The First Week by Margaret Merrilees Page A

scouting songs …
    She put it on the table and sat back on her seat. Immediately, Mandy stopped typing and turned, glasses flashing concern.
    Hastily Marian picked up another magazine. What a Chimp in the Family Taught the Smiths.
    She suppressed a rising panic as she leafed through. It was just the Readers Digest, no different from usual. The problem must be in her, that every article looked bizarre.
    Dare Devil or Despairing?
    On his sixth jump, Mason horrified his instructors when he disarmed his reserve chute …
    Was it a great adventure, or was it a cry for help …?
    Marian stared at the page, not seeing it. Was that what Charlie was doing? Crying for help?
    But he’d killed other people, not himself. Shot them dead.
    It was nearly eleven before Simon Ingerson rushed in.
    â€˜Sorry to keep you. Won’t be a moment.’
    Mandy, eyebrows raised, followed him into an inner office with her hands full of papers. A minute later she came out and beckoned Marian.
    â€˜Mr Ingerson will see you now,’ she announced, with hushed importance.
    The desk was wedged across one corner of the room with a computer sitting in the middle of it. Piles of paper slid away on each side. Files and books were stuffed into shelves next to the window. The only clear space in the office was the chair he pointed her towards.
    â€˜Sit down Mrs … yes. Tea? Coffee?’
    â€˜No thank you. I’ve just …’
    But he was already pushing an intercom button. ‘Coffee thanks Mandy.’
    He examined her over his glasses. ‘I’ve made an appointment for you with a colleague, a psychologist. Hope that’s all right. Thought we’d better squeeze you in while we can. Very lucky to get an appointment. You’re not going back to the country yet?’
    Psychologist?
    â€˜I don’t need …’
    â€˜Good, good.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘Friday afternoon then. Mandy will give you the address.’
    â€˜But …’
    â€˜Routine. Build up a bit of a picture of Charles.’
    Oh. Not for her.
    â€˜The social issues. There’ll be a psychiatric assessment of course, brain scans and so on. Cover all the bases.’
    Bases.
    â€˜Has Charles ever used drugs?’
    With awful clarity, an image of the contraption the police had shown her flashed into Marian’s mind.
    â€˜I don’t know. The police think so. They found a bong in his room.’ Once again she had a hysterical urge to laugh. Boing boing boing.
    â€˜Did they? Ah well. They say that parents are always the last to know.’ His eyes were too sharp.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜That’s not a criticism. I’m defending your son, don’t forget. I’m not the enemy. Tell me if you remember anything. However small it seems.’
    â€˜All right.’
    â€˜Drugs. It’s the first thing the police would have looked for. That’s how they think. Makes it nice and neat. Everyone understands drugs. Who understands a boy taking a gun and shooting people when he’s stone cold sober?’
    You. You have to.
    The lawyer rubbed his hands. ‘Probably charge his housemates I imagine. Round it out.’
    Oh no.
    Her reaction surprised her. After all, she’d thought the same thing herself. But Sam and Ros weren’t bad people. They didn’t deserve any more trouble.
    Lee, maybe.
    There was a tap on the door and Mandy appeared carrying a tray with two mugs. She smiled brightly at Marian and balanced one of them on a pile of papers on the coffee table. ‘Just milk. That’s right, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Thank you,’ said Marian weakly. The first coffee was still zizzing in her veins.
    Mandy went out and Simon Ingerson loosened his tie.
    â€˜I want to get background today. See what there might be by way of a defence. Anything you can tell me about Charles, from a family point of view.’
    â€˜Charlie.’
    â€˜Right. Charlie.