In the Night Wood

“Warmly, I hope,” Charles ventured.

“Of course. You’ll find the natives friendly enough, I think.”

“Did you grow up here?” Charles asked.

“Born and bred. My training eroded my accent somewhat; for good or ill I am uncertain.”

“Then you knew our benefactor?” Erin asked.

“Only in a professional sense. I took on Dr. Marshall’s practice ten years ago, when he retired. Mr. Hollow needed little care. He came of hardy stock. He lived to ninety-seven, and I doubt he was ill a day of it until the final crisis overtook him. He was a reclusive man. Cillian Harris attended to most of his affairs.”

“You’ll find us more approachable, I hope,” Charles said.

“I’m sure I will.” Colbeck cleared his throat. “Let’s have a look at that ankle.”

He knelt and took the ankle in question into his big hands. Erin winced, the pain brief but not insignificant. Then Colbeck was saying, “You appear to have a sprain, Mrs. Hayden, and a minor one at that. You should be up and around in a day or two. In the meantime” — he opened his bag, which, despite the rank of shiny instruments on view, disgorged nothing more sinister than an ankle brace — “in the meantime,” he said, “you seem to be doing the right things. Rest and elevation and ice, though no more than twenty minutes at a stretch. Compression” — he held up the brace — “helps as well, and you’ll need some support when you get back on your feet. Easy enough, yes? I can fetch some crutches from the car, if you like.”

“Why don’t you —” Charles started to say, but Erin overrode him.

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“I think so, too. The brace should be sufficient. Weight is the key. What your ankle wants is weight. Twenty-four hours, and then you’ll start trying to get up and around, won’t you. You can alternate paracetamol and ibuprofen for pain every two hours or so. Three or four days and you’ll be good as new.”

He leaned over to close his bag, and that was when his gaze fell on the photograph. “Oh my, she’s a lovely young girl. Your daughter, I presume.”

“Yes,” Charles said. “Our daughter. Lissa. Back home.”

The words hung in the air like undetonated bombs. Erin could not speak, but if Colbeck noticed anything, he didn’t acknowledge it. He just snapped the bag closed and stood, saying, “Nobody mentioned anything about a daughter.”

8 (#ulink_49b8ac44-786e-52f0-b4b5-0ced3e08da53)

Charles saw Colbeck out.

In the front yard, the doctor said, “What happened to your daughter, Mr. Hayden?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your daughter. She must be, what, five, six at the most? One doesn’t usually leave a child that age behind when one plans an indefinite stay abroad.” He turned to look at Charles, his eyes knowing.

Charles stared back, something tightening in his chest. “I’m not sure it’s anything for you to concern yourself with, Doctor.” Just at the edge of rudeness, maybe a hair across.

If Colbeck noticed, he didn’t seem to care. He said, “You may have noticed that your wife had twenty-two vials of medication on that table, Mr. Hayden. I counted. You may also have noticed how remote Yarrow is. Unless you intend to drive to a surgery in Ripon every time you have a head cold, I’m likely to be your physician. It is in fact my business to know.”

Colbeck held Charles’s gaze. Charles looked away, surveying the green mass of the Eorl Wood. “She died,” he said.

“And your wife?”

“She hasn’t adjusted well. She blames me. There was an accident.”

“An accident?”

“And that really isn’t your business, Dr. Colbeck.”

Colbeck didn’t push it, though Charles, still staring at the wood, could sense his scrutiny. After a time, he said, “How long ago did this happen?”

“Almost a year ago. I could name the time to the day and hour if you must know. In your capacity as my physician.”

Colbeck didn’t take the bait. He sighed. After a time, he said, “I can offer you little in the way of comfort. I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m very, very sorry. Words are inadequate. But your stay here won’t heal matters between you and your wife. It may not heal at all, and if it does, it will leave a scar, quite a bad one. Sometimes marriages survive the loss of a child, more often not. In cases where one spouse blames the other …” Colbeck shrugged. “In the meantime, it might help to talk about it.”

“Erin was seeing a counselor at home.”

“And you?”

“No.”

“Perhaps you should consider it.”

“Perhaps.”

“I can give you the names of some good people. You’ll have to drive into Ripon for that, but I think the trip might be worth it.”

“That would be fine.”

“But you won’t go.”

“No.”

“Your wife —”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, I’ll ring you with the names all the same,” Colbeck said.

Charles turned to face him. “I should check on Erin now.”

Colbeck nodded. “Ice, twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off, Mr. Hayden. Try to get her up and moving tomorrow. It will be tender for a while.”

“Yes.”

“Good afternoon, then.”

“Thank you for coming out.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Colbeck paused. “At the risk of overstepping my bounds, Mr. Hayden, may I offer you two further pieces of advice before I go?”

“Why not?”

“In the matter of your wife, I counsel patience. These things take time. Fits and starts. Two steps forward, one step back is the rule. But even such halting progress gets you there in the end.”