Maggie hadn’t thought the guy’s smile could get any more patronising, but he managed it. ‘Only to the extent that any teenager can be said to be “dangerous” through this inherent lack of control. But in Nick’s case, I would say the prefrontal cortex is further on the road to maturity than in many sixteen-year-olds. He has insight into the effect his behaviour has had on you, Maggie. Which is ninety per cent of the way to addressing it. He was in tears when he was recounting some of the things he’s said.’
‘What, so everything in the garden’s rosy? That’s what you’re saying?’ Maggie turned to Duncan. ‘This is a fucking joke. How much are we paying this so-called fucking expert?’
That at least wiped the smile off the guy’s face.
‘Maggie,’ muttered Duncan.
‘As I say,’ the psychiatrist said stiffly, ‘Nick accepts there’s an issue. At the root of his anxiety seems to be a – completely unfounded, I’m sure – worry about your mental stability, Mrs Clyde. Which may explain his desire to keep you at arm’s length. But with a bit of understanding and patience, I think he’ll be fine.’ He eyeballed Maggie.
Jesus! Blame the victim, why don’t you?
‘Oh aye, he’ll be fine. It’s me and my wee lassie I’m worried about, pal.’
His mouth pursed up like a wee arsehole. He didn’t like that, being called pal like he was any random off the street. Which he might as well be for all the use he was, the fucker.
He got up and went to his desk. ‘Here’s something that might, I hope, reassure you. I find it’s often helpful to get my patients to draw – it’s a sort of shortcut to the subconscious mind.’ He handed them some sheets of A3 paper.
They were bad drawings of a happy family – big tall da, tiny ma, boy and baby. The drawings showed them sitting round a table eating or going for a walk or playing on a beach. Maggie leafed through them, handing each one to Duncan after she’d glanced at it.
Then the f-bomb was out her mouth again.
This one showed the da character hugging the boy, who in turn hugged the ma, who was holding the baby. They all had manic grins apart from the baby, who had no face, and he’d drawn the tiny ma with wide, I’m-shitting-myself-here eyes. ‘Do you not think this one is maybe just a wee bit disturbing?’ She showed Duncan and then the psychiatrist. ‘Isla has no face. And look at me.’
‘Uh, Nick’s artistic skills aren’t the best,’ said Duncan.
‘Sometimes,’ Mr Psychiatrist said quietly, ‘we can read into this sort of thing what we expect – what we’re afraid we might find. It’s the sentiment that’s important. There’s a lot of affection here, wouldn’t you say, for his family?’
But Maggie didn’t want to look at the drawing again.
Two days later, having put up with Nick’s sickly smiles and exaggeratedly concerned questions long enough, Maggie decided to go on the offensive and search his room, a long, low space up in the eaves of the house with a prime view of Billy McLetchie Hill from four wee windows. It wasn’t the typical teenage boy’s room – it was dead tidy. And there was nothing personal in it apart from three framed photographs of Nick and Duncan on top of his chest of drawers – one of Nick as a wee boy playing football with his da, one of the two of them on top of a hill, and one of them standing in the garden, Duncan making a daft face, arms round each other.
She found the psychiatry textbook at the bottom of the wardrobe.
A library book called The Human Mind: What we Know. She took it to one of the windows and thumbed through it.
She supposed it was meant for professionals in the field or maybe medical students. He must have used this to work out what to say and how to act to fool the psychiatrist into thinking there was no harm in him.
She slammed it shut and took it outside. Duncan was in the garden somewhere with Isla. As Maggie marched across the lawn, a bird cooed from a tree and a bee buzzed right past her nose. On the rough grazing on the side of the hill, cotton-wool sheep troddled about. Right enough, it was like she’d rocked up in the Garden of Eden.
Shame about the snake.
A deep rumble cut through the sounds of nature and brought her back to reality as a massive lorry passed on the road at the foot of the garden. Then another. There was a forestry operation about a mile away, and at five o’clock every afternoon two lorries stacked with timber thundered past. A piercing cry rose up, allowing Maggie to pinpoint where Duncan and Isla were.