And the Rest Is History(31)

I said quietly, ‘He won’t remember me at all, will he?’

‘No.’

‘Or his life here?’

‘No.’

‘Does he think Clive Ronan was his father?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure he’s familiar with the concept of parents. Just owners. He’s been a climbing boy for as long as he can remember, which isn’t very long. I think he’s naturally small and skinny so he’s ideal and, of course, they’d want to keep him that way for as long as possible, so they fed him just enough to keep him on his feet. He was a business asset so they stopped short of punishing him enough to stop him working. Although his arm’s been broken at one time.’

He stopped and we both struggled for a moment.

I drew a breath and said firmly, ‘It’s probably best if we don’t think too much about that at the moment. We’ll need to divide this into manageable lumps – like a big assignment. We’ll get him fit first. We’ll feed and clothe him and hope that somewhere along the way he learns to trust us enough to … to…’

I had no idea what would come next. We were the parents of an eight-year-old child who had no memory of his life in this time. Who had only ever known brutality and hardship. Everything would be strange and new and frightening. And that was just for us. Heaven knew what it would be like for Matthew.



Absolutely nothing went according to plan.

We saw Dr Stone early the next morning.

‘He’s still asleep, which is a good thing. He’ll need breakfast when he wakes. I’ve only been here two days but as far as I can see, the St Mary’s idea of a balanced meal is not to put all their food on one side of the plate. I’ve seen no evidence of any kind that anyone in this unit is familiar with the concept of healthy eating in any way, so we in Sick Bay will set his menu. Let’s start with you all eating together as a family.’

Chance would have been a fine thing.

I’ve heard the expression ‘feeding frenzy’. I’ve even witnessed it a couple of times – St Mary’s falling on a platter of sausages on their return from a long assignment springs to mind – but we’re amateurs.

It took him less than four and a half seconds to clear his plate.

‘Well,’ said Leon, bending down to pick up an unused spoon as I wiped a splodge of scrambled egg off the wall. ‘A bit of work needed there, I think.’

It wasn’t just his eating habits we had to contend with. He had no concept of bathrooms and certainly not the individual components therein.

‘Your son has just peed in the washbasin again,’ complained Leon.

I put down my book. ‘Why does he keep doing that?’

‘Well, I’ve shown him the toilet and how it works, but I think it’s because he always leaves things until the last moment. He races in, does a quick appraisal of the equipment provided, chooses the wrong one, and lets rip.’

I picked up my book again because this was one problem I felt I could safely leave to Leon to sort out. I’d been lumbered with the other end, so to speak. Because, not content with peeing in the wrong receptacle, he would, unless restrained, drink water from the toilet. He didn’t understand taps and from his point of view it was perfectly simple. There was water available in the bottom of the toilet bowl, so why not?

We had a long road to travel said Leon, as we sank, exhausted, into bed that night.



We buried Helen the next afternoon.

It was a horrible day. The sky was dark. Rain fell persistently, drumming on the ground and people’s umbrellas.

Kal had driven down from Thirsk. She stood beside me throughout. I knew she’d had a few words with Peterson before the service. They had been partners once and I know he always listened to her. I wondered what she’d said to him. With Kal, it could have been anything.

Leon, Markham, Guthrie, Atherton, Bashford and Dieter carried her coffin. Not Tim. I don’t think he could have. Dr Bairstow stood beside him at the graveside. There was no sound but that of trickling water.

I looked at Tim’s white face. Would he leave St Mary’s? He shouldn’t go. Not now, anyway. Maybe give it a month or two and then decide. I hoped that had been Kal’s advice. And what of him and me? The two of us. What was our relationship these days? He hadn’t spoken to me since he’d come to the lake.

Cold, we huddled together as the words were read. I could still hear her voice. Somewhere in my memories she was thumping Leon for operating on the wrong bloody arm. Telling Markham his ringworm would eat his eyeballs from the inside out. Holding Tim’s hands just before the Battle of St Mary’s. She and Tim should have had a long and happy life together. Neither of them deserved this.

The words ended.

They lowered her coffin into the ground.

Resting on the top was a single red rose, a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. I knew Peterson had kept her lighter.





For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to go out on assignment.

‘You should go,’ said Leon.

‘But…’

‘You should go,’ he said again, and stopped.

I knew why. He was a good man. He didn’t want to say that Matthew didn’t like me. That he distrusted and feared women and I was a woman. He didn’t want to tell me that, initially at least, they’d probably make more progress if I wasn’t around.