Where There's Smoke

But the knowledge that an avenue remained unexplored niggled like a stone in her shoe. After spending most of the previous evening telling herself it was a waste of time, that morning she had phoned Clive to tell him she would be late. Then she set off for the university.

The librarian’s windburned face frowned in concentration as his fingers lightly patted the keyboard. “Ah. Here we go,” he said, in a pleased tone. He leaned back so she could see the screen. “He’s got eleven entries. Was it any particular title you were wanting?”

“No, not really.”

The librarian looked momentarily curious, but made no comment. He showed her how to call up a record of each article. “The articles themselves aren’t on CD-ROM, but we should have most of the actual journals on file, if you want photocopies.”

He gave up the chair, reluctantly. “If you want any more help, just ask. I’ll be at the desk.”

Kate assured him she would. She looked at the first record. Some of the information was unintelligible to her, but the title of the article was clear enough: “The role of upbringing and environment in the forming of obsessional behaviour.”

Further down the page was something called an abstract, which she gathered amounted to a brief synopsis:

Obsessional behaviour is frequently attributable to a specific event or events in an individual’s background. Frequently, memory of these has been suppressed, so that the root of the obsession is obscured. This paper suggests that the success of therapy for such obsessions may be substantially increased when these seminal events are recognised. Six patients were helped to recall these using hypnosis, with positive results.

There was nothing of interest there, so Kate moved on to the next record. This article had been published by an American journal, she saw, impressed. The title was “Blood Ties: Impulse-control disorders as an inherited trait?”

It meant little to her, and the abstract wasn’t much more help, either:

Identical twins, separated at birth and given contrasting upbringings, were convicted of theft within twelve months of each other. This study considers the possibility of an inherited tendency towards impulse-control disorders, and suggests this as a subject of further research.

Her attention wandered before she had finished reading. She called up the next record, this one detailing an article on pyromania but sat back without bothering to read it. Enough was enough. Leaving the monitor switched on, she went over to the librarian. His windburned cheeks grew darker when he saw her.

“Sorry, I’m not sure how to turn it off,” she told him.

“That’s okay, I’ll see to it. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Do you want any of the articles photocopied?”

“No, it’s okay, thanks.”

He looked disappointed. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”

“Really, it’s okay. I’ve seen what I needed.”

Then, because her excitement demanded an outlet, she gave him an extra broad smile as she went out.

Lucy and Jack returned that weekend. Kate waited through tales of collapsing guy-ropes, sunburn and ice-cream indigestion, before Lucy wound down.

“Are you going to be free one night next week?” Kate asked.

Lucy was slumped in an armchair. “I think you’d have to drag me out of the house after the last fortnight. Why?”

Kate couldn’t keep it in any longer. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Chapter 10

“This is Alex.”

The four of them stood in Lucy and Jack’s living room, stiff smiles on all their faces. The planned barbecue had been rained off. Instead, the big table at the back of the room was now draped with a heavy white tablecloth, and set with Jack’s aunt’s best cutlery and glasses. Two heavy silver-plated candlesticks stood in the middle, the beeswax candles in them slightly askew.

Lucy gave Alex a bright smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

Kate thought that she was going to step forward and kiss him, but she didn’t.

Jack stuck out his hand and gave Alex’s a firm shake. “How you doing?”

There was an awkward lull while everyone waited for someone to speak and no one did.

“Well, isn’t this just typical English weather?” Lucy declared. “If there’s one certain way of getting it to rain, it’s for us to decide to have a barbecue!”

They laughed, a little more heartily than was strictly necessary. Before the silence could descend again, Jack rubbed his hands together. “Right, who’s for a drink? Kate?”

“Red wine, please.”

She reminded herself to drink slowly. She hadn’t been able to eat anything all day.

“Alex?” Jack said. “Beer, wine. Something stronger, if you’d like it?”

Alex looked momentarily lost. “Er... beer, if you’ve got one.”

Jack’s face split into a grin. “You can have Budweiser, Boddy’s or Old Speckled Hen.”

“You can show him your beer collection later,” Lucy said, disguising the sharpness behind a smile. “I’m sure Alex isn’t bothered.”

Jack’s smile was just as cosmetic. “Well, let’s let him decide, shall we?”