Free Unforgotten by Clare Francis Page B

the city, a run-down concrete monolith with dark passageways, broken lifts, and litter-strewn landings that had long been a byword for drugs, crime, and anti-social behaviour. The only surprise was that all its residents didn’t besiege the offices of the council, the Citizens Advice, and every other agency in the city, demanding to be rehoused.
    ‘Agoraphobia?’ he murmured, as something else drifted into his memory. ‘I thought the son was living in fear of the gangs, of getting beaten up.’
    ‘That’s what Gloria says, yes . . .’ Lizzie frowned, as if turning something over in her mind. ‘But whatever the cause, the effect is the same. Wesley’s terrified of going out, and Gloria’s convinced he’ll never get better till they move.’
    ‘And he’s stayed cooped up how long?’
    ‘Two years. Since he was sixteen.’
    ‘He’s never been out in all that time?’
    ‘Apparently not.’
    ‘God . . .’ Hugh winced at the thought. ‘And they can’t be rehoused?’
    ‘At the moment they don’t score enough points to jump the housing queue. Gloria’s got a doctor’s certificate to say she’s suffering from stress, but then half the estate’s got stress-related illnesses so it’s not exactly a rarity.’
    ‘So who gets priority? Teenage mothers, I suppose. Lesbian asylum seekers.’
    Used to his rumblings against the march of politicalcorrectness Lizzie raised her eyebrows briefly. ‘The best hope,’ she went on, ‘is to get Wesley properly diagnosed with agoraphobia and depression and whatever else he’s suffering from, then between the two of them they should chalk up enough points. But the psychiatrist’s rushed off her feet at the moment. She can’t get to see him before the end of the month.’
    Hugh said, ‘The word agoraphobia comes from the Greek for market-place, you know. It’s a fear of going to the market-place.’
    Lizzie gave a snuffle of amusement. ‘Since when did you know any Greek?’
    ‘Since last week, when agoraphobia came up in a radio quiz.’
    ‘That’s cheating.’
    ‘Absolutely.’
    ‘Well, in Wesley’s case it’s not fear of crowded places. It’s fear of going out at all. But at least he’s decided to talk to me, to trust me, which is more than he did before.’
    A suspicion entered Hugh’s mind and settled there. ‘What’s he been saying?’ he asked lightly.
    Distracted by some other thought, Lizzie murmured, ‘Oh . . . how much he’d like to live somewhere else. That sort of thing.’
    He waited for her to say more, but she was concentrating on her food. ‘When did you last see him?’ he asked, as the suspicion deepened.
    ‘Mmm?’
    ‘Wesley?’
    She stabbed at some pasta before glancing up with a quick smile. ‘Oh, this evening.’
    Hugh absorbed this slowly. ‘That was your late meeting?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I thought it was a Citizens Advice meeting.’
    ‘Well, it was.’
    As the anxiety bunched in his stomach, Hugh gave up on his food. ‘You went to the estate?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He gave an unhappy sigh. ‘Lizzie . . .’
    ‘It was perfectly safe.’
    ‘I don’t think anyone could ever class the Carstairs Estate as safe . And certainly not after dark.’
    ‘But I went with Gloria. And John walked me back to the car afterwards.’
    ‘John?’ Hugh muttered.
    ‘The community pastor.’
    ‘And he deters the local gangs, does he?’
    ‘No one would try anything with John.’
    ‘You mean the muggers stop long enough to check that he’s wearing a dog-collar before they attack? Well, I’m glad they’ve got so much respect for a man of the cloth.’
    ‘Oh, it’s not the dog-collar. It’s the fact that he’s six foot four and perfectly capable of looking after himself.’
    Hugh rapidly amended his picture of John from a saintly grey-haired Bible-pusher to something far more robust, a former army chaplain perhaps, or a Born Again bodybuilder. ‘All the same, I can’t pretend I’m happy about it, Lizzie. You being there after