When Tony had his first consultation with Karen Kane, he realised she was a very special patient. A warm feeling drained through his veins. He was unable to prevent the feeling and suddenly the restraining collar of professional ethics encroached on his mind. Karen appeared as a woman in her prime. A woman who took care about her appearance and a dimpled smile greeted him. But she was anxious to inform him that the events over the last four days were not recognisable to her.
Voices in her head made her throw that book.
And as for the music, she felt it was someone else who took over the keys of the organ. It could not have just been her playing inappropriate music. It was just not like her.
‘Yes, hearing voices ...’ Tony said nodding his head.
‘You are under 45 years aren’t you?’
‘Yes 37, three weeks ago. Why?’
Tony had not anticipated her questioning. He scratched his neck. ‘First onset is significant and usually before 45.’
‘So I will have many episodes?’
‘No, not if we can agree a medicinal plan. One that gets you out and about, circulating in society. Doing things you enjoy doing, while not forgetting your medication. Will that be difficult?’
Karen looked lost. She was studying the artex ceiling thinking about what activities she enjoyed. ‘I’ve not got many interests outside work. I don’t play bridge, don’t go to the gym. I spend time playing the piano of course,’ said Karen.
‘Dedicated to work, I am sure you are. Musicians are known for that. Not a bad thing but perhaps you should concentrate on people for a change. They can effect change. You should find a new outlet to meet non colleagues.’
‘And keep up the medication?’ she asked.
‘I should keep an eye on that. Cures are not an exact science despite society knowing about schizophrenia for centuries. We fine-tune your medication, make it suit your requirements. It can take time. But with this ailment, you are in good company.’
‘Really?’ asked Karen with eyes lit up.
Tony nodded. ‘You are among many creative people. Vaslov Nijinsky, Jack Keronac, Pete Green of Fleetwood Mac, Syd Barrett of Pink Floyd so you see some pretty smart folk.’
‘Are you suggesting creative people have mental health problems?’ she asked in surprise.
‘As I say, many do. Beethoven and Dusty Springfield were bi-polar as are both Russell Brand and Britney Spears. I’m sure there is a doctorate in that statistic for someone. But there are many more not listed because they are unknown. Unknown because they are not really ill. They are by far the majority.’
‘A doctorate? I don’t make much of my doctorate.’
Tony looked at her case notes. He flipped through them.
‘But you are known as Miss Karen Kane at school, not Dr Kane’
‘Yes, I know. I find it’s a bit pretentious. That’s why I don’t bother with it.’
‘So what’s your doctorate in, may I ask?’
‘Doctor of medieval keyboard music.’
‘Wow, that’s a niche of its own. I mean there can’t be many of you with that.’
‘There are a few of us. Another girl in my year did a similar thesis on medieval song music.’
‘I see. At which university was that?’
‘King’s College Cambridge. You see, I really don’t want to be forward with that background.’
Tony smiled at her choice of words. ‘That is an achievement not many can claim certainly, but no reason to hide your accomplishment.’
Karen gave a resigned sigh. ‘You are right. Actually your advice has made me think. I should get out more.’
Tony smiled. She was prepared to take a step in the right direction towards her recovery.
‘Yes, I have heard about a local ramblers group. Dumfries Ramblers they call themselves. I think I’ll join that. Won’t that be good for me?’
Tony shuddered in his shoes with a bolt from his heart. Of course it was good for her but ......honesty was required, the best solution.
‘That’s a group I’m in.’
Karen’s dimples deepened as her smile grew. A natural chemistry was at play. Each was aware of the stirrings. But Tony had to keep his interest in check. It would be unprofessional to take one step further with this patient.
‘So I should think of some other activity?’
Tony grinned. ‘No, I think you will be in good company.’
Karen’s face was split by a smile.
7
Absent Minds
Tony’s caseload fluctuated. Thirty five cases were as much as he could take on comfortably. Some cases required several sessions while others were over in a matter of half an hour, particularly if the GPs had proscribed appropriate medication and patients were returning home with support. Ages ranged from eighteen to eighty. The CAMHS service (Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services) attended to juveniles while the dementia clinics and geriatric counsellors attended to the over eighties. The demography was as distinct as the left from the right hand and it encompassed professionals as well as unemployed individuals and those in every kind of occupation and relationship, both established and transient. It was not surprising that Tony detected another case with a clerical perception when it came along.
Marty Mayvor fell into the Baha’i religion by chance. It was in her final year of university that she encountered this peace loving, understanding and all-embracing religion. She came from a sheltered Irish family drenched in Catholicism but found the harmonious and multi-ethnic tenets of the new faith rewarding. It welcomed her and she thought she had found her new home. Two months after her mathematics graduation, she began to work at a secondary school. Life was bringing its rewards and her mind began to focus on finding a husband and being a mother.
As the school Christmas Pantomime gave its last performance, Marty walked home to prepare a Christmas atmosphere in time for her parent’s arrival from Brazil. But an unmarked police car approached her home. It turned into her drive, parked and the doors opened. Two police officers approached the front door.
‘Miss Mayvor?’ asked Sergeant Karen Scott.
‘Yes, officer,’ said Marty observing two nervous police officers.
‘May we come in? We have some sad news for you.’
Marty fumbled with her front door latch. Her fingers shook uncontrollably. Her heart was racing. She could not accept that bad news could be coming. She invited the officers to enter her lounge. She put the light on and closed the curtains.
‘Please have a seat,’ she said as she herself sat down on a hard backed chair hardly placing any weight on it. It began to tip forward.
‘Your parents, Owen and Hilary Mayvor were in Brazil?’ asked Inspector Brian Fox.
‘That’s right. They work for the White Fathers in Brazil. They are responsible for all the financial side of their work,’ said Marty in staccato words as a veil seemed to descend and reality hit her.
‘It’s my parents. They have been killed haven’t they? Haven’t they, well?’
Both officers nodded simultaneously.
‘I am sorry. It seems that they were flying in a two-seater Albatross L60 monoplane,’ said the Inspector as Constable Karen Scott approached Marty and placed her hands on her shoulders.
‘Yes, I know that’s how they travel between stations, but....what else...’
‘Last Friday there was a storm, lightening too, apparently. It seems they came down in the Mato Grosso between Guiratinga and Diamantino. That was where they left from and .....were heading for,’ said the police officer in a quiet responsible voice.
‘But it’s just that the plane is missing perhaps?’ Marty said with hope in her voice.
‘I’m afraid not. Wreckage was sighted and there was no sign of life. I am truly sorry Miss Mayvor, both your parents died.’
That was two years ago
. Since then she had travelled to Brazil and met many of her parent’s former colleagues. They flew her to where the plane came down and Marty saw the remains of the wreckage. She walked through the fuselage and turned over some of the wreckage which had never been removed. She bent down and found a sandal she recognised as her mother’s. She placed it in her bag. She spent a total of seventeen days in Brazil before returning home.
That Christmas no decorations were on display in her house. Marty descended into a deep depression lasting the five days of the Christmas holiday until the first few days of the New Year. The very same thing happened the following year and found her in a far deeper place from which she had no energy to escape. Her deputy head called to see her and met her in a slurred daze. He wasted no time. His assessment was of meeting a very ill colleague. He suspected alcoholism. He called for an ambulance.
And so in due time, Marty appeared at Tony’s surgery. When they met, there was no sign of either depression or alcoholism.
‘The two episodes, they are seasonal, not so?’ he asked.
‘Yes that’s right,’ she agreed clinging on to her orange handbag.
‘No illness throughout the year?’
‘Nope, just at Christmas.’
Tony contemplated her defensive Nope as unexpected, out of character so far. ‘It was a terrible time to lose your parents.’
‘I know. I had been so much looking forward to seeing them that year. I had not seen them for three years.’
‘What will you do next Christmas?’
‘Next Christmas? That seems so far away. I cannot say if this will be a recurring depression,’ she said smiling with optimism in her cheeks.
‘I think I can. Unless we break this cycle, the pattern will be established. Tell me, your notes show you are a Baha’i follower. Is that right?’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘They don’t celebrate Christmas do they?’
‘No, nor the New Year. We have a different calendar.’
‘I see,’ said Tony. ‘Perhaps if you spent some time with them over the Christmas week it might help.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘I think you might also benefit from a group session I am organising. It is yet to get off the ground but I think you would be a good candidate.’
‘Oh, you think so?’
‘Yes, they are all known to me and all have a clerical background,’ said Tony looking for a flicker of reaction to his proposal.
‘I’m a busy teacher. I might not make all the meetings.’
‘I think a Monday night for an hour and a half each week should be adequate. Would you care to join the group?
‘A self-help group?’
‘Yes, I think that is what it is becoming. You see clerics are all figures in their communities. They have a persona to show but an interior which is under strain. It’s good to know that others feel the same and if they don’t do anything about it, it leads to a referral after what I might call a breakdown or an incident.’
‘So it’s a crash course?’
Tony smiled. ‘Crash? No. I hope it’s a course for winners.’
8
The Ramblers Gather
Tony’s car was the twelfth and last car to park at the Overton village car park. Counting him, there was a good turnout of eighteen of the ramblers’ club members. Stuart, the leader of the group, announced he was expecting no more turning up that Saturday morning. That made Tony feel he was the naughty late comer. As the grey clouds gathered above them, he welcomed a new member to the group. Karen Kane. He pointed to her.
‘You can get to know her on the walk. Don’t all come at her at once or she’ll never turn up again,’ he laughed.
A few voiced some guffaws. Tony looked at his patient. Confident, she was wearing a tricoloured wool knitted toorie on her head, wine cords and, under a warm navy anorak, a powder blue sweater. By far she seemed the youngest of the group and she was. He chose not to walk too near her.
It was Pam who accompanied her. Pam, the retired dentist who’s silky silvery black hair was neatly cut but not styled or tinted. She had an air of confidence and seniority.
‘I’ve seen you in town. Have you been here long?’ asked Pam.
‘About seven years now. I’m a teacher.’
‘No, I seem to remember you somewhere else.’
Karen chose not to rise to the church organist bait and manoeuvred her way out of the tricky questioning.
Loch Kindar emerged over a hillock’s horizon and the downward approach was both exhilarating and interesting as each step seemed to enlarge the loch.
‘I thought we were climbing Tannoch Hill today,’ said Karen.
‘We’ve done Criffel a few times and it’s now a tradition we open our flasks for morning coffee by the water’s edge. We’ll be climbing soon enough,’ said Pam striding forth with her two walking sticks.
Alex, the educational social worker, was talkative. As the steam rose skyward from opened flasks, he asked if anyone knew where was Santa Fe?
‘New Mexico,’ said Karen confidently answering as Tony thought South America somewhere but both were wrong.
‘No. Santa’s fae Finland.’
A few got the joke straight away. Pam, who originated from Kent, took a little longer to get an ear for the Scots tongue. When it was realised, her laugh was as loud as any. It created a friendly atmosphere.
‘I’ve got a joke,’ said Karen hoping this was a good opportunity to break into the group and be heartily welcomed.
‘If you meet a bear in the woods, how do you coax him out?’
The assembled thought for a moment but blank stares ensured no answer was forthcoming.
‘Give it French cheese,’ she said but silence continued. Karen flexed a coaching index finger towards herself. ‘Come on Bear,’ she said.
‘Ah I get it. Camembert,’ said Pam and the whole group got the joke.
‘The two of you should be on stage,’ suggested Alex. Tony was pleased his patient’s medication was working well. Very pleased.
Before they reached the summit of Criffel, the overburdened clouds burst. It fell straight down onto the waterproofed ramblers. They walked closer and Tony’s thoughts turned to his patient. She had humour, intelligence, beauty and was active. It was just what his dreams created in his sleeping moments. If only she was not his patient. If only he had met her for the very first time on this walk. How different that might have been, especially as she wore no ring. His dreams created the perfect image and encouraged him in her acquaintance but his thoughts turned to the dark suited fraternity of his professional association wagging a finger over the client relationship. He had to get her off his books as soon as he could safely do so. That had to be his goal.
9
They Heed the Call
The first meeting took place on Monday evening shortly after 7.30 p.m. It was a windswept night, most suitable for ensuring animosity in the approaching streets. They began to arrive at the brightly lit consulting room. Not all of them, but enough to get off to a hesitant start.
Tony sauntered into the centre of the room. ‘Good evening. Well, all of you know me as your psychoanalyst and so I have met you all professionally. You don’t know what health matter brought each other to this meeting but let me say one thing. All mental health is on a continuum. Like a length of string. Some of us have strayed from the centre where all is calm and in order. That’s where we are heading and to get there, we need each other’s support. But first, some refreshment.’
A table supported a real coffee trembling brew, its odours permeating every atom of air. The kettle was more selective. Tea bags and bags of infusions stood in drunken lines on the tablecloth and a solitary Ovaltine tub guarded over them. Lizzie levelled two spoonfuls of Ovaltine into a mug which made her smile. She raised the mug to her eyes.
&n
bsp; ‘Typical. I dream of a world where a chicken can cross the road without having its motives questioned.’
Those present heard but were unsure if a smile, a guffaw or a nod was an appropriate response.
‘Typical of what?’ asked Tony.
‘Perhaps typical of a psychotherapist’s set of work mugs. My mug at home doesn’t have sayings except for one. Its message is simple. “This is my Mug” and that’s not thought-provoking.’
Tony laughed quietly and raised his eyebrows an inch. ‘It certainly is, Lizzie. It’s a very strong statement. It says, hands-off this is mine.’
Lizzie smiled at the thought that Tony could see through other’s minds.
‘I had a mug like these ones. I broke it,’ said Karen keeping her eyes to the floor realising it was her first disclosure to the group.
‘Accident?’ asked Lizzie.
She grinned. ‘Hmm...no, a fit of rage, last month.’
A moment’s silence followed as the group imagined the anger this apparently gentle woman must possess. Another raised his mug.
‘What’s written on your mug, Alan?’ asked Tony.
‘Er... Too blessed to be stressed.’
There was a murmur more than a laugh but it did ease the group’s anxiety and led to more word play.
‘You think being blessed is not a blessing?’
‘Depends, Tony. Depends who is blessing you and why.’
‘But surely a blessing is by nature just that. It can’t be negative. A blessing must lead to destressing. That’s what I think,’ said Alan.
‘Good point. Remember the mugs may read as profound statements but some are just humorous even if we can’t see the joke,’ Tony said.
Karen perused the other mugs. She lifted hers. ‘There’s a bit of me I recognise yet I don’t, on this mug. I’m not arguing. I’m just explaining why I’m right.’
The group let off an appreciative grunt then Karen explained. ‘You see I’m usually the last to pick an argument yet recently I’ve been more controversial, questioning things, seeing different points of view.’ The nodding heads not only seemed to acknowledge what she had said but also assessed her as a fellow group member, starting to reveal her medical issues perhaps.
The Trials of Sally Dunning and a Clerical Murder Page 19
