The Things You Didn't See(44)

‘You know, Holly, you really handled everything well on Saturday. I saw how sensitively you dealt with Maya, and the family. You’re going to be a fine paramedic.’ He gave her a warm smile, then looked back at his notes. She sensed his need to get on with his work.

‘Jon, can I ask something else? I’d like your professional assessment of Cassandra.’

He kept his gaze neutral, but she sensed his surprise. ‘Why is that?’

She hesitated. ‘Because, as I said, she’s my friend. And I’m worried about her.’

‘Well, I was really concentrating on Maya – all I saw of the daughter was a woman in shock. Understandable under the circumstances.’ He paused, she could feel him pondering something. ‘You know, if you think she needs psychiatric help, that’s really out of our sphere.’

‘I know.’ She could see that this conversation wasn’t going much further. ‘She’s been involved with Clive Marsh. They run a therapy group together at the town library. Maybe I could ask him?’

Jon frowned, then said, ‘Remember patient confidentiality, Holly. You’re in danger of overstepping your professional remit here. Our work is done: you’ve done your duty as a paramedic. If you want to support Cassandra as a friend, of course you can, but please don’t confuse the two. Why don’t you go home and rest, so you’re fresh for this evening’s shift? You look exhausted.’

Holly walked along the hospital corridor, knowing Jon was right. But still her feet took her to Clive’s office, which he used just half the time, his main base being at the Bartlet Hospital. From here, he supervised placements, worked alongside the university to mark student assignments, and provided a counselling service to staff in need of support. Clive’s door was known always to be open to normally stoic medical staff, where a case had got under their skin.

‘Well, Holly,’ he said, tapping his pen on his knee as he leaned back, ‘you did the right thing to seek help. What you witnessed was traumatic – it’s bound to affect you in some way.’

He removed his glasses, which had misted in the overheated air of his office, and Holly saw deep compassion in his eyes before he slid them on again. ‘So, what is it that’s bothering you?’

Now Holly knew she had to be careful.

‘I think it’s processing the idea that Maya shot herself. I’ve been spending time with Cassandra and she doesn’t believe that, but I’m not sure if she’s in the soundest of minds. I’m worried she’s ill, and by supporting her theory I’m not helping her.’ As she said it, Holly realised this was the complete truth. She needed someone to tell her that Cass was sane, that their quest was legitimate, because this would mean that her own instincts were sound. She had hidden her synaesthesia for many years, and she didn’t know if she could trust it. She looked hopefully at the sage man for reassurance.

‘Cassandra woke on Saturday morning to find her mother almost dead. She’s going through the stages associated with a grief response: shock, anger, denial. She’s still trying to process what happened to Maya – she’s very confused. But why would you share that feeling, Holly?’

He was good, she had to give him that. Kindly eyes, warm voice.

‘I suppose I’m not as objective as I should be. I used to live near the farm. I went to the same school as Cassandra, though I was several years below her . . . Everyone used to say the farm was haunted, and us kids would tell each other stories about it. I think seeing Maya, shot like that, in that place may have brought back all those fears.’

‘I see,’ he said, making a bridge with his fingers as he contemplated her. ‘So this call-out has resurrected some deep anxieties.’

His tone was almost hypnotic, lulling her into agreeing. ‘Yes . . . no! Clive, Cass doesn’t believe her mother shot herself and I don’t either. I sense it very strongly – the violence in the farmhouse. It’s why I’m helping Cass.’

Clive cocked his head to one side. ‘You sense it?’

This wasn’t a subject she could talk about with most people. But Clive made her feel she could open up, that in this room she could say anything. ‘I have synaesthesia, Clive, so I see personality as colour. I can also, and I know this sounds weird, feel touch when I see it. I call it my curse and sometimes my gift.’

‘Oh, that’s very interesting,’ he said. She felt herself under his intense scrutiny. ‘So what colour am I?’

‘Salmon-pink,’ she replied without hesitation.

‘Oh. Can’t I be blue? Something more masculine?’

‘It doesn’t work like that,’ she smiled, enjoying the chance to talk about this without being made to feel like a weirdo. ‘Colours aren’t gendered, not for me. Salmon-pink is comforting, homely. It’s a colour I trust.’

‘You make me sound like a human version of hygge. Can someone’s colour change?’

Holly thought about this. ‘Mm, it can modify. Like, this Swedish guy I’m seeing, Leif. The reason I agreed to date him was because he was such a nice creamy colour, like butter. Only now I know him better I can see the most perfect yellow, like a sun. It’s so powerful to me – I experience it every time we’re together. I could fall in love with him, just because of that damn colour!’

She laughed, but then realised what she’d said. The thought terrified her.