The Sin Eater(34)
‘But what causes this illness?’ Nina’s tone was challenging and slightly suspicious.
‘It doesn’t necessarily need a trigger, although there’s a fair body of evidence to indicate that a childhood trauma can contribute. Or even,’ said the neurologist, his voice carefully expressionless, ‘some form of abuse.’
Benedict said at once, ‘I’ve never been abused.’
‘But there was trauma,’ said the doctor. ‘Your parents died when you were young. Eight years old, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, and that was massive – the worst thing that can happen to any child. I was devastated for a very long time. Of course I was. But I thought I recovered fairly well.’
‘We all thought so,’ added Nina.
‘I missed them for years,’ said Benedict, speaking a bit unwillingly, because he did not like having his emotions probed so rigorously. ‘I still do sometimes. I’d have liked them to see that I managed to get to university, for instance. But the . . . the pain of loss got less as the years went along. I lived with my aunt – that was Nina’s mother – and she was very kind, very loving and supportive. Always so proud if I achieved things. I truly don’t think she ever made any distinction between Nina and me.’
‘She didn’t,’ said Nina. ‘And as far as I was concerned you were – you still are – my brother.’
‘Thanks,’ said Benedict, a bit awkwardly. ‘But you see what I’m saying? It was a happy background. I had all the normal family things.’
‘How about school?’
‘I quite liked school. I wasn’t bullied or anything. And I like university now. I’m reading criminology and law – criminology especially is fascinating. I’ve got friends, a fairly good social life – not wild partying or clubbing, but it’s lively enough.’
‘Girlfriends? Or,’ said the doctor, sounding a bit too casual, ‘boyfriends?’
Benedict supposed they had to tread carefully with sexuality, and he guessed the doctor was wondering if there was any conflict there. He said, ‘There’s been one or two girlfriends. No one serious yet, but I live in hope.’ This seemed to strike a lighter note and he felt slightly better. ‘I honestly think I’ve had a relatively normal life,’ he said firmly.
‘If you’re being honest – and I think you are – it sounds as if you have had a relatively normal life,’ said the doctor. ‘And there’s no reason why you shouldn’t continue to do so.’
‘Thank you,’ said Benedict.
But putting a sane and logical name to Declan’s invasion of Benedict’s mind did not banish Declan himself. Declan and that misty world he inhabited remained on the edges of his mind. But it’s all right, Benedict thought. It’s just this complicated mental imbalance.
‘The pills will help for the moment,’ the neurologist had said, and at first Benedict took them obediently. But he had an uneasy feeling that something had torn down what defences he had and that Declan, no matter how unreal he might be, was finding it easier to reach him. This conviction increased over the Christmas week in Nina’s flat. You’re closer to me than I like, he said silently to Declan.
Staying with Nina was easier and more relaxing than he had expected. She did not pry as much as he had feared, although she mentioned Declan once or twice, referring to vague memories of how he was said to have been a bit of a charmer. ‘So I suppose it’s not unusual you should latch on to him as an alter ego. Have you thought of talking to any of the great-aunts to find out a bit more about him?’
‘I’m not sure if it would be the right thing to do. It might sort of feed the whole thing.’
‘Oh yes, so it might,’ said Nina, ‘how intelligent of you. Oh, and while I think about it, would you mind terribly if we don’t join the family Christmas dinner this year, because I’ve got so much to do, you wouldn’t believe.’
Benedict was deeply grateful for any excuse that would mean he did not have to see the family, most of whom would want to know how he was and what he had been doing and whether he was going to sell Holly Lodge. Nina was booked to provide two dinner parties and a buffet supper for people who did not want, or had not time, to cook for their guests, and Benedict was pressed into service to peel potatoes or chop parsley. It was vaguely soothing; it reminded him of how he and Nina used to make toffee when they were children, until the saucepan exploded one day, showering the walls with caramelized sugar and Aunt Lyn had been furious.
But when, on the day after Boxing Day, Nina said she had invited Nell West for a drink so she and Benedict could meet properly, Benedict was aware of a stab of panic. Nell would need to talk about Holly Lodge, and he did not want to even think about the place. But he would have to do something about the house and its contents, and Nell West had apparently found him flat out unconscious in the house, called the ambulance and probably saved his life. Benedict had sent her a note of thanks, but she was owed a bit more than a few lines scribbled from a hospital bed. So he said, in an offhand way, that he would look forward to meeting her.
‘She said something about finding a chess piece while she was there,’ said Nina.
The chess piece. The black carved figure that Declan and Colm had taken from the dying Nicholas Sheehan, and that Benedict had found in the desk at Holly Lodge. The memory of how Declan and Colm crouched on the cliff face while Sheehan slowly roasted alive rose up vividly.