‘Did you ever feel the dreams were more real than reality itself? That the dreams were real and reality was a dream?’
‘Yes, very much so. It’s unnerving.’
‘I imagine it must be. If it’s any consolation, firstly, it’s normal for this experience and secondly, they will slowly cease, if they haven’t already begun to do so.’
‘Yes, it’s nowhere near as bad as it was.’
‘Tell me, you’re the first patient I’ve ever had with this particular condition, were they narrative dreams? Was there a story? Or a connected theme? Or just the usual jumbled collection of thoughts and experiences?’
‘Oh, definitely narrative. I’m not saying each one carried on from the previous dream, but there was certainly a common theme.’
‘Really? That’s most interesting. How much of them can you remember?’
‘Less and less as time passes, but there are some highlights – if that’s the word I want – that I’m never going to forget.’
‘Can you give me an idea?’
Leon stared into the middle distance, eyes unfocused and his voice as far away as his thoughts. ‘Lights. Voices. Rain. A shouting crowd. But not hostile. My clothes are stiff and heavy. People around me. I know them. Glittering fabric. Mist. Waiting.’ He frowned. ‘Buildings. A town.’
‘Do you know where you are?’
‘Scotland.’
Dr Knox sat back thoughtfully. ‘How very interesting. Do you know when?’
Old training dies hard. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, this is fascinating. We’ll leave it for now, Mr Farrell, but I hope to pick this up again, soon.’
I was a little surprised he let it drop, but Leon nodded, leaned back and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he was asleep. I looked at Dr Knox, who laughed ruefully and said, ‘Am I that boring?’
‘He does this sometimes. He’ll be back in about twenty minutes, and he just picks up where he left off.’
He smiled. ‘He’s lucky to have you.’
‘Finally! A doctor I can agree with.’
‘Shall we step outside? It’s lovely in the garden and then we won’t disturb him.’
He was right. The little walled garden was lovely. Thickly planted with roses, lavender, geraniums, and others I couldn’t name. A little gravel path led to a small fountain. The tinkle of water and a lazily droning bee were the only sounds I could hear.
We sat at a small table.
‘Yes, I love my garden and thought it would be nicer for us both if we fenced out here.’
‘Fenced?’
‘I’ve had a telephone conversation with Dr Foster, who says under no circumstances am I to allow myself to be intimidated by you, and, I warn you now, if you start to get out of hand, I will hit you with a chair. Just so you know.’
‘Duly noted.’
‘I gather he’s not the only one who’s had a tough time recently.’
Not hearing a question, I didn’t reply.
‘What happened to your face?’
‘I was attacked. All healed up now.’
‘Yes, you can barely see the scars any more.’
‘And soon, you won’t be able to see them at all.’
‘Is that what they told you?’
I was certain my expression didn’t change for even a fraction of a second, but I felt the skin tighten around my eyes. I did not like this man. The smiling charm had disappeared and something else had taken its place.
Forcing myself to smile, I said, ‘Oh, I never make the mistake of believing anything doctors tell me.’
‘How wise,’ he said lightly and now the gloves were off. I felt a bit like David and Goliath and unfortunately, this time, Goliath just rolled right over the top of me.
‘So, tell me about your family.’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen them for some time.’
‘Why would you be afraid? Do you regret you haven’t seen them for some time, or do you fear your family?’
‘Neither.’
‘Then why say you’re afraid?’
‘A figure of speech I utilised to soften the blow.’
‘The blow?’
‘You make your living by restoring people to what you consider to be normal behaviour, an occupation I consider to be irrelevant at best and dangerous at worst. Naturally, I’m far too polite to say so and was simply attempting to convey my – lack of faith – in your profession without hurting your feelings.’
‘I’m not sure you achieved your objective, but you must be accustomed to failure.’
‘Oddly enough, making a practice of avoiding the medical profession, politicians, bankers, and similar people has given me a healthy relationship with success.’
‘You have a strange definition of success. You have no contact with your family, were nearly expelled from school on several occasions, there are multiple disciplinary sheets on your file, you are unable to form close relationships, no husband, no children – no living children, I should say – and yet you consider yourself successful. Do you think others share this view? Dr Bairstow for instance?’
‘I have no idea. Perhaps you should ask him.’