Declan pulled Charlie’s woollen hat down as Charlie struggled into his coat. He looked up at Kate and his face looked softer. She tried to smile at him.
‘I could get a takeaway, Kate, open a bottle of wine when we get back?’
In one way, Kate wanted to say ‘yes, let’s do that, let’s spend time together the way we used to,’ but something held her back, and she wasn’t altogether sure it was just her looming report.
’No drink for me, I’m afraid, I’ve a report to do.’
‘Suit yourself.’ She winced at the harshness of his tone.
‘Declan, I’m just—’
‘Busy. Yeah, I know.’
Turning his back to her, Declan took Charlie by the hand, pulling the apartment door shut behind him with a firm bang. Kate cursed under her breath. She knew she’d just missed an opportunity she would most probably regret, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. Heading down the hallway towards the door of her study, the primary task ahead of her was focusing her mind on the report for O’Connor.
Ellie
AS I TAKE MY SEAT IN HIS OFFICE, DR EBBS IS HIS USUAL cheery self. The fact that I have brought the copybook hasn’t gone unnoticed. He tries to disguise his interest by looking the other way, but I’m as good at picking up small details as he is. I notice the slight rise in the right side of his forehead, replaced quickly by a blank expression. He might be worried I didn’t write anything down, or perhaps he’s concerned that what I’ve written in the copybook is something for which he is ill-prepared. Either way, he has chosen to look again at something in my file, apologising, asking me if I could bear with him for a few more moments. I decide to distract myself.
I imagine the two of us swapping chairs: him sitting on the patient’s chair and being just that, patient. I would think the good doctor would be very good at this. If I were sitting in his chair, would I be trying to look intelligent like him? Perhaps if I were looking at him across the desk as my patient, I would be trying to figure out the emotions on his face. Maybe I could work it out from how he sits, how he holds himself, figure out what truth is hidden behind his calm exterior. Perhaps he is able to do all of this with me. He looks up, closes my file. It didn’t take the good doctor long.
‘Well, Ellie, sorry for keeping you there. I just wanted to check a couple of things, hope you didn’t mind.’
I say nothing. I suppose I could smile, but then that might give him the wrong impression.
‘I see you have a copybook with you.’
I could be smart and say, ‘Very observant of you’, but I choose not to.
‘Yes.’
‘And how did you get on? Did you find the process difficult?’
‘Surprising.’
‘Surprising? In what way?’
‘That I wrote anything at all.’
‘And what did you write about?’
‘An ending.’
‘An ending? Not a beginning?’
‘No, not a beginning. You asked me to write about the wrong thing.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes, you asked me to write about the beginning, but the only things that matter are the endings.’
‘Endings?’
‘Yes, there were two. The first when I killed my daughter, the second when I stopped wanting to kill myself.’ His facial expression is one of discomfort, but he retrieves himself well.
‘So what did you write?’
‘Three words.’
‘Three words?’
‘Yes.’
I hand him the copybook. In truth, I don’t want to take responsibility for it anymore. I can see him look over the words, taking plenty of time to allow their impact sink in. I don’t know what I feel now, but it’s a bit like I’m forming a distance between the words in that copybook and the person who sits in this chair.
‘Your words here – “Wexford, Amy, Dead”—’
‘Important three words, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, Ellie, very important. Can you tell me why you chose those three specifically?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Well all three are, as you say, extremely important. But Wexford – even though it is the place your daughter, sorry, Amy, died – is still simply a place. I would not imagine it holds the same weight as the other two.’
‘You underestimate its importance.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes, because if we hadn’t gone there, she might still be alive.’
I can tell he is mulling over this, trying to work out his next question. Perhaps my response was not what he expected. I could help the good doctor here, say something else, but I’m curious which way he is going to turn next.
‘Ellie, I’m confused.’
‘Confused?’
‘Yes. Perhaps I had expected some kind of remorse.’
‘I do feel remorse. If I feel anything, it is remorse. I feel it every living, breathing second of this thing called my life. Remorse and loss are the two things that haunt me most.’
‘But your words, “Wexford, Amy, Dead”, they are so factual, no emotion.’
‘Well she is dead, isn’t she?’ I snap at him.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘So what’s the point in writing anything else down? Other than those three words, nothing else is important.’