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Tom kissed Trish and they sat down together on the sofa in the visiting area at St Martin’s hospital.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Yes, fine thank you. And you?’
‘OK, thanks. Sorry, I didn’t come over the other day, I had to sort out the storm damage at the house. It was a nightmare getting hold of anyone as so many people had the same problem.’
‘Yes, someone said a couple of trees got blown down here,’ replied Trish.
‘So, any news?’ prompted Tom.
‘Not a lot, but the Adult Mental health team think I’m doing well. They actually suggested I might be able to come home for short periods, not to live at home but just to see how I manage for a few hours.’
‘Oh,’ replied Tom. He had been dreading this visit. Since reading Trish’s notebook, he’d had hardly any sleep. His mind had been a maelstrom of conflicting emotions so that in the small hours of the morning he couldn’t think in any logical way.
‘You seem worried? Is something wrong?’
Tom nodded.
‘What is it? Are you ill?’
‘No, not ill, but I think I’ve made some misjudgements.’
Trish frowned. ‘Has something happened at work? Did you make a mistake?’
‘No, not at work.’ Tom put his head in his hands. He had thought long and hard about this conversation for days. He had been racked with self-doubt since reading the notebook, and it had been eating away at him, festering inside him. Perhaps he shouldn’t say anything at all until he had spoken to someone in an official capacity? He’d done lots of research and reading on the Internet over the last few days, but the situation was still far from clear.
He looked up. Trish was staring straight ahead, absently picking at her skin graft on her arm.
‘I’ll try to explain.’ Tom sighed. ‘Some stuff in the loft got wet, and I had to sort through it. There were some folders of yours from your counselling.’
‘Oh, they can be thrown away, I’d forgotten they were there.’
‘Sure you don’t want them?’
‘No, just dump them.’
‘OK, I will. But there were also some school notebooks.’
‘Really?’ said Trish.
Tom looked at her carefully to see whether she appeared perturbed but she remained calm.
‘They are rather brown and tatty, but some have survived.’
‘You can get rid of them, I don’t want them,’ she said dismissively.
‘I had a flick through them, I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Well, it hardly matters does it as you’ve already looked at them,’ said Trish pointedly.
‘No, that’s true. I was struck by your beautiful plant sketches.’
Trish shrugged.
‘Not only that, you made lots of notes about the plants and I realised you have been interested in gardening for much longer than I thought.’
Trish smiled. ‘My father was a good gardener. A horrible man but good with plants.’
‘The thing is, Trish, all the plants you sketched were poisonous ones. In fact, you made notes about which parts were the most toxic, how to use them to make people ill. In some cases, how to actually kill people with them.’
Trish looked him straight in the eye. ‘Some plants are very dangerous, everyone knows that.’
‘Well, some people do, but you had a fascination with poisons. And you admit killing the squirrels in that way.’
‘Squirrels are pests, you are allowed to kill them.’
‘Yes, that’s true, but I’m worried.’
‘Worried? How?’
‘That in the past you used poisons on people.’ He waited to see whether this would prompt Trish to elaborate. It didn’t.
‘When I came to visit you in prison you mentioned something about cakes and there being nothing wrong with the ones you sent to Gina, that’s right isn’t it?’
Trish nodded.
‘But you never said anything about another time? It made me wonder, that’s all. Whether you had tried to poison someone with cakes before?’
‘I think you might be getting a bit carried away, Tom,’ said Trish.
‘Perhaps,’ he replied. It was clear that he wouldn’t receive the answers he wanted. Since his discovery he had constantly asked himself whether he was getting carried away with his own thoughts. He was still having trouble processing everything that had happened, and he had to admit it might be clouding his judgements.
‘Can we talk about your father?’
‘I don’t want to. He was a complete bastard. I hated him!’
‘Do you think his heart might have been affected by one of his plants in the garden? Wolf’s Bane for instance?’
‘Look, it wasn’t my fault if he was careless in the garden with the plants. He shouldn’t have grown the Wolf’s Bane.’
‘Trish, did you kill your father?’
‘No I did not. Why? Do you think I did?’
Tom waited for what seemed like ages but was probably only twenty seconds or so.
‘I don’t know what I think. I know you used plants to drug Gina, and to make her sick. You also experimented on your guinea-pigs. It makes me wonder if you took things one stage further.’
‘We’ve been married so long and been through so much together, and yet you are making accusations like this.’ Trish shook her head.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I did offer you the chance to have a fresh start, yet you said you wanted to stay with me. Does this mean you have changed your mind?’
‘I don’t know what I want at the moment. I need to think about our life together.’
‘Well, perhaps you had better go. You’ve already said enough.’
‘If that’s what you want?’
‘I’m not going to beg you to stay with me, Tom. Perhaps it’s for the best.’
‘OK, well, I’ll go.
‘You really think they can prosecute me for my father’s death over thirty years ago?’
‘No, of course not but it’s changed my view of what happened by the railway line.’
‘And what is your view of what happened?’
‘I think you really wanted to kill Gina. You weren’t trying to commit suicide.’
‘Well, you are entitled to your opinion,’ she replied coldly.
‘Bye Trish. I will come again. We can’t leave it like this, but I just need some time. Is that alright?’
‘Of course. Bye.’
They kissed once more. Tears were flowing from Tom’s eyes, but his wife’s were dry.
He said goodbye to the staff and wandered back to his car. At some point, but not today, he would share his discoveries with someone at the hospital and possibly also with the police. The tragic events in Trish’s life had played out over several decades and were continuing to haunt both of them. Perhaps they would never really know the truth. One thing was certain, Trish’s desire for her form of justice, had left a trail of destruction which could never be repaired or undone. Was she a victim, a perpetrator or even a psychopath? Probably all three in some measure. She had crossed the lines of what was acceptable in society, would she ever be fit to live freely amongst people again? Just at that moment, he didn’t know the answer as he drove back to the sanctuary of what was for the moment their shared marital home.
