‘I can’t find anything wrong with Mr Hunt’s reflexes, and there’s no immediate evidence of epilepsy. But blackouts of the severity you’re describing need more investigation, and I think all three of us here would be a lot happier if we just get the possibilities of any blockages on the brain cleared up.’

Sam swung his feet off the vinyl bed, catching the white human-length piece of tissue that covered it with a heel and tearing it.

‘How soon will they see me?’ he asked, recapturing Harris’s attention, and peeling the white paper from his foot.

‘I’ll get on it this afternoon, and I’m going to ask that they see you within the week.’

The doctor crossed the room to wash his hands, and the running water from the chrome hooped tap accentuated the silence between the people in the room.

Katie looked at Sam then and the sight of his face creased with a defeat she seldom saw woke her from her torpor of self-pity. He might be sick. Her darling Sam. What if it were a tumour? It wasn’t just her life falling apart. It was his. Katie was awash with guilt and she smiled across at her husband with a heat they both recognized. Sam kept the smile as he bent to put on his socks and boots.

Harris wiped his hands and motioned to the door with his head. ‘Okay. If you want to sort yourself out through there, Mr Hunt, I’m just going to check Mrs Hunt on a few points. Just in case we got a virus here.’

Sam nodded, picked up his remaining boot and headed out the door. Katie looked puzzled but as Harris sat down with that searching look in his eyes, she started to get worried. There were no points to check on. He was going to tell her something that Sam wasn’t to hear. She knew it.

‘Your husband doesn’t drink, does he, Mrs Hunt?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I have to ask you this, but it’s for medical reasons and its purely confidential.’

She raised an eyebrow.

‘Does he use any abusive substances?’

‘You mean like Kraft TV dinners?’

Not funny. The doctor ignored it.

‘Does your husband take drugs?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘You’re aware that unlike alcohol abuse which is impossible to conceal, drug abuse can remain a secret even from those closest to the abuser.’

The abused always becomes the abuser. God. Get that dumb thought out your head, Katie.

‘You’re saying this because he’s Kinchuinick, right?’

Alan Harris looked at her like a stone with eyes. ‘Yes. That’s one reason I’m saying it.’

‘He doesn’t take drugs. Believe me. I’d know.’

Another pause and the doctor sat back in his chair.