“Get to fud,” he said, turning on his heel in front of the gate. The dog, however, remained rooted to the spot, snarling at her.

“Cormac knows I’m here,” she tried desperately.

“That fannybaws can fuckety bye an’ all,” said the boy incomprehensibly, disappearing into the tumbledown old cottage.

Lissa frowned. She was used, from her A&E days, to drunk or resistant patients, but it was normally only in the heat of the moment. Working in the community, most people were delighted to see her. Someone like—she checked her notes—Cameron would normally be a social work case. On the other hand, someone needed to take a look at his slit wrists, and that someone was her.

SHE CAME BACK a couple of days later, but the mother was no help. She refused to open the door, shouting through that they were busy. Lissa could hear a lot of yelling and banging around, and a TV and radio fighting each other at top volume, and the dog barking its head off, and she heaved a sigh and thought, you know, sometimes there was nothing more you could do; if the state tried to help you and you couldn’t take the help, then there was a limit, truly. But the idea of losing another boy scared her rigid, and she was angry that he wouldn’t see a woman, only wanted Cormac.

She knew she’d been lulled into a false sense of security; most of the patients she’d met had been lovely, gentle, and forever pressing her with food: shortbread, homemade bread, cream, and once, memorably, when she’d confirmed Agnieska’s pregnancy, a fresh lobster caught from Loch Ness, which she had given to Joan, who had refused to eat it. The lobster was now happily scrappling its way around the surgery fish tank, terrorizing the other fish, Martina and Billie.

She was gradually getting used to the warmth of the local people, so to be confronted like this was terrifying. And, if she was being honest with herself, was bringing back frightening memories, dialing up her anxiety again. She thought back to what Anita had tried to tell her—to go through the experience again in her head. She hadn’t been doing it, and it was showing; a common or garden issue had turned into a large problem in her head.

She sighed.

To: [email protected]

Cormac,

Hi there. I’m afraid I’ve had to mark as discharged young Cameron Blaine. He wouldn’t open the door on third time of asking, won’t respond to treatment requests, and is refusing treatment all round. I’m not sure what else to do without breaking and entering the house, so I’m going to discharge him and file with Social Services.