The Sister(172)

‘Well then, now you know how it feels.’

‘I still can’t believe you did that!’

‘I didn’t, I just told you I did.’

Stella frowned. ‘Stop playing games with me, Miller. I have to know the truth. Can you honestly read people, can you tell the future?’

He hesitated and then said, ‘Sometimes, it’s a bit of a story. I didn’t used to be able to do anything much at all. Lately, it seems I can.’ Pausing, he searched for the right words. ‘I always had good intuition – I could tell if someone was lying to me and all that.’ He thought about the shadows that had dogged him most of his life. He’d gone from fear to apprehension, at some point knowing they looked out for him, whispering in the night, influencing his dreams. How can I tell her I have to sleep with the light on to get a decent night’s sleep?

‘I suppose the truth is, if I can do it at all, it only works when it matters,’ he said, and then after a moments reflection, added, ‘Lately, there have been lots of times when it really seems to matter.’

‘So did it matter so much just now that you felt you needed to grab my hand?’

‘I just had this overwhelming need to convince you, but I don’t know why.’

She didn’t look convinced.

‘I can’t say any more than that, really. If the truth were told, mostly it’s intuition. Reading reactions, tiny changes of expression, it isn’t anything special.’

‘You say it’s nothing special!’ She shook her head in amazement. ‘It is exactly what Ryan referred to in his notes. He thought you had a greater ability to survive because you may have been psychic, or that each subsequent survival made you psychic. I didn’t believe it when I read it, but now I think he might have been onto something,’ she said, her mood turning dark. ‘So all the time, when I knew you before, you might have been able to help me and you never said anything?’

‘I didn’t understand it as much as I do now, and anyway, if you needed my help to find your sister – why didn’t you just ask?’

Stella was astounded. ‘So you can?’

Miller deflected her with a serious look. ‘Do you know what I’m going to say to Ryan, when I see him in the great hereafter?’

‘Of course I don’t!’

‘I’m going to tell him to make sure he keeps my file locked away from you!’

Her face softened. Almost smiling, she raised the middle finger of her right hand and screwed it around in the air.





Chapter 137



‘I don’t want to go to his funeral,’ Stella said. ‘I hate anything like that.’

‘So do I, but if you don’t go, you’ll regret it.’

‘Do you think he’ll mind if I don’t?’ She avoided his gaze.

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a bit.’ Miller lifted her chin. ‘But to not go when you could have...’

She turned to face him. ‘Is what?’

‘Running away. And I think he’d mind that.’





Afterwards, at the wake in Ryan’s favourite gastro-pub, they stood together, shoulder to shoulder with dignitaries from the world of psychiatry, ex-colleagues, associates – most of his friends were also doctors. A few former patients were there. Ryan’s solicitor, who was also his friend, announced it was Ryan’s dearest wish they should all come together for food, drink and merriment and to that end he’d left one thousand pounds. There was a good, lively atmosphere, generally, however, a diminutive and dapper grey-suited elderly man with silver hair and a light Scottish brogue approached them, his face suitably solemn. ‘Are you from the medical world?’ Miller didn’t quite catch what the man said and asked him to repeat it. He got his wires crossed and thought the man was asking if he was with a newspaper called 'Medical World'.

The man walked away, still solemn, but bemused.

Stella came out from hiding behind Miller’s back; eyes filled with mirth. ‘I don’t know how you managed to keep a straight face, I was wetting myself!’

He grinned at her, happy she was happy and then confided, ‘I had my hand in my pocket, pinching myself.’

The man had circulated and latched onto another hapless victim, a woman who looked just as confused as Miller had; she searched the room for an escape route. Catching Miller’s eye, she made her excuses, pointing in his direction, and then made a beeline for him, grinning from ear to ear as she came over.

They had a quick exchange about the man. ‘The trouble was that he was so softly spoken, and with his accent, I couldn’t understand a word he was on about.’ The three of them all joined in laughing.

‘It’s strange, but I’m getting the feeling I know you. Have we met before?’ he said.

She introduced herself, ‘Jackie Solomons. I was a patient of his.’

He shook her hand, ‘Miller. I was, too.’

Stella shrugged her shoulders, feeling somewhat left out and extended her hand. ‘My name’s Stella. I just worked for him.’

The entrance door opened and a veiled woman stepped in. Framed in the shaft of light, she closed the door behind. Dressed in funereal black, her presence was striking. Wisps of rosé tinged hair protruded from beneath the hooded cape she wore. A few people stared at her, before returning to their conversations.