Unforgotten by Clare Francis Read Free Book Online Page B

or both.’
    The debate meandered on until, with a symbolic closing of his file, Bavistock said, ‘If I may summarise, Dr Ainsley . . . I put it to you that at the time of the car accident Mr Deacon was already suffering a stress-related illness from his time in the Bosnian War, but that subsequent to the death of his daughter his main problem was, very understandably, a severe grief reaction.’ He raised his eyebrows to make a question of it.
    ‘I disagree. In my opinion it was and is a clear case of PTSD.’
    ‘Surely, the one thing we have agreed on is that it is not a clear case?’
    Ainsley turned his gaze on Tom and said in measured terms, ‘Tom Deacon watched his daughter die in the most appalling circumstances, a trauma that no man of any sensitivity could survive unscathed. Since then, he’s been forced to relive the scene continuously in dreams and flashbacks. Irrespective of any bouts of depression he may have suffered in the past, or of any grief reaction, I repeat that he has one of the clearest cases of severe post-traumatic stress disorder that I’ve ever come across.’ Ainsley looked back at Bavistock with a cool stare, as if to say, beat that.
    There was a heavy pause in which Bavistock adjusted to the fact that he’d been outmanoeuvred, and the judge gazed thoughtfully at Tom, who had lowered his head to conceal a fierce grin. Isabel, leaning forward, saw the grin and exchanged an uncertain glance with Hugh.
    For the next ten minutes Bavistock tried to extract some concessions from Ainsley on Tom’s long-term prognosis – theimpossibility of predicting he would never recover, the wide range of circumstances that might bring about a return to reasonable health – but the points were minor and hard-won, and there was a sense of relief when Bavistock finally sat down and Desmond began his re-examination.
    Tom, his hand covering his mouth, was still concealing a recurrent smile forty minutes later when Ainsley finished his evidence and court rose for the day. As soon as the door had closed behind the judge Tom grinned openly and went to shake Ainsley’s hand and pat him on the shoulder. Then, coming back to Desmond, he demanded excitedly, ‘We did all right on that one, didn’t we, boss?’
    Excitement was something Desmond actively discouraged. Looking stern, he said, ‘Not too bad, Tom. Not too bad. But we still have one or two bridges to cross, you know.’
    ‘Sure! But it went okay. I mean, we scored some good points?’
    Desmond made an equivocal gesture, a lifting of one hand that was partly a postponement of the question, partly a farewell wave as he made for the door with Sanjay in his wake.
    Still desperate for his answer, Tom looked to Hugh and Isabel for confirmation.
    Hugh said, ‘It seemed to go all right, Tom.’
    ‘Yeah?’
    Isabel said earnestly, ‘I thought so too.’
    Taking comfort from this, Tom’s exuberance returned, and as they made their way down into the main hall he said to Hugh, ‘Hey, how about a jar? My treat.’
    ‘I’d love to, Tom, I really would, but I’m hoping to catch the five fifteen.’
    Tom looked surprised. ‘You heading back to Bristol tonight?’
    ‘Yes, I like to get home if I can. But you’ll be all right, will you, Tom?’
    ‘Sure,’ he said on a tense note.
    Isabel, anxious as ever, said in a voice heavy with the effectsof her cold, ‘I’d be happy to have a quick drink, Tom, if you’d like to.’
    Tom shook his head rapidly. ‘No . . .’
    ‘Okay to get back to where you’re staying?’ Hugh asked.
    ‘Yeah. Might take the train this time.’
    ‘Do you want me to come to the station with you?’
    ‘No.’ He gave a hard smile. ‘I’ll think of it like orienteering, but with people as the enemy.’

 
TWO
    A steady drizzle was falling as Hugh drove out of the station car park; he negotiated the traffic through a blur of streaked lights. The approach to the motorway was solid, but once clear of it and into the north-eastern