Catch Your Death

‘Do you like hot chocolate?’ Jack asked Paul intently, as if something mightily important depended on the answer.

‘It’s one of my favourite things in the world – particularly when it comes with squirty cream, and those little marshmallows on top,’ replied Paul, and Jack nodded his approval.

‘Can I have marshmallows and squirty cream on mine tonight?’ he asked Kate, who rolled her eyes but nodded.

Jack and Paul smiled at each other, and something about this little exchange squeezed Kate’s heart. This was scarily close to an old fantasy of hers: of Stephen being the father of her child. Like the family she’d so often dreamt about. But then she shook the fantasy away. It was ridiculous. Reality check, Kate. Stephen’s dead. Paul is his brother but he’s a stranger. And Jack’s father is an arsehole called Vernon.

She needed a coffee badly.

They sat on soft, cracked-leather sofas, Kate and Jack on one side, Paul on the other. Kate sipped her coffee. Paul was agitated, clearly wrestling with a series of questions, unsure of what to ask first. Kate could see that she and Paul were both alike in a lot of ways – used to dealing with computers, data, facts. The scientist and the computer geek – or rather, expert; Paul was too cool to be a classic computer geek, not to mention too good-looking. Put them in the lab or in front of a PC and they were like dolphins in water. Ask them to deal with awkward questions and they floundered and flapped.

She looked at Jack, who was trying to appear grown up as he blew on his hot chocolate.

‘Nice?’ Paul asked him, and he shrugged.

‘No marshmallows,’ he said gloomily, but he hadn’t kicked up a fuss about it, as Kate had feared he might.

She was a good mother. She was sure of that, despite what Vernon said and what Ania the babysitter, and probably all the hotel staff, thought. They probably thought she was an over-protective psycho.

All of a sudden Jack started to waver, and swayed on the sofa. Kate had to take his mug from him, and moments later he closed his eyes and leaned back, falling asleep.

‘He’s a sweet kid,’ Paul said.

‘I know. He’s especially lovely when he’s like this.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You clearly don’t have any children.’

‘No. No nephews or nieces either.’

Kate stroked her sleeping son’s hair. It was so soft, his scalp warm beneath her palm. She shuddered, remembering how terrified she’d been at the thought of losing him. She took a big gulp of coffee.

‘Will you tell me about you and Stephen now?’ asked Paul. ‘Tell me what you remember. Like, how did you meet him? Can you remember that?’

Kate stared into her cup. ‘I do. I remember meeting him, and I remember losing him. It’s a lot of the stuff in between that’s lost.’

‘I’m sorry if I seemed irritable earlier, but I have to admit I don’t get it. It doesn’t sound possible that you could forget so much.’

‘But it is!’

‘Sorry . . .’

‘No, it’s okay. I know it makes me sound stupid. How could I have forgotten the most important summer of my life? It’s amnesia, but I don’t know what caused it.’

‘Have you ever been to see anyone about it, to get help?’

She shook her head. ‘For years, I haven’t wanted to remember. It’s too painful.’

‘So you’ve repressed it?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve been too busy with my work, with bringing up my son. Until I came back to England and saw you, I’d done a pretty good job of forgetting there was even something I was supposed to remember. And now you come here, show me a letter – a literal blast from the past – and ask me to tell you everything. Do you know what it’s like? It’s like when you try to remember the details of a book you read years ago. You remember that you read it. You can still recall a few scenes and the general gist of what it was about, but the rest of it, the details, the ending – it’s all gone, or at least buried so deep that you can’t get to it.’

Kate rubbed at the little scar just by her hairline, putting her fingers under the long side fringe that she had grown to conceal it. Vernon had given her that injury – in one of his monumental rages he had thrown a hardback library book at her retreating back. She had turned round at just the wrong moment, and the book’s sharp, plastic-covered corner had cut her forehead. It had got her three stitches and a very penitent husband – at least for a week or two.

Paul spoke softly. ‘Kate, it’s okay. I’m sorry. After my initial attempts to find out what the letter was all about, I forced myself to put it from my mind too – until today. You’re the only person who can help me find out.’

‘I know.’ She finished her drink.

‘Just tell me what you do remember.’

‘Okay.’ She touched the rim of her coffee cup. ‘We’re going to need more of these though.’

Kate checked that Jack was still fast asleep, and began.

‘It was sixteen years ago. I sat my finals in May, and then – well, I didn’t know what to do for the summer. I remember being out with my friends, still wearing my gown, sitting down on the banks of the river drinking cheap wine. All the other students on my course were delighted to have finished. There was a lot of talk about the future, about jobs and travelling, but I knew I wanted to carry on studying. Virology was my passion, even then. I know it sounds like a weird thing to be passionate about, but there is a reason. I’m digressing though. The important thing is that after my exams, I wanted a rest. Somewhere to recharge my batteries.

‘I remember going back to my Great Aunt’s – I suppose I should explain that my parents had both died when I was little, of a rare virus called Watoto. It probably doesn’t take a psychologist to work out why I ended up studying in that particular field . . .’

‘I’m sorry . . .’

‘My Aunt Lil brought me up, and after my finals I went back to her house in Bath. I remember sitting down one evening after dinner and telling her that I wished I could go away on holiday, but I didn’t have any money, and she said, “Leonard is always looking for volunteers. Why not go and stay there?”’

‘Who was Leonard?’

‘Leonard Bainbridge was an old friend of the family. He was the top man at the CRU. Maybe Stephen told you about him?’

Paul shook his head. ‘He told me very little about his work.’

‘The CRU was the Cold Research Unit, a research centre that was set up by the government after the war. Its remit was to find a cure for the common cold, with the main aim of reducing the economic costs of the virus – caused by absence from work, mostly. It was based just outside Salisbury, on the grounds of a former military hospital.’

‘I remember Stephen going to live in Salisbury. But I thought he was working at that other microbiological research place – Porton Down. That’s in Salisbury too, isn’t it?’

‘It’s in the area, a few miles out of town on the other side. But the CRU was a completely separate establishment. I did some research and found out that it was true that the Unit was always looking for volunteers. They used to advertise in the local paper, promoting a stay at the Unit as a kind of quirky holiday for people who wanted to do their bit for Britain, like Butlin’s with less singing and more sniffing.’

Paul grinned and Kate went on. ‘So, they asked people to go and stay there for ten days to help them with their research. It was free, of course. They’d put you up, feed you, and the worst that could happen would be that you might be given a cold. Not even flu – just an ordinary cold.’

She smiled ruefully. ‘I’d had plenty of colds – and worse – before. I could deal with it. It seemed the perfect solution – a place for me to relax and, because of my interest in viruses and health, I thought I might also be able to do some good by volunteering, and maybe even learn something. Aunt Lil reassured me that the countryside around Salisbury was a really nice place to go for a quiet holiday. You weren’t allowed to talk to other people, apart from the staff, or your room-mate. But that was fine with me; after four years of university, I felt quite happy to not talk to anyone much for a while.’

Paul sipped his coffee and waited for a moment while Kate gathered her thoughts.

‘I didn’t really know Leonard that well, although I’d met him a few times at my parents’ house when I was a little girl, and always liked him. But Aunt Lil phoned him at the Unit and said I wanted to go along as a volunteer. I was listening to her side of the call. It sounded like he was trying to put her off the idea, but she pressed him and he finally gave in. I went at the very beginning of June. It was a beautiful summer that year. Record breaking heat.’

Jack murmured something in his sleep. He had Billy the robot cradled against his stomach – hardly the most cuddly of toys. Kate wondered how long it would be before Jack grew bored of the robot and moved onto the next must-have toy. Or perhaps he’d return his attention to the grubby teddy that went in and out of favour.

‘So anyway,’ she said, ‘I packed my suitcase and took the train to Salisbury.’

‘Which is where you met Stephen?’