Free Healers by Ann Cleeves Page A

the women who worked there. They smelled faintly of chemicals and cheap perfume.
    “You never know I might and all,” said the first woman, waiting for them all to laugh. “What do you think, Val? Make a good brain surgeon, would I?”
    “Why not?” Val replied, although she had only been half following the conversation. They laughed again and shared round the cigarettes. They could not imagine what troubles Val might have. She lived in a big house with a husband who worked at the University and two sons you could be proud of. She didn’t get letters from the Gas Board threatening to cut off the supply or the police at her door because one of the kids had got into bother again.
    “Back to the grindstone then,” Val said and led them back to the classroom on the third floor for another hour of simple fractions and decimals.
    The class finished at eight-thirty but there were always students who wanted to stay behind to chat. Usually she liked to be home by nine because there was a television programme she enjoyed watching a thriller set in Glasgow which Charles said was trash. Tonight she was reluctant to let them go. She had things on her mind and if she were alone she would be forced to come to a decision. So far she had done nothing, but that, she thought as the last of the women clattered down the bare concrete steps, had been a decision of sorts.
    On her way to her car she walked past the lecture hall and saw that the speaker was still on his feet. She thought there’d been a good turn out but it was hard to tell. He’d been showing slides and the body of the hall was in darkness. She contemplated slipping into the back to watch the remainder of the speech there was no one at home to go back to but decided against it. She still found crowds intimidating.
    In the car park she hesitated. She was sure the Abbots and Magda would have attended the lecture Daniel Abbot was giving the introduction. Perhaps she should wait and speak to them. She scanned the row of cars briefly but did not see the Abbots’ Rover or Magda’s VW. It was probably just as well, she thought. Probably they were the last people she should speak to.
    In the car she switched on the radio hoping to get some local news, but there was only pop music and she turned it off. It had been a lousy weekend, she thought as she drove through the quiet suburban streets. Magda’s invitation to supper had been an honour, but she should have turned it down, explained that Charles always cooked on Saturdays, made some excuse. It hadn’t lived up to expectations anyway. Magda had brought up the subject of Juniper Hall again. She seemed to be probing for information. Val thought that after all this time they should let Faye Cooper rest in peace.
    Sunday had been even worse. Usually she loved Magda’s group. Charles had been in such a bad mood that she almost decided to skip it. She wished now that she’d stayed at home.
    Perhaps it’s all the lying that’s getting me down, she thought, as she approached her street. All the pretence. Because Charles knew nothing of her connection with the Alternative Therapy Centre. She could imagine the ridicule she’d be tormented with if he ever found out. Quacks or morons, he always said if he read an item about complementary medicine in the newspaper, directing the same scorn at them as he did at organized religion or the kids she taught. She could talk to James, of course, but it hardly seemed fair to burden her son with her problems, especially now when he was preparing for exams. He’d been through enough lately … She realized that her thoughts had been rambling and that she was home. The house was dark and empty. Charles was always back late on Monday nights. He had a meeting of sociology department staff which sometimes went on until midnight. At least that was what he told Val. She suspected that Monday was his night for Heather, his postgraduate student and occasional mistress. Val imagined them sometimes in