Cath Staincliffe - Go Not Gently

‘Probably very nutritious,’ I said.

‘It was revolting. Anyway I had to go out today. I ran out of biscuits.’

Diane is a foodie. Any food. Health food, junk food. And most of all sweet food. She’s also fat, her word for it. She gave up dieting in her teens and now she’s completely comfortable about her size. Big and bold about it, she wears bright, patterned clothes which she runs up on an old treadle sewing machine.

We arranged to meet up at our usual local for a drink the following night.

While I was in phone mode I rooted out Agnes’ number and rang her. I told her I’d seen Lily, passed the clothes on, that she’d been fairly sleepy. I didn’t go into exactly what Lily had said, I felt it might be less upsetting to Agnes if I told her face to face that Lily felt abandoned.

‘I asked about seeing Dr Montgomery, the consultant, but they only allow next of kin. Have you spoken to Lily’s son?’

‘Charles? No.’

‘You could find out what he’s been told and see if he’s any plans to see Dr Montgomery. It might be worth asking if he’ll nominate you as another close contact, with him being so far away.’

‘Yes. I’ll try him tonight.’

‘I can pop round tomorrow and fill you in on my visit and you can tell me what he says then.’

Thursday dawned with a layer of snow two inches deep. Rare for Manchester, though the outlying hills get their fair share. The kids were delirious, out in wellies, coats and pyjamas before breakfast, scraping snow together to make a snowman. They weren’t making much progress. I went out and gave them a hand – showed them how to roll a snowball round, make it bigger and bigger. The snow was just right, made that delicious squeaking sound when we squashed it. We created a very short snowman complete with pebble eyes, a carrot nose and a baseball hat.

Ray took Maddie and Tom to school and was busy in the cellar when I set off to see Agnes.

As soon as I was in the room she crossed to the sideboard, opened a drawer and took something out. She came over and handed me a bottle of tablets. ‘I found these,’ she said, ‘Lily’s tablets.’

‘Where?’

‘She has these little boots, fur-lined. They were inside one of them.’

‘Do you think she’d hidden them?’

Agnes shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She kept the boots near the bed, like spare slippers, the bottle could have been knocked off. I didn’t find them till I was sorting through her other things.’

‘Dr Goulden will be relieved.’

‘I don’t want you to tell him.’

‘Why?’

‘Look.’ She pulled another bottle from her pocket. ‘These are the same thing, thioridazine – I had them for a while myself – but Lily’s are different, the colour and the markings.’

I took a tablet out of each bottle. True, they were different colours, Lily’s were a pale yellow while Agnes’ were white. ‘They could be a different dosage,’ I said, ‘or made by different manufacturers.’ I looked again at the labels on the bottles. Both said they were 25 mg. ‘They are the same strength but as far as I know doctors deal with different drug companies and some use cheaper versions of the more famous brands. I’m sure that’s all it is, the same thing from different places.’

‘Can you check,’ Agnes asked, ‘that they are what they say?’

‘You think they might have made a mistake with the prescription?’

‘It’s possible.’

I put the tablets back and screwed up the lids. ‘It would explain why Goulden was so anxious when they went missing. And why Lily got worse. Maybe that’s it – an awful mistake and he’d only just realised…I’ll have them analysed. I think I know someone who could get them into a lab.’ I slipped the bottle into my coat pocket.

Agnes sat down. I began to tell her about my visit to Kingsfield. ‘Lily didn’t say very much. The medication she’s on makes her sleepy. But she mentioned you.’

‘She did?’ Pleasure lit her eyes.

‘Yes, she was worried you wouldn’t visit. Perhaps she’s aware it’s harder for you to get to. She said Agnes won’t come. I explained you were busy and told her I was sure you’d come when you could.’

Agnes nodded, her face slightly flushed.

‘Oh, and she said Nora had been to see her.’

Agnes started. ‘Nora. What Nora?’

‘I’m sure she said Nora. After she talked about you not coming she said Nora came.’

Bright red spots bloomed on Agnes’ cheeks. ‘There’s no Nora,’ she said emphatically, ‘she’s talking nonsense.’

‘Perhaps it’s one of the other patients,’ I suggested.

Agnes toyed with her brooch, a gold spray of lily of the valley. I wondered whether she wore them to satisfy that nervous tic, like people who are lost without earrings to fidget with or those who keep their hair long so they can twirl it round their fingers.

‘The staff seem very nice,’ I broke the silence, ‘although it feels much more like a hospital than Homelea. Lily’s in a room with three other beds but I didn’t meet any of the other patients.’

‘Yes,’ she said. She gazed at the flames that were licking the fake coal. She seemed a million miles away. Unlike the determined woman who insisted I take the case.

‘Agnes, is everything all right?’

‘Yes.’ She shook herself from her reverie.

‘Did you speak to Charles?’

‘Yes. Mrs Valley-Brown rang him on Tuesday to let him know about the transfer. She told him there was no cause for alarm, that Lily had become difficult to manage and the care she needed could best be provided at the hospital. He didn’t think there was anything untoward about the haste.’

‘What about naming you as a nearby contact?’

She sighed. ‘He’s coming up tomorrow to visit and he’ll see Dr Montgomery then. He said he’d ask about it. Charles has no objection.’

What should my next move be? I should probably go back to Homelea and try to find out more about the night of Lily’s move and Dr Goulden’s outburst over the tablets. I could also accompany Agnes to Kingsfield, chat to the staff about Lily’s condition.

‘When are you going to see her?’ I asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Agnes. ‘If Charles is going tomorrow I may leave it till Saturday.’ She was less then keen.

‘We could go up together,’ I suggested. ‘I don’t know what time would suit me yet but I can ring you.’

‘Yes.’ She rose from her chair.

‘Meanwhile I’ll pop into Homelea and see what I can find out.’

She saw me to the door. Said goodbye. I was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of working for Agnes. She blew hot and cold about the case; urging me to get the tablets checked one minute and going all vague and dreamy on me the next. I felt she was being evasive with me whereas I’d originally found her to be forthright and honest. Was it a false first impression or had something happened to change her?

Diane was settled with a drink in our favourite corner when I arrived at the pub. It’d been our watering hole for years and to date the brewery had resisted the temptation to turn a perfectly pleasant local boozer into some theme pub for the younger end of the market. Consequently it was quiet enough for us to have a good chat and you could always get a seat. The beer was good too. Creamy Boddies kept just cool enough by the landlord.

I bought a pint and joined Diane.

‘You look brighter than you sounded,’ I remarked.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Good news.’

‘What?’

She grinned.

‘Go on!’

‘I’ve got a show,’ she beamed.

‘What! Where?’

‘The Cornerhouse.’

‘Oh, Diane.’

‘Three weeks, first-floor gallery.’