‘No we don’t,’ she said scornfully. ‘We do drawing or read a book.’ On a par with waiting for a bus by the sound of it.
‘Hold this.’ She thrust her lunch box, book bag and PE things at me.
Maddie was always the pits after school.
I turned to Tom, who was wrestling with his coat, and sorted him out.
‘We did puppets.’ He held up a navy sock with felt eyes and ears glued on to it. The ears were triangular. There were no other distinguishing features.
‘Is it a cat?’
‘No,’ he grinned, ‘it’s a sock monster.’ Of course.
‘Come on,’ Maddie yelled, ‘I’m getting soaking here.’
We were all soaked by the time we got back. I hung clothes on radiators to steam and provided warm drinks and crumpets. I left the kids with theirs in front of the telly while I went to chop vegetables: carrots, onions, turnips, beans. We’ve a big kitchen – the whole house is big, a Victorian semi, redbrick and stained glass. But originally there’d been a dining room and a scullery-size kitchen. The owner of the house had knocked the two together. In the centre there’s a huge oval table, soft light wood. Ray made it. His pride and joy. I seem to spend half my life at that table. Sun streams in the kitchen most of the day in the summer. In mid-February it doesn’t. I drew the blinds and turned on the lamps and lights.
A gentle snore from under the table told me Digger the dog was still alive. I returned to my chopping and sifted through people I could usefully talk to about Lily Palmer before I went to see Homelea for myself. I came up with two. I set some of the vegetables to simmer and tried the phone.
Rachel, the social worker who was a friend of a friend, was away on a training day. I dialled the other number.
Moira answered the phone with the same brusque voice that had alienated so many potential patients. Those who’d stuck it out beyond first impressions discovered a dedicated GP with a genuine concern for their wellbeing. She’d a healthy mistrust of drug companies and unnecessary medical intervention. She often referred people to alternative therapies, sent them off to the homeopathic clinic in Manchester or to try acupuncture. She was not popular with the medical establishment. Her surgery was always full to bursting. She never bothered with appointments, her method of actually listening to people and giving them space to talk put paid to any notion of time-management. We didn’t mind waiting. It was worth it.
‘Sal,’ she barked, ‘how are you? Well?’
‘I’d like a chat. I need to do a bit of research for a case I’m working on. When are you free?’