Chapter 20
‘Good lunch?’ Emma says as Matthew walks back into the jury room, throwing himself into a chair at the end of the table. He’s struggling to catch his breath, terror still bubbling underneath.
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Russell says, more observant than the irritating woman who’s sucking her fingers with a loud, slurping noise, an almost empty plate of chips in front of her.
‘I’m fine.’ Matthew forces the words out with difficulty. ‘I went for a walk when I suddenly realised the time. Had to run back.’ Despite his best efforts there’s a tremor in his voice.
Someone pushes a glass of water over to him and he gulps it down, nodding his thanks.
The fear inside him gradually subsides. As does the final remnant of his hangover, driven away by the shock.
Though between this and the pulsating heart earlier, last night’s booze must still have some kind of a hold on him.
He’s never had hallucinations like this before. Definitely time to lay off the whisky.
It was so real, though. The stench of the Devil’s breath still lingers in his nostrils, the taste of it on his tongue no matter how much water he swallows to try and wash it away. An early night tonight for sure. He’s going to look after himself properly from now on.
Everyone has returned now and they’re milling around, waiting to be called back into court, which happens punctually at 2 o’clock.
Matthew takes his seat in the jury box, almost fully composed now.
He’s glad to be back. The more boring the evidence they hear this afternoon, the happier he’ll be.
Scientific analysis, maybe, or some data. Numbers will calm him down.
Even more calming is the fact that the blonde is back, sitting in her corner of court again, notebook in hand.
The very sight of her is balm to Matthew’s frayed nerves.
This is the second day she’s come into court now; it means that she’ll be there for the duration.
The creeping doubt he’d had about her return is dispelled – now there’s no rush.
There will come a point when they stand together and they talk, and from then, her place in his life will be assured.
As soon as the thought forms, Matthew shakes his head, laughing under his breath at his absurdity.
She’s just a journalist, that’s all. Nothing to him.
But the tremor in his hands he’s felt since the hallucination at the Witches’ Well has gone. Whatever the woman might mean to him in future, he’s grateful for that.
He glances over at the co-accuseds as he waits for the next witness to come into the courtroom.
Eliza is staring straight ahead, twirling the ends of her fair hair round her finger.
Her expression is calm, no sign of tension in neck or jaw.
Isobel, though . . . As he shifts his gaze towards her, she turns to look at him full on, eyes blazing, her hair moving around her head though the air in the courtroom is still. Matthew swallows.
Before the fear has a chance to conquer him fully again, the macer brings in the next witness.
The man is sworn in. As he says the word God, Matthew shudders, an involuntary movement.
He shakes his head at the irrationality of it, the idea that people would buy into this rubbish of devils and ghosts.
Not him. He’s stopped being scared, the feeling gone with the tremor he’d felt.
Even so, the idea creeps in that maybe he’ll dig out Daisy’s old school Bible when he gets home, just for old times’ sake.
The witness starts speaking and Matthew focuses on what he’s saying, listening intently as he explains that he’s a family doctor who knew the dead girl Christian as his patient for many years, from the first time that he was introduced to her during a medical emergency when she was still a baby.
‘They brought her into the surgery without an appointment,’ he says. ‘I remember it distinctly. I was about to leave for the day, but I heard them in reception. They were in such distress.’
‘Who were in such distress?’
‘The baby’s parents. They lived over the road and had rushed into the surgery with her as she’d gone floppy and unresponsive. I took one look and said that they needed to get an ambulance.’
‘What did you think was wrong with her?’
‘At that stage I didn’t know, but she seemed to have a very high temperature. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a rash on her chest. I was afraid that she might have meningitis.’
‘Did the ambulance arrive?’
‘Yes, very soon after it was called. Christian and her mum were taken into hospital, and her dad made his way separately. I didn’t see her again for another two weeks.’
‘Were you sent any reports from the hospital that treated her?’
‘I was, yes.’
Mr Alexander turns to the judge. He’s holding a sheaf of photocopied pages in his hand. ‘Could a copy be put in front of the witness?’ The judge nods, the macer crosses the court and puts the papers down on the witness box.
‘Is this a copy of the medical records that relate to that incident?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Could you describe what it says, please, bearing in mind that you are addressing a court of laypeople here.’
The doctor nods. The screen in front of Matthew has flashed up with a scan of the records to add to the jury bundle.
He skims through it, grateful for the chance to employ his professional knowledge to bring himself back from the weird unpleasantness he’s just encountered.
Notes, indecipherable to any but medical initiates, a litany of attempted diagnoses and treatments before a phrase pops out at him on the final page of the hospital report.
Kawasaki disease.
Another shudder goes through Matthew. He’s beginning to see the picture emerge.
The doctor explains it well. An acute illness that is usually seen in young children.
A temperature that lasts for days. Red eyes.
Sore mouth. A skin rash. A disease that causes the blood vessels to become inflamed and swollen which can lead to complications in the arteries that supply blood to the heart.
Even with treatment, some children go on to develop complications.
In Christian’s case, myocarditis. An inflammation of her heart muscles, which led to some long-term damage.
Her mother had reported symptoms over the years – fatigue, abdominal pain. Chest pains sometimes. Incidents when Christian’s heart raced with no cause.
Cardiomyopathy. Her heart didn’t pump blood properly. The girl needed to take medication regularly. She had to exercise carefully. She was monitored by the family doctor regularly and on occasion a cardiac specialist as well.
Matthew’s slightly surprised that he’s never come across Christian before.
He knows most of the young heart patients in Edinburgh, or at least that’s how it feels.
She must have been seen by one of his colleagues.
He could always ask around. Then he looks at the judge, her stern demeanour. Perhaps not.
Given he specialises now in surgery and transplants, it’s not surprising he didn’t have dealings with the family. But the trajectory of cardiomyopathy is such that if she’d lived, she’d probably have crossed the threshold of his theatre at one time or another, in need of his life-saving skills.
Sadly, it killed her first.
‘Would she have been advised to avoid stress?’ the advocate depute asks.
‘Yes, where possible. That was a priority and I spoke to her about it every time I saw her. She would come in every six months for a general check-up. I got to know her pretty well, watching her grow up like that.’ The doctor’s voice shakes.
‘She was a lovely girl.’ Another pause while the man composes himself. ‘They’re a lovely family.’
He pauses after he says this, as if to give weight to it. Matthew looks over from him to the girls in the dock. Eliza has her head down, a sombre expression on her face. Isobel is looking straight at the doctor, though, one eyebrow raised as if to disagree.
‘I saw Christian when she was a baby. From her cradle. I didn’t expect I would see her to her grave.’ He shakes his head, putting one hand up to push his glasses up on top of his head, rub his eyes.
For the first time since the trial started, Matthew begins to get a sense of what this is all about.
Not a game where advocates in wigs score points, some battle of wits between paid swordsmen.
It’s about death, and sadness. A life cut far too short.
The hairs lift on the back of his neck, the gravity of it sending shivers over him.
‘Christian started boarding school in Edinburgh at the age of sixteen, as you know, doctor. Did you continue as her GP then?’
‘Yes, I did. Normally, I understand that pupils at the school need to register with an Edinburgh GP. There’s one attached to the school.
Christian did see her for everyday ailments, but I maintained a relationship with Christian and her family throughout.
The continuity was too important in this case to let it go. ’
Mr Alexander nods. He shuffles through the papers in front of him. ‘Was there a time after Christian started school that she said anything to you that caused you particular concern?’
A pause. The doctor blinks, his face a little paler.
‘Yes. She came to see me in the Easter holidays last year, just before she died. I carried out the usual tests on her and everything was as it ought to be, more or less. But at the end of the appointment, as she was about to leave, she turned back and said something.’ He stops.
‘What did she say?’
‘I’d told her that she was doing really well. But she’d seemed quite sad throughout the appointment. Not her usual cheerful self. She was normally very philosophical about the care that she needed to take of herself. This time, though, she was more offhand.’
‘So what did she say at the end of the appointment that gave you concern?’
‘She stopped at the door, turned to me. And she said, “There’s no point in all this, though.” I asked her what she meant, told her that there was every point.
If she took good care of herself there was no reason that she wouldn’t live to a ripe old age.
Even as old as me. I thought she’d laugh, but she shook her head. ’
‘Did she say anything else?’
The doctor’s head is bent, his hands twisting in front of him. Matthew has rarely seen a solid country family doctor in such a state of distress – it’s as disturbing as when he saw his father cry for the first time.
Finally the doctor raises his head, swallows, his Adam’s apple moving up and down.
‘She said that I had been very kind to her over the years, and she thanked me. Then she said, “You won’t see me again. I’ll be dead before summer.
” Before I could ask her what she was talking about, she’d shut the door behind her and gone.
I contacted her parents immediately and they agreed to bring her back into the surgery before term started so that we could sort out whatever this nonsense was.
’ He pauses. Swallows. ‘But I never saw her again.’