Healer by Peter Dickinson Read Free Book Online Page A

after Mrs. Proudfoot took her away, but then they started coming back worse than ever, and all the doctor could think of was to try a different pain-killer. She was useless. I was getting desperate when I heard about this place… “
    â€œWe deliberately do not advertise, Mr. Evans.”
    â€œNo, but my mum was talking to a friend of hers, and this friend’s cousin had been here.”
    â€œDo you know the cousin’s name?”
    â€œSuppose I could find out.”
    â€œGo on.”
    â€œMy mum wasn’t especially interested. In fact, she was saying how stupid it was to think a kid could do anything a trained doctor couldn’t when I guessed it might be Pinkie or someone like her. My mum had got the name wrong, but she’d remembered ‘Harmony’ and she knew it was in Hampshire, so I went to the big library where they have all the telephone books and looked under H and got your address. That’s all.”
    â€œI see. You will forgive my saying so, Mr. Evans, but you do not look or sound the type of young man who has money to burn. What were your reactions on finding how much it would cost you to come here for a session?”
    â€œShook me rigid. So happened I’d got the money. Had a job last summer, see, working the pumps at a big garage, and I’d been keeping it for a bike I wanted …”
    â€œPinkie used to live in a town called Marsden Ash. You wrote from, um, Thursley, which I believe is some eighty miles from Marsden Ash.”
    â€œThat’s right. I’m sorry, but I was desperate to come, and I thought if I put Marsden Ash, somebody might mention it to Mrs. Proudfoot and she’d say no.”
    Mr. Freeman raised his gold eyebrows. He looked amused.
    â€œYou see,” said Barry, “I used to keep an eye on Pinkie at school for Mrs. Proudfoot, spite of our being different ages, and I used to go and have tea with them most weeks. Then all of a sudden Mrs. Proudfoot took against me. It was at Pinkie’s birthday party when she was eight, and I happened to mention it was more than a year since I’d had one of my headaches, and then it came out about Pinkie taking them away. Mrs. Proudfoot threw me out and told me not to come back, and what’s more, Pinkie didn’t come to school again that term and I went on to a different school next term, so I never saw her again. I’m sorry about the address, but like I say, I was desperate to come, and I thought if I put Marsden Ash, somebody might mention it to Mrs. Proudfoot and then she’d say, ‘We’re not having him!’ See? I got a friend I used to have in Thursley to let me use his address.”
    Mr. Freeman’s amusement had become more obvious while Barry was talking. He was clearly enjoying some private joke, though everything Barry had said was true, except for his having started getting his migraines again.
    â€œI think I should have done much the same in your place,” said Mr. Freeman.
    â€œOh … well, I mean …”
    â€œAnd you worked at a garage to earn your fee?”
    â€œIt wasn’t …”
    â€œBut it turned out to be the case. You wouldn’t have asked your family for the money?”
    â€œDad couldn’t afford it. He was out of work eighteen months, and now he’s on a lower salary than he used to get. And my mum would be furious if she knew. She’d think it was a complete waste of money.”
    â€œI see. Suppose your father had been able to afford the fee and suppose your mother had felt differently…”
    â€œNo. I’d still have wanted it to be my thing.”
    â€œI find your attitude impressive, Mr. Evans. It is sad that in this money-obsessed age we find we get our best results by asking our clients to produce a substantial fee, often near the limit of what they can afford, to demonstrate their commitment to our work. And of course, we need the money for the work. But we do run