Dr Derek Wix, GP to Ivy House, sat in the staffroom drinking tea and eating the bacon sandwich they had brought to him. He had revised the dosage of Mr Parmiter’s tablets, given an antibiotic for Miss Lemmen’s ear infection, and signed the death certificate for Martha Serrailler.
‘You checking up on me?’ he mumbled through a mouthful of bread as Chris Deerbon walked in.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Derek Wix was a good doctor and a morose and curt man. His patients seemed to like him. Chris and Cat had often wondered why.
‘Your sister-in-law … it wasn’t the chest infection as such.’
‘Heart?’
Wix nodded, slurping tea. ‘You want to see her?’
‘I’ll go in of course. But you’re the GP – whatever you say,
Derek.’ Derek Wix stood. ‘Staff seem cut up.’
‘They loved her. They looked after her so well.’
‘Best thing though.’
‘Of course … just don’t say that in front of anyone else.’
‘Richard will agree. Always told me she shouldn’t be here.’
Chris had no doubt that his father-in-law would have said just that many times. ‘Still … point is, if someone loves them, they’re –’
‘Point is, to get them before they start barking. Give them nothing, no affection, no attention … what are you left with? Sarah’s working in an orphanage in Thailand, did I tell you? No one loves those poor little sods. Never have. They turn into animals.’
He stalked out.
Chris had to remind himself that Derek Wix had a charming wife and three daughters, including Sarah, who had qualified as a doctor the previous summer and gone straight out to work in the Far East.
Shirley Sapcote came down the corridor as Chris went towards Martha’s room. Her eyes were red.
‘God rest her beautiful soul, she’s an angel with the angels. She never did a wrong thing or said a bad word in her life, Dr Deerbon, and how many can you say that about? Newborn babies, that’s all, and that’s what she was. Innocent as that.’
‘You’re right. I know how fond you were of her and how well you’ve looked after her. We all do.’
Shirley followed him into the room. ‘As soon as I looked at her I knew. I didn’t have to touch her. You know how it is, Doctor.’
‘I do.’
‘She seemed OK yesterday, happy, you know … I knew when she was happy. Everybody saw her, except Dr Cat of course … How is she, Dr Deerbon?’
‘Tired of waiting … and now upset about this of course.’
‘Yes … but I tell you what, it’ll be the Inspector who takes it hardest. It was ever so touching, seeing him with her, hearing him talk to her. He’ll be the one.’
Chris stood beside Martha’s bed. Death, as ever, flattered to deceive. Apart from the deep stillness she might have been sleeping. But death had no work to do here in smoothing out the lines of age and trouble, for Martha had had none. Her skin was a baby’s, her hair fine-spun, her expression bland and smooth and, as Shirley had said, entirely innocent – innocent of experience, of knowledge, of wrongdoing, of emotion – of life.
Cat Deerbon had seen Sam and Hannah into Philippa Granger’s car – the Grangers were their nearest neighbours and Philippa had cheerfully taken on the school run for the last few weeks. She had cleared the breakfast things from the table, wiped it, loaded the dishwasher and got out a tin of food for Mephisto. As she bent down to put his dish on the floor, water flooded down her legs and made a pool on the tiles. Cat gave a sigh of relief and pulled the telephone towards her across the work surface.
‘Hi, babe.’
‘Chris, you need to ring Carol Standish.’
Carol was the locum who had replaced Cat for her maternity leave. She was new to Lafferton, seemed efficient, pleasant but slightly cold. They were lucky to get her, locums were becoming hard to find.
‘She’s not in this morning.’
‘She will be now. I’m in labour.’