to fill but they had a table set by the window in a corner. No one would overhear.

  Kieron ate for several minutes, went and got a second beer, and pondered. He had not asked if his phone had rung since they had sat down.

  Cat waited. Yes, she thought, it is the same as being with Si. He would have listened and been devil’s advocate and then sat silently, working the whole thing through before deciding. Dad would cross-question like a QC and then sum up and pronounce a verdict within seconds and never change his mind. Chris would have … No. She would never have put the idea to Chris. His disapproval of all private medicine had been absolute. They had eaten and ordered coffees before Kieron said, ‘The only thing that matters to me in all of this is that you should enjoy your job and find it satisfying again … and not overstretch yourself. It sounds to me as if this way of working would be right for you, if you think you can make it sustainable. I want to see you as much as I can or why would I have married you? But I want you to be happy and you’re pretty conscientious … If you’re sure it won’t exhaust you, I think you should do it. But it’s for you to decide, Cat – what do I know about being a doctor?’