bag from the bespoke hook on her wheelchair and checked that her stick was in its place along the back. She sank down, still gripping the phone between her shoulder and her ear.
‘That’s my girl,’ said Steve. ‘I tell you what, though, I remember the Megan case well.’
‘Oh?’ Evi’s office door had been hung to swing outwards when she pushed it with her foot.
‘Yeah, a colleague of mine took a very close interest. He was doing some work on the effects of disasters on small communities.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Evi, setting off along the corridor.
‘When a community suffers an out-of-the-ordinary loss, its impact can be felt for quite some time,’ said Steve. ‘The place gets a slightly grim reputation with the outside world and that can start to affect how people there think and behave. He wrote a paper on the subject, it looked at places like Hungerford, Dunblane, Lockerbie, Aberfan. I’ll try and dig it out for you.’
Evi turned the corner and nearly ran into a group of three colleagues chatting in the corridor. They stepped aside and she nodded her thanks. ‘The BMJ did a piece on it too, not long ago,’ Steve was saying. ‘After a disaster, up to 50 per cent of the population can suffer from mental distress. The prevalence of mild or moderate disorders can double. Even severe disorders like psychosis increase.’
‘But you’re talking about major disasters, surely? Earthquakes, airplanes coming down, chemical plants exploding. Severe loss of life.’ Evi passed a woman and child in the corridor, then a porter.
‘True, and I’m not trying to suggest that a couple of dead children can compare in any real way. But the Megan case was very high-profile. You should still expect there to be an impact on the community’s mental health. On some level the people up there will feel responsible. They’ll feel tainted.’
‘So what happened previously could, albeit subconsciously, be affecting my patient’s recovery?’
‘I wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised. You might want to find out more about what actually happened when your patient’s daughter died. Read some old newspapers, talk to the GP in question. It’ll give you a point of reference. You can compare what she’s telling you with what you know about the facts. See if there are any discrepancies. You mustn’t be confrontational, of course, but sometimes we learn more from what our patients don’t tell us than from what they do. Make any sort of sense?’
Evi had reached the main door of the hospital. Some idiot had left a pile of packing crates at the top of the disabled ramp. ‘Yes, it does,’ she said, glaring at the crates. ‘Thanks, Steve. I’m going to have to go now. I have to give somebody a serious bollocking.’
30
10 October
‘TO EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON, A TIME FOR EVERY purpose under the sun,’ read Harry. His voice, rarely lowpitched, bounced around the empty church. ‘A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up …’
A scuffling noise behind him. He stopped. A quick glance over his shoulder told him he was still alone in the church. He’d said goodbye to Alice ten minutes ago, to Gillian three or four minutes after that. Both had been helping him put the finishing touches to the harvest decorations. He’d have seen anyone come in. You didn’t miss much, standing in the pulpit.
‘… a time to pluck up that which is planted,’ he continued, his eyes scanning the rows of pews although he was sure the noise had come from behind him. ‘A time to kill and a time …’ He stopped again, not liking the feeling he was getting between his shoulder blades, the feeling that any second now, someone behind him would reach out and …
He glanced down at his notes again. Ecclesiastes, chapter three, always went down well at harvest time. People liked the simple beauty of the piece, its sense of balance, of completeness.
‘Time to die,’ said a small voice from just behind him.
Harry kept his eyes fixed on the gallery and waited. In the nave something creaked, but old wood does that. For a second he wondered if the Fletcher boys had crept into the church again, but it hadn’t sounded like either of them. He allowed his eyes to fall down to his hands. They were clutching the wooden rail of the pulpit rather tighter than appeared manly. Without making a sound, he spun on the spot.