Strange Sally Diamond

‘I’m sorry, I should choose my words more carefully. But, Sally, it was then that Mark became obsessed again. Elaine said he went to Tom’s funeral. And then, against her advice, started looking for jobs in Carricksheedy. He was desperate to connect with you. Elaine even called his parents in France and discovered that his mother had died. His father, your grandfather, was shocked at the news of you, but he felt that the fact you had disposed of your father the way you did was proof that you were as dangerous as Conor Geary. He called Mark and told him to leave you alone, but Mark wouldn’t be stopped. His father asked Elaine to intervene.’

‘This still doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t he tell me who he was?’

‘I don’t know. But, Sally, you have to wonder what he wants. Did he merely want to get to know you? Or find out more about what happened to his sister, trying to read your dad’s files? Or is he looking for clues to find Conor Geary? He was so capable of fooling us all.’

‘What if he wanted all of those things? If he’s Denise’s brother, my uncle –’ the word sounded strange from my mouth – ‘well then, I think he has a right to see those files.’

‘He’d be hurt to find that he’s not mentioned in them.’

‘Maybe. But he has a right to the truth, doesn’t he? I’m going to call him and confront him with all of this.’

‘Elaine is worried about him. He’s not answering the phone to her either. I called Mervyn Park this morning. He’s called in sick.’

‘Tina talked to me about instinct and gut feeling. I think he was genuinely concerned for me, but there were times when he got intense and that made me nervous. What do you think, as a doctor?’

‘I can’t tell you as a doctor – first, because he was never my patient, and second, because even if he was, I couldn’t tell you. But as an outside observer, and having had long conversations back and forth with Elaine over the last twenty-four hours, I think at the very least he needs professional help. He hasn’t committed any crime. I feel sorry for him, if anything.’

‘I’ll text him. He probably won’t answer my call.’

I sent him a message. I know you are my uncle. We need to talk. Please call me.

‘Angela, I don’t want to stay in this house any more. I don’t feel safe. Nadine said the cottage would be ready to move into next month. Can’t I move in sooner?’

42 Peter, 1985

Necrotic hominoid contagion did not exist. The doctor I visited in Auckland wanted me to go for a psychiatric evaluation.

‘You’re absolutely sure there is no such thing?’

‘Where did you even hear about it?’ the doctor asked me. ‘Are your parents outside?’

‘It’s a rare disease, you might not have heard of it?’

‘You believe that you cannot touch another human being? Seriously, where are your parents?’

‘They’re parking the car.’

‘Did they tell you –’

‘What about the Boy in the Bubble?’ I interrupted her.

‘That poor boy in Texas? I think he has an auto-immune disease. Your skin looks fine to me. Do you want to take off your hat and gloves and maybe your jacket, sweater and shirt, and I’ll have a closer look?’

‘No!’

‘I promise I won’t touch you. I’ll put on surgical gloves, to be doubly safe.’

I was incredibly tense as I removed my hat and my long hair came spilling out of it, and my gloves revealed sweating hands. I pulled my vest over my head and she walked around me. ‘I don’t see any abscess, lesion, wound. No scarring anywhere. Do you mind if I check your heartbeat with a stethoscope?’

She pushed a cold metal disc to my chest and listened. ‘A little fast, because I guess you’re nervous, but totally within the normal range.’

I persisted. ‘But maybe you haven’t heard of it? It’s probably referred to as NHC?’

‘Believe me, at med school, the weirder the condition the more interested we were. If this thing, necrotic something contagion, if it did exist, everyone would know about it.

‘Peter,’ she went on, using my old name, the one I’d used to make the appointment, ‘have you ever been seen by a psychiatrist?’

‘Do you mean that I won’t die if I touch another person’s skin?’

‘I mean that nothing, nothing will happen at all. Want to try?’ She took off her gloves.

‘What if you’re wrong?’

‘Should we wait for your parents?’ She gestured to the half-empty parking lot outside her window.

‘I’ve had this condition since I was born,’ I said.

‘What did you say your address was again?’

I had given a false address in Auckland when I registered with the receptionist. Dr Bergstrom held the form out in front of her. In a hurry, I put my clothing back on, and my hat and gloves. ‘I’m going to go and find my folks,’ I said, backing towards the door. She tried to detain me, leaping up from her desk.

‘Please wait,’ she said. ‘I do think you need help, but not the kind –’ She reached out and touched my face with her ungloved hand. I contained my scream and shot out of the door, through the waiting room and ran down the street so disorientated that it took me ten minutes to find the car.