The Dead Ex(73)

We were sitting in his room. It was more colourful than my own safe beige scheme, with a bright red and blue throw on the bed, matching cushions and a yellow rug on the floor. In the corner was a deep, comfortable armchair where I was sitting now.

‘But it all turned out all right.’

He rubbed his eyes. ‘Yes, they’re safe, thank God. But it’s not going to change the situation, is it? No parent can survive being divided from their child. I should know.’

Had I heard right? ‘You said you didn’t have family.’

‘I lied. It’s easier.’ He turned away. ‘I’m sorry. I had a wife in Uganda and a son. He was two months old when they were killed.’

‘How …’

‘I don’t want to talk any more about it. Yes, I know I’m a bloody psychologist, but that doesn’t mean I have to practise what I preach. My wife and child died when I wasn’t there to protect them. Now I’ve made a new life and I pretend they never existed to deflect questions. That’s all you need to know. All you need to forget.’

I tried to find the right words, but they wouldn’t come.

He stood up. ‘It’s been a long day.’

After going back to my room, I sat up all night, shocked by what he’d told me.

How did anyone even start to get over a tragedy like that? Yet at the same time, I couldn’t help feeling flattered. He’d confided in me.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to him the next day, when we found ourselves leaving our accommodation block at the same time and walking to the prison. ‘I can’t bear to think of you going through such pain.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not the one who went through pain, Vicki. It was my wife and child.’

What could I do to help him? ‘There’s a dance on Saturday in the mess,’ I heard myself saying. ‘Do you feel like going?’

There was a short, awful silence. Did he think I was coming on to him? ‘Just as friends, of course,’ I added quickly. ‘You’d be doing me a favour, I don’t get out much.’

His face cleared. ‘Why not? It might be good to do something different.’ He made a half-mocking, half-rueful face. ‘It’s what I advise my patients to do. So perhaps I should take a leaf out of my own book.’

We had a great time. Patrick was a natural dancer with a rhythm that made my feet come to life, especially when he tried to teach me to jive. The two of us were in stitches! ‘Not the right arm – the leg!’ he instructed. Then he spun me round. ‘That’s right!’ he said breathlessly, face close to mine. ‘You’ve got it!’

Later, he walked me back to my door. To my surprise, he gave me a big bear hug. That night, I couldn’t sleep. ‘Just as friends,’ I’d said earlier. So why did I have this buzz of excitement going through me?

Over the next few months, we spent more and more time together. Each time it was the same. We had fun. We hugged at the end of the evening. But that was it. Meanwhile, I was falling more and more in love with him. At last I knew what it was like. That tingle when he was near. The acute disappointment if our shifts didn’t coincide. That sense of panic in case he didn’t feel the same. The replaying in my mind of our conversations in an attempt to convince myself that he did. Why else would he spend so much of his free time with me?

‘Are you around tonight?’ I asked him after we’d both been at an internal meeting one day. ‘There’s something I need to discuss with you.’

‘Me too. Shall we go to that Italian again?’

This is it, I told myself. I was so excited that I made a complete mess of my make-up and had to begin all over again.

‘So,’ he said, his warm eyes meeting mine over the table. ‘What was it that you wanted to discuss?’

My mouth went dry. ‘You first,’ I said.

‘OK.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I’ve put in for a transfer.’

It was as though someone had stuck a pin in me and deflated my body. ‘Why?’ I asked, my voice shaking.

‘The truth is that I find it too upsetting to work with mothers and babies. I thought I could do it. But I can’t.’

‘Where are you going?’ I blurt out.

He named a men’s prison in the north of England. ‘It will be a challenge. Just what I need.’ Then his hand reached out and briefly covered mine. ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’

Quick, I told myself. Think of something. ‘There’s a woman who’s just been admitted to D wing. She seems very withdrawn, and I’m concerned for her.’

‘Eileen? I’m seeing her first thing in the morning.’ He stood up. ‘You don’t need to worry.’

Oh, but I did.

‘I was surprised to hear that Patrick is moving on,’ said a colleague at his leaving do. ‘I thought you and he might have … you know.’

‘Not at all,’ I said briskly. ‘We’re just friends. That’s all.’

Only then did I realize Patrick was standing right behind me.

Later that night, he shook my hand formally. No hug. ‘It’s been good to work with you, Vicki,’ he said. ‘Good luck.’





38



Helen

8 January 2018