Mr. Nobody(55)

I hold him tight. “Shh, shh, Matthew. It’s okay,” I soothe, but he struggles against me, wheezing and fighting for breath. “It’s okay, Matthew, you just need to calm down, breathe slow. Everything is fine. Just breathe.” He loosens back into me, his breath still snatching noisily in his throat. But at least he’s listening to my voice. “That’s it, Matthew. Good. Now nice and slow. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Good. That’s perfect. Everything is going to be okay, Matthew.” He takes a noisy breath in through his nose, and lets it out audibly through his mouth.

“Good. That’s good. I’m right here. Everything is fine. I promise you.” I feel the weight of him against me, his fear, his trust, his vulnerability.

There wasn’t time to get an fMRI reading on that final question, Have you killed? But, in a way, what just happened might be answer enough.





28


DR. EMMA LEWIS


DAY 10—A VISIT FROM JOE

Matthew is recovering on the ward. It’s Friday and I’m taking the day off, to the extent that a doctor on call can ever really have a day off.

When I open the front door of the lodge, I find that everything is smothered in thick white. There must have been another flurry of snow overnight. The forest branches bend low with sparkling weight, while the garden, bench, and long lane all the way to the road glitter brilliantly in the winter sunlight.

I zip up my down jacket to my chin, pat my pocket to feel for the lump of my hospital pager, and scrunch briskly out across the snow to my car. I’m heading to pick up Joe from the train station.

I texted him late last night and, like the hero that he is, he texted back that he’d drop everything and come first thing. I need someone to talk to, some perspective, just for a day. He can’t stay the night, as Rachel’s working tonight and can’t watch Chloe, but at least I’ll have a few hours’ company.

I drive through a fresh winter wonderland, the radio playing in my car the only sound in the muffled white. After everything bad that happened to me here it’s still impossibly beautiful, this place.

    Thankfully, it turns out they do salt the roads, even this far out of town, but as I turn off onto the rural station lane I see the council budget obviously doesn’t stretch this far. When I reach the station entrance Joe’s waiting, ankle-deep in snow, beaming from ear to ear, the only one on the platform. He pulls me into a hug as soon as he jumps into the car. He holds me tight for a long time, my left leg jamming hard against the hand brake, but I don’t pull away, I need his love.

“There you are,” he says.

“Here I am,” I agree, head buried in his jacket, safe for a second.

I suggest we head back to Cuckoo Lodge and have some hot chocolate before we head out for a cold walk along the beach. Joe’s already wrapped up warm in a Barbour and wellies but I need to grab some boots.

Joe keeps the conversation ticking over on the short drive, diplomatically sensing I’m not quite ready to talk about anything more serious just yet. He tells me Mum’s fine with me being here, whatever I need to do for myself I should do, she says. He tells me about his little Chloe and her new obsession with his briefcase. I’m glad of the distraction. I need to clear my head and reset my bearings before I can talk to someone else about what’s happening here. I knew I needed Joe.

I sense him tense slightly when we pass a sign for Burnham Market, at least twenty miles from Holt and our old house. No one else but me would notice, but the story he’s telling me about Chloe gets a little louder, a little funnier.

He hasn’t been back here either since it happened. I’ve forced him back. He’s here for me. I glance across at his face as he talks, and I wonder how he stayed so well adjusted, so sane. So lovely. With his job and his wife and his gorgeous baby girl. I’m not jealous, I’m amazed, and incredibly grateful to have someone like him in my life.

As I pull down the drive leading up to Cuckoo Lodge, Joe gives a low whistle of appreciation. I feel an odd sense of pride. The house is beautiful, especially in the snow, and because Joe’s an architect, its beauty isn’t wasted on him.

    “Oh sweet Jesus,” he murmurs. “This is where they put you? This is part of the Holkham estate, right?”

“I don’t know, is it? It’s definitely Victorian.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

I laugh and he leans forward to study the chimneys, the cornicing, through the windshield.

“You like?” I tease.



* * *



—

I make us our hot chocolates and we carry them out into the back garden with some blankets so we can enjoy the winter sun on our faces.

And almost immediately Joe broaches the subject we’ve both been evading. “So, shouldn’t you be at work? Isn’t that what they’re paying you for?” He smiles and sips his chocolate.

“I thought you were supposed to be encouraging me to work less!” I say with a surprised laugh, but inside I feel a sharp pang of guilt. My patient is still ill, I could be doing something, but instead of working I am here. I know I can’t work seven days a week, but time off always make me uneasy. “There’s not really much I can do at this stage, Joe. My patient’s talking now, but his memory is limited. And yesterday was pretty intense. I told him to take it easy today. I’ve got a big day planned tomorrow and he needs to rest. I’m going to take him on a trip, visit some places that might trigger some memories. He must have got to that beach somehow; we’ll try the roads nearby, local stations, anywhere he might have been just prior to being found. He’s making me a list today of anywhere he can think of that might help. But aside from that there’s really nothing I can do. And I’m on call, if anything comes up. I can be there in thirty minutes.”