Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

But I wasn’t most people.

As well as a scar on my stomach, the knife attack at my flat had left me without a spleen. That weakened my immune system, which meant I had to take prophylactic antibiotics every day for the rest of my life. Most of the time it wasn’t a problem: I’d recover from colds and bugs like anyone else. But there was always a risk that an infection could flare up into something called overwhelming post-splenectomy infection, or OPSI. It was rare, but when it happened it could happen fast.

And it could be fatal.

I got to my feet, the weakness in my legs another sign of my stupidity. I was supposed to be a GP, for God’s sake, I should have known better than to ignore the warning signs. Now what had just been a frustrating day had turned into something very different.

I felt weak and unsteady as I went to open the car boot. My work often involved travelling — or at least it had — sometimes to places even more isolated than this, so I kept emergency antibiotics permanently packed. Amoxicillin was a broad-spectrum antibiotic, much stronger than the penicillin I took every day. Neither would be any use if this was a virus, but they’d help fight off a bacterial infection.

I swallowed the pills down with a bottle of water from the supply I also carried in the boot, then collapsed back on to the driver’s seat again while I debated what to do. If this developed into OPSI then I needed to be in a hospital. On the other hand, it might still prove to be no more than an annoying virus I’d shake off with no ill-effects.

The problem was there was no way of knowing. At the moment I didn’t feel ill enough to go to hospital, but that could soon change. Especially if I sat around for much longer in wet clothes. All right, then . I quickly ran through my options. Going back to London obviously wasn’t an option, and neither was sitting around out here any longer. My head throbbed as I stood up. I waited for the light-headedness to pass and then set off along the gravel footpath running through the trees.

Up close, Trask’s house was even more striking, angular and contemporary, with weathered cedar walls designed to blend in with the natural environment. The concrete pilings raising it off the floor might make it flood-proof, but they also meant I’d a flight of steps to climb up to the front door. I felt as weak as a baby as I hauled myself to the top, pausing to catch my breath before knocking on the oiled wood. I heard the dog barking from inside, and a moment later Trask opened the door.

He didn’t seem overjoyed to see me. ‘Is the recovery here?’

‘No, I... there’s been a change of plan. Is there a hotel nearby?’

‘A hotel?’ Trask sounded as though that were an alien concept. ‘I’ve no idea. I don’t think so.’

‘What about a B and B? Or a pub?’

‘No, not for miles. Why? Don’t tell me you’re turning this into a holiday?’ Some of his irritation faded as he looked at me. His frown deepened. ‘Are you all right? You look bloody awful.’

‘I’m fine, it’s... it’s just a bug.’ I played my last card: after this I was out of ideas. ‘We passed a house on the way here, a holiday rental. Do you know who owns it?’

If the owners were local and prepared to let it out for a few nights then I could rest up until the antibiotics kicked in. Part of me knew I was being stupid, gambling that I wasn’t going to get worse rather than make a fuss. But I’d deal with that if it happened.

Trask was looking at me uncertainly. ‘The old boathouse, you mean?’

I nodded, relieved. ‘Do you know whose it is?’

‘It’s ours.’ He seemed taken aback. ‘My wife was renovating it.’

At another time I might have picked up that something was wrong, but right now it took all my energy just keeping upright. ‘I know this is an imposition, but can I stay there tonight? I’ll pay for a full week,’ I added, seeing his reluctance.

He looked away, running a hand through his hair. ‘I’m not... it isn’t really ready.’

‘It doesn’t matter. If there’s a bed and some heating, that’ll be enough.’

Trask still didn’t seem happy. But then he looked at me again, and whatever he saw must have decided him.

‘Wait here, I’ll go and get Rachel. She knows more about it than I do.’

With that he closed the door, leaving me standing outside. I felt too wretched to care, assuming he didn’t want me passing whatever I’d got on to his family. I leaned back against the wall, resting my head against the weathered timber. It seemed a long time before the door opened again. This time it was Trask’s wife. The attractive features were set in unforgiving lines, and the green eyes were cold as she faced me.

‘Andrew says you want to rent the boathouse.’

‘Just for the night.’

‘Bad case of man flu, is it?’ She handed me a set of car keys. ‘Here, go and wait in the car while I get some things together. You can put the heater on.’

Feeling too drained to be embarrassed, I trudged back through the copse to where the cars were parked. Trask’s wife hadn’t said which of them we were going in, but the keys had an electronic fob, so it wasn’t the antiquated white Defender. I climbed into the newer grey Land Rover, feeling a touch of déjà vu at the memory of the car I used to drive as I started the engine. While I waited for the heater to warm up I took out my phone to cancel the recovery. I hated causing Trask and his family any more trouble, but it wasn’t as though I had much choice.

I called Jason after the recovery service to let him know I wasn’t going to be able to make it to the Cotswolds. He was sceptical at first, assuming it was just an excuse to duck the party, but something in my voice must have convinced him. Watch yourself, he told me, sounding concerned. I said I would, aware that I’d left it a little late for that. I was putting away my phone when Trask’s wife reappeared. She was carrying a cardboard box and bags of what I guessed were towels and bedding. I got out of the car, a reflexive action to help, but she brusquely shook her head.

‘I can manage.’

It was perhaps as well. While she bad-temperedly dumped her parcels into the back of the Land Rover, I collected my laptop and travel bag from the car. My legs felt like water.

‘That it?’ she asked when I came back. ‘Come on then.’

Despite the car heater I was still shivering as we set off. She didn’t speak but communicated her disapproval every time she changed gear. The silence built until I had to say something.

‘Sorry for putting you to all this trouble.’

‘It’s a holiday let. That’s what it’s for.’

Another emphatic gear change. I tried again. ‘I honestly didn’t know who owned the boathouse when I asked about it.’

‘Would it have made any difference?’

‘I’m just... I was hoping to get out of your way.’

‘Yeah, that’s worked out well, hasn’t it?’

Her face in profile was angry and uncompromising. I’d no idea why she was so upset, but I’d had enough.

‘Look, forget about the boathouse. Just... drop me off anywhere.’

‘So now you’ve changed your mind?’

Jesus . ‘Just pull over. I’ll get out here.’

There was nothing except marshland and fields either side of the creek, but I didn’t care. She frowned.

‘Now you’re being ridiculous. I can’t leave you in the middle of nowhere.’

‘Then drop me somewhere I can get a taxi. The town, anywhere, I don’t care.’

She glanced across at me. I tried to stop shivering but couldn’t. ‘You don’t look good,’ she conceded.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, knowing I was being stupid as well as stubborn.

Trask’s wife didn’t respond. She carried on driving for a while before she spoke. ‘This isn’t just a cold, is it?’