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Authors: Natasha Cooper
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to talk or play Scrabble. Shuttling between the two of them, she sometimes felt as though she’d never had any time to herself since she’d taken David to live with her. She didn’t regret that decision, but it seemed hard to have to sacrifice the rare luxury of being on her own. Then she thought of the child Caro had described. Anything could happen if Kim were sent back home. Trish knew she’d never forgive herself for refusing help if the child were hurt – or killed.
‘Oh, all right,’ she said. ‘But make it Sunday so that I can read the files first. I’ll need all the background you’ve got, if I’m to have any hope of getting through to her in such a short time.’
‘Great. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’
When they’d said goodbye, Trish tried to remember what she knew about Caro’s own childhood that might explain Andrew’s comments about projection. It was a familiar enough syndrome, in which adults who had themselves been damaged in childhood assumed they could see evidence of their own suffering in the children with whom they worked. Every adult Trish had ever met had shown some signs of unresolved pain left over from a family trauma. Most admitted to it when questioned; she’d often thought the rest were liars. But she couldn’t remember Caro’s saying anything except that she had never known her father. Jess might know more.
Trish rang Jess’s number. It was clear from the hoarseness of Jess’s voice that she had been crying.
‘She is getting better,’ Trish said. ‘I heard at the hospital today that she’d come round for a while this afternoon.’
‘Yes, but it didn’t last, so she’s not getting better. Don’t try and comfort me, Trish. She looks terrible. She didn’t even
recognize me when she opened her eyes. The staff won’t talk to me. Or even look straight at me. That’s because they think she’s going to die. I know it is.’
‘Jess, don’t. She’s running a high temperature because of the infection. It happens. And that’s what leads to the confusion. But they’re working to lower the fever. Now, listen, how much has she told you about this child she’s working to protect?’
‘Trish, I’ve got to go.’ Jess sounded unlike herself: efficient to the point of brusqueness. ‘I’ve got someone here.’
She cut the connection. Trish tried to work out what could be going on. In that last comment Jess had sounded completely different from the hoarse, tearful woman who had answered the phone. Who could be there in the flat to make her sound so different, so tough? And why hadn’t Jess mentioned the presence of a third party straight away? What the hell was going on?
Disliking her suspicions, Trish put the receiver back on its cradle. Her mobile started to ring almost at once.
‘Trish Maguire,’ she said coolly, knowing it couldn’t be George. He’d never call her mobile from Australia.
‘Trish. It’s me. Will Applewood.’
‘Oh, hello,’ she said. Now that he had finished giving his evidence, there was no reason why she couldn’t talk to him, but she’d have preferred to get on with the case without any more personal contact than she had to have. She wasn’t going to encourage him.
‘I say, are you all right, Trish? You didn’t look as awful in court today as you did yesterday, but you’re still not yourself. I had to phone to find out what’s the matter. I thought yesterday might have been a hangover, but they don’t last this long. Are you ill?’
She suppressed a sigh. It was kind of him to bother, but she could have done without the interruption. She explained.
‘E. coli 0157?’ he said. ‘God, you must be careful. It can be really dangerous. Have you seen the quack?’
‘No need. I stopped throwing up twenty-four hours ago, and I’ve even managed to eat some cottage cheese today.’ She looked at the bowl and saw that she hadn’t made much of a hole in the mound of soft white particles.
‘Even so, you ought to
‘Oh, all right,’ she said. ‘But make it Sunday so that I can read the files first. I’ll need all the background you’ve got, if I’m to have any hope of getting through to her in such a short time.’
‘Great. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’
When they’d said goodbye, Trish tried to remember what she knew about Caro’s own childhood that might explain Andrew’s comments about projection. It was a familiar enough syndrome, in which adults who had themselves been damaged in childhood assumed they could see evidence of their own suffering in the children with whom they worked. Every adult Trish had ever met had shown some signs of unresolved pain left over from a family trauma. Most admitted to it when questioned; she’d often thought the rest were liars. But she couldn’t remember Caro’s saying anything except that she had never known her father. Jess might know more.
Trish rang Jess’s number. It was clear from the hoarseness of Jess’s voice that she had been crying.
‘She is getting better,’ Trish said. ‘I heard at the hospital today that she’d come round for a while this afternoon.’
‘Yes, but it didn’t last, so she’s not getting better. Don’t try and comfort me, Trish. She looks terrible. She didn’t even
recognize me when she opened her eyes. The staff won’t talk to me. Or even look straight at me. That’s because they think she’s going to die. I know it is.’
‘Jess, don’t. She’s running a high temperature because of the infection. It happens. And that’s what leads to the confusion. But they’re working to lower the fever. Now, listen, how much has she told you about this child she’s working to protect?’
‘Trish, I’ve got to go.’ Jess sounded unlike herself: efficient to the point of brusqueness. ‘I’ve got someone here.’
She cut the connection. Trish tried to work out what could be going on. In that last comment Jess had sounded completely different from the hoarse, tearful woman who had answered the phone. Who could be there in the flat to make her sound so different, so tough? And why hadn’t Jess mentioned the presence of a third party straight away? What the hell was going on?
Disliking her suspicions, Trish put the receiver back on its cradle. Her mobile started to ring almost at once.
‘Trish Maguire,’ she said coolly, knowing it couldn’t be George. He’d never call her mobile from Australia.
‘Trish. It’s me. Will Applewood.’
‘Oh, hello,’ she said. Now that he had finished giving his evidence, there was no reason why she couldn’t talk to him, but she’d have preferred to get on with the case without any more personal contact than she had to have. She wasn’t going to encourage him.
‘I say, are you all right, Trish? You didn’t look as awful in court today as you did yesterday, but you’re still not yourself. I had to phone to find out what’s the matter. I thought yesterday might have been a hangover, but they don’t last this long. Are you ill?’
She suppressed a sigh. It was kind of him to bother, but she could have done without the interruption. She explained.
‘E. coli 0157?’ he said. ‘God, you must be careful. It can be really dangerous. Have you seen the quack?’
‘No need. I stopped throwing up twenty-four hours ago, and I’ve even managed to eat some cottage cheese today.’ She looked at the bowl and saw that she hadn’t made much of a hole in the mound of soft white particles.
‘Even so, you ought to
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