when he came round from that and the police were contacted. Clive’s back door was unlocked, but there was no body like he described.’
‘Right,’ I say, not quite sure what to make of it all. ‘I just, I don’t know. I guess I feel like there’s more to it.’
‘I know what you mean. I’ll see if I can find out anything. They’re still looking into it from what I understand.’
‘Thank you. You’ve been so helpful. I want to understand more about what happened, but I really don’t know where to find any answers. I’ll be glad to get you-know-who set up somewhere. And he’s desperate to get a look at his allotments.’ The more I talk, the more I settle.
‘I’ll get the flat viewing booked in for Tuesday when I’m off. We need to find out what Clive wants to do with his home. If he can’t go back there, does he want us to go and sort his things? Or we could arrange for a house clearance.’ George’s brown eyes remind me of the perfect shade of mahogany furniture. For a moment, I’m lost in them.
‘I’ll ask him. Hopefully he’ll want to keep some things. It seems such a shame that a false memory is making him want to get rid of the real ones. He’s had a whole life in that house.’
The maudlin thought stays with me until we reach the ward and George briefly touches my shoulder. ‘We’ll catch up again soon and give me a call if you need to for, you know, anything.’
George lingers, as if he wants to say more, but doesn’t. I find myself wanting to know more about him. About where he travelled and why he chose to volunteer.
‘Thank you for everything.’ It’s all I can manage, even though I don’t want him to go yet. I watch as he leaves.
When I see Lucy, she looks pale. Not at all her usual sprightly self. I give her a rare hug, which takes her by surprise.
‘Will you sneak me out of here?’ Lucy asks.
I guffaw without meaning to. I’ve done enough sneaking around lately.
‘What? What’s going on? I know something is. Tell me.’
Lucy knows me far too well and before I think too much on the matter, I tell her everything.
‘You know what you need to do, don’t you?’ Lucy says, once she is up to date.
‘What?’ My voice feels hoarse from whispering so much.
‘Investigate. If you’re going to be clearing his house, you’ll have access to all his things. It might give you some clue as to why he keeps talking about his imaginary wife.’
‘But the police have already done that. They’ve ruled it out.’
‘It won’t hurt to look though. I can always help once I’m better.’
‘Just don’t say anything. To anyone. I don’t want any of us getting in trouble. And the only investigating you need to worry about is the doctors finding out why you’re still poorly.’
When I leave, I say a little prayer that at least that investigation is solved soon. I need my Lucy back.
The following day I find that, after a full working week, I like having Clive around quite a bit.
Clive greets study participants when they arrive, offering them tea or coffee. Most will take him up on the offer and, as he arranges that, I introduce myself and go through the details of what they’ll be doing this visit. Most often it is a series of tests with some heart monitoring. For the majority of the subjects, they are joining us for the third or fourth time and they are familiar with the drill, but because of the fact that it is a research project, I have to ensure their consent and give them an accurate overview of what they’ll have to do. It can be, for want of a better word, boring, but the studies won’t pass an ethics board without such considerations.
Just when the participant looks about ready to pass out with the formalities, Clive comes along and revives them with his hosting skills. In the week that he’s been here the standard of the tea has risen astronomically. Gone are the mugs originally given away as freebies by medical companies that were chipped and way past their best. Instead we have a beautiful set of vintage bone china. The cups are delicate with floral patterns.
‘Tea should be served properly. I have standards if you want me to do this job,’ Clive says to me with a smile.