Dying to Help (Anna McColl Mystery Series Book 1) by Penny Kline

Author:Penny Kline [Kline, Penny]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2016-09-13T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

For some reason I had failed to tell Martin about the seminar on Munchausen’s Syndrome. I wasn’t sure why, but perhaps it had something to do with the way he had responded when I told him how Owen Hughes had suggested where I might find funding for my research project. I liked Martin but he could be so negative, so cynical. It was part of his personality, nothing to do with the children keeping him awake at night. That was my considered opinion, only of course I knew nothing of what it felt like to be deprived of sleep by fractious teething babies.

The seminar was at four fifteen so I would have to leave work early, not that Martin was likely to notice. If he did he would assume I had gone on one of the home visits he had warned me against. ‘Don’t get so involved, Anna. Accept your limitations. None of us can change the world.’ He protested too much. According to Nick he had once been more committed than the rest of us put together. Then suddenly the coin had flipped. He had burned out, given up, started concentrating on organizing the service and reducing actual client contact to a minimum. Now he was trying to stop me from going the same way. It was silly to take his warnings as a criticism.

Once again Jenny was late for her appointment, but this time I made several visits to the waiting room and on the fourth occasion she was there, sitting in the furthest corner, head down, arms folded in self-protection.

‘Hallo, Jenny.’

She stood up but didn’t look at me.

Upstairs in my room she sat down but kept her coat on as though to signal that she didn’t intend to stay very long. After a moment or two she whispered something. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t quite hear.’

But she wasn’t going to repeat it. She seemed depressed and it was as though the progress we had made during her last visit had been wiped out.

‘Want to take your coat off?’ I asked.

She shook her head.

‘Not feeling too good today?’

She chewed at her bottom lip. Her feet were squirming about on the carpet. I felt sorry for her but it was difficult to know how to make it easier for her to talk. I decided to try a different approach.

‘Jenny, do you keep a diary?’

Her head shot up. ‘What?’

‘A diary. I wondered if you kept one. Sometimes people start at the beginning of a new year and — ’

‘What for?’

‘Oh, no special reason. I just thought … I used to keep one at your age.’

Actually it had been when I was much younger, about eleven or twelve, but I still found it difficult to remember she was nearly seventeen.

I ploughed on. ‘Sometimes it’s easier to write things down. Easier than talking to people I mean.’

She shrugged. ‘I can’t be bothered.’

‘D’you mean keeping a diary or talking to people?’

‘I talk to my mother.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you do. I met your mother in the park.

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