Where the Missing Go(43)

‘No, I saw it in her bathroom cabinet. When I was looking for something.’

‘So you were looking in her pill cabinet,’ he says.

I don’t reply.

‘Right. Kate, I have to say, as your doctor, that that does alarm me, a little. After what happened—’

‘No, that’s not it at all.’ I laugh, but it sounds forced. ‘You’ve got this wrong, honestly. I’m not – I wasn’t looking for her pills. That was never – that was never my problem.’

But he’s not listening. ‘Last year, when it happened, I thought I was doing the right thing. I took you at your word. That you didn’t understand how the pills interacted with alcohol – that you were being sensible. So I let you stay on them, it didn’t need to go any further. Though your family were very upset.’

‘I know.’

It was Charlotte who found me. Mark had left a few months earlier. I was very lucky, really.

That was back when the whole sleep thing had got really bad. Even the pills weren’t working. Maybe I’d got used to them. I’d got into the habit of taking a few more than I should, just to get the effect. Then, one night, the April before last, I’d drunk a bottle of wine in front of the TV, and fallen asleep on the sofa. I didn’t want to hurt myself, I really didn’t. I just wanted to turn my brain off – I was so tired.

I’d woken up in a hospital bed.

Afterwards, Charlotte had told me, crying, that my lips were blue when she found me. She’d known something was wrong, she said. It had been Sophie’s birthday. So when I hadn’t answered the phone that day, she’d driven round that evening and let herself in with the key I’d given her when we moved in. And I am so grateful to her, of course I am. It’s just tricky sometimes, to be around someone who still treats you like an undetonated bomb.

‘Kate?’ Dr Heath wants more from me. ‘You have to understand, it puts me in a difficult position when you tell me you’ve been looking through a neighbour’s pill cabinet. That’s a red flag. Can you understand that?’

‘Yes.’ I feel like a child being told off. ‘But—’

‘Your neighbour’s medication is really her business, whatever her age.’

And now I feel like I’m age-shaming my neighbour with dementia. ‘I know that, I do. But I’m not sure she’s got enough support, let alone anyone checking if she’s taking her pills at the right time. I’ve been in touch with social services, through the council, and they haven’t got back to me.’

He sighs. ‘It’s not a perfect system. But listen – why don’t I check with the surgery, see if she’s registered with any of my colleagues, I can ask them to take a look at her prescription.’

‘Would you?’ I should have thought of that. Of course Lily will be registered there. Everyone goes to the Amberton GPs, from miles around.

‘But really it’s your health that you should be prioritising.’

He’s looking behind me now, at the table. I follow his glance to my open jotter with my scrawling notes. A messy mind. I reach out and flip it closed, embarrassed.

‘You’re very alone here. Are you getting out much? Are you seeing friends and family?’

‘Yes, a bit more.’ That’s true, what with the running and the trips to the library and the garage, I’ve been out more than in, well, a long time. I’m not sure he’ll count a chat with the local librarian as a budding new friendship, though. ‘And, I’ve got my family support.’ When I ring them back.

‘Hm.’ He’s unconvinced, but then he catches sight of the kitchen clock. ‘I’ve got to go. But why don’t you make another appointment soon. Just to keep things on track.’

It’s probably a good idea. ‘I will, I promise. And thanks.’

‘Do. Thanks for the coffee.’

I feel a bit flat after he’s gone. It’s nice to have company, even a professional. And his visit has reminded me of all sorts of things. My limitations. My mistakes.

But he’s given me an idea. I’m going to further a relationship, I think, as I dial. Even if I’m not sure Nick Heath would quite approve of why I’m doing this.

David, the librarian from the other day, is surprised but pleased to hear from me as I remind him, as casually as I can manage, of his suggestion that I speak to his sister. When people know you want to know something, they can clam up. But he doesn’t.

‘Why don’t I give you Vicky’s number? I did mention you, but she’s busy with the kids. And she’s not the most organised person I know, I have to admit …’

I don’t know if I’ll ever get over how helpful they are up here.

‘Thanks very much, David. I’ll do that, right away.’

She doesn’t pick up the first time, but she does ten minutes later.

‘Hello?’ She sounds harassed. ‘Jesse, no. No! Put it down!’

‘Hi, Vicky?’ I say. ‘My name’s Kate. Your brother may have mentioned that I might call?’

‘Hiya, yes. He did, didn’t he? So how can I help?’

Quickly, I tell her that I’m doing a project on missing people, with a focus on the local area. ‘Social studies,’ I say, knowing it’s a flimsy excuse. But like her brother, Vicky likes to chat.