The Things You Didn't See(45)

‘I see,’ said Clive, with all the objectivity of a clinician, although his face remained friendly and approachable. ‘Your synaesthesia is intrusive: it could cloud your judgement. And what did you say about experiencing touch?’

‘When I see someone being punched or kissed, either in real life or in a film, I actually feel it. Like it’s actually happening to me. So when I’m in Maya’s study, I can feel her pain, and I’m not sure that’s simply my synaesthesia. I think it may be my imagination. Sometimes it scares me – when I was younger and before I knew the word, I thought I was simply strange.’

‘In my experience, strange can often be marvellous.’ Clive leaned forward to get a better look at Holly, as if studying her for the first time. ‘Synaesthesia has always been around. It’s a trait that affects about four per cent of the population – something that was first described by the ancient Greeks, but in more recent times has only been subject to rigorous study since the 1980s. You have a form called mirror-touch synaesthesia, though you seem to have signs of other forms too.’

‘You’ve heard of this before?’ Holly breathed deeply, relieved. This was the first time she’d spoken to another human about it: before now, her only confidant had been Google.

‘Why don’t I refer you to the research team at Sussex? They’d be delighted to meet you. It could help others, to discover more about this trait. Most importantly, it could help you.’

‘I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I think I should go – I’ve taken enough of your time and I’m working this evening, I need to go home to rest.’ Talking to Clive in the sanctuary of his office was one thing. But for others to be told was something she couldn’t contemplate. She began to gather up her work bag to leave.

‘Just one thing, Holly. You said when you arrived that you’re worried Cassandra isn’t thinking clearly, and that you may be feeding her delusions, so I’m going to ask you something, in confidence.’ He scanned her face, eyes blinking behind his glasses, and she felt immediately alert. ‘Do you know that Cassandra was previously sectioned?’

‘Sectioned?’ Holly came closer to him and felt his unease as teetering on a ledge. ‘No, I didn’t know that. Just that she’s suffered from paranoia, that she dropped out of university . . .’

‘Two years ago, she suffered a serious psychotic episode: she was a risk to herself and possibly others. That’s why her daughter was sent to boarding school. She was having delusional thoughts, a great deal of paranoia directed towards her partner. We had no choice but to section her.’

Something dawned on Holly. ‘So, that group you run at the library – she’s not your colleague at all then? She’s your patient.’

‘A bit of both,’ Clive said, raising his shoulders in resignation. ‘After she was discharged, she attended Team Talk, then, about a year ago, I told her she was recovered enough to stop attending. She had a crisis of confidence, so we came to an arrangement.’

Holly was blinded by colour then, one she associated with deceit: a shrouded grey. Cassandra had seemed to be opening up and trusting her, but she’d lied. She gathered her coat around her and turned to go.

‘Thanks for your time, Clive.’

‘You’re welcome,’ He waited until she was almost out of the room before adding, ‘Holly, I’ve told you this in confidence because I’m trying to warn you. Cassandra isn’t a well woman – a trauma like this makes her very vulnerable to relapse. Please don’t do anything to encourage her delusions. If there is anything suspicious about the shooting, then we must trust the police to do their jobs.’

Holly drove home and felt the murky grey colours recede, as though every mile she placed between herself and the hospital gave her greater clarity. She needed distance between herself and Cass. She’d been pulled into a conspiracy theory and hadn’t been thinking straight. How could she judge the potential of a gun by holding a length of cane against herself ? Why should she assume Maya had been shot because of a contract? No, she needed to stay away, to concentrate on her career.

She arrived at her flat with just a few hours to go before she had to return to the hospital for her evening shift. She needed solitude and space to think. Her flat was exactly that: a room with no colour, simple furniture and only a few photographs for decoration. Her brain buzzed, overloaded.

She staggered through the small lounge to the kitchen, all white and cool surface, a space that soothed, and slid onto the stool at the breakfast bar, placing her head on her folded arms, breathing deeply. All she saw in her mind’s eye was Cassandra, the only colour was grey, and it was getting in the way of doing her job. She took the contract Maya had signed and placed it in her desk drawer, not sure what else to do with the damn thing.

I should never have got involved. I haven’t seen Cassandra in twenty years. She wouldn’t have even known who I was if I hadn’t told her. And now the past is snapping back at my heels – nothing good comes from Innocence Lane.

Holly had known since primary school that she was different, since the night in the wood outside Innocence Farm with her brother. It was only later, when she was seventeen and struggling, that, thanks to the internet, she’d learned that the word for her condition was synaesthesia. Today Clive had told her she had the mirror-touch form. But her senses had tricked her with a mirage – she had colluded with Cassandra. Her senses had told her that Maya hadn’t shot herself, but she had overstepped the mark and now she had been sucked in to a false friendship with a woman with severe mental health issues. Just when she was getting her life together, and embarking on a new career, this was pulling her right back to where all her problems had started: Innocence Lane, the ghost, the shooting.