The Sister(137)

‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, Doctor Ryan.’

Immersed in writing notes, he didn’t look up.

Miller let himself out.

So much to talk about. He’d just have to cover it tomorrow.





Chapter 120



When Stella returned later in the afternoon, Ryan handed her a note reminding her to prepare all the files in the archive room for digitalising, apart from the two he’d separated from the rest.

‘How did your interview go?’

‘I’m not sure. I think they liked me, but they had another couple of candidates to see and…’

The swirling fog of too many resurrected memories confused him, and he didn’t pay much attention to her reply. He needed to sleep.

‘I’ll leave you to lock up for me,’ he said. ‘Oh, and there was something else.’ Putting a forefinger to his temple, he suddenly remembered. ‘That’s it! Can you leave the Milowski file on my desk? I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘You’ve forgotten it is Good Friday tomorrow, Doctor Ryan.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you all right?’

She couldn’t believe how much he seemed to have aged suddenly, and she feared he might have left his plans for retirement for too long.

‘I’m just really, really tired. I’ll be all right after I’ve had a lie down for a bit. Look, I could really do with your coming in tomorrow. Have a lie-in first, if you like.’ His eyes implored her.

She answered without hesitation, ‘Of course I will. I’ll leave the file for you. I’ll see you later in the morning.’

Ryan nodded. He looked utterly drained.

She wasn’t convinced he’d actually heard her and knowing she wouldn’t see him before she left, she called out, ‘Goodnight, Doctor Ryan.’

His key was already in the lock, and letting himself through the door at the back of his office; he walked up the stairs to his living quarters. He’d divided the house up years before always intending to sell the practice and the accommodation one day and move on, but Grace had died the year before he was supposed to retire. Left without a reason to stop, he’d just worked on. In the hallway at the head of the stairs, he paused before the collage of photographs. The middle one was a portrait of Grace in her prime. He’d arranged all their milestones around it, their wedding day, the first house they'd shared, their first car, anniversaries and holidays. So many happy moments, but no children. We should have had children.

‘Hello, dear,’ he said. He paused in front of her picture and examined her expression. It never ceased to amaze him how the photographer had captured her vivacity at that moment, in that certain light. Viewed from varying angles at different times during the day or under the lamplight glow cast down the hall, he sometimes thought her eyes lit, or her smile shifted, lifting him when he was down, or weary. ‘Wonderful thing, the mind, it keeps us alive,’ he said as he moved away from the portrait. Glancing back, he thought she looked concerned, so he gave her a reassuring smile, and then tottered along on tired legs down the hall to his bedroom. ‘It’ll be all right, dear, don’t you worry.’





He woke up thinking he’d managed to sleep right through until the next morning. For a few moments, he panicked, and then realised with relief he’d only slept for an hour.

Hauling himself out of bed, he struggled on stiff legs to the kitchen and put a TV dinner into the microwave. He left the food heating while he went into the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face in an effort to freshen up. This is going to be a long night.

After his meal, he returned downstairs to his office. Stella had sorted the paperwork from the archive room already. The Milowski file was on his desk.

She’d planted a post-it note on it and written a single word: 'Enjoy!'

A weak smile drew across his lips. He realised how much he’d miss her.

Beneath the note was another, much older one. Although the once royal-blue ink had faded with the passage of time, he recognised the hand that wrote it. The handwriting triggered unpleasant memories of Penny, and reminded him of one of the last tasks she’d ever carried out for him. He dismissed her from his thoughts.

A close examination of the pages revealed they were out of sequence. The temptation to sort them back into order was strong.

How did that happen? I don’t have time for this.

After puzzling a moment longer, he decided with some disappointment, that it was just more evidence Penny had failed to maintain her high standards until the end.

He wondered if she’d set it as a sort of time-bomb revenge, knowing he’d look at the files again in the future. Even if she had perceived he’d wronged her, he found it hard to believe she’d have stooped to such pettiness.

He looked for an easy way in, and not finding it straight away, he flashed over each page searching out keywords, attempting to follow the jumbled order of the paperwork before him.

He jotted a few notes from the original text onto a pad. At regular intervals, he paused to reminisce.

In those days, a hypnotherapist by the name of Anderson had worked with him; he recalled the early discussions they'd had. Milowski had maintained his earliest memory was that he’d fallen into a fire when he was less than a year old. A trauma that undoubtedly affected him so deeply he’d volunteered the memory before regression had even begun.