‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your breathing when you sleep, but we’ll give it a go,’ Maggie said. ‘What about the MRI?’
‘The results will go to Hargreaves since he referred me to the sleep clinic. He’ll arrange another appointment after he’s seen the results... if he can find the time to read them, that is!’
Jack slept well for the next two nights and it seemed the CPAP machine was helping. On the third night, he tore off the mask and began thrashing about, shouting and punching so violently that he fell out of bed and cut his head open on the bedside cabinet. After that, he decided it was best if he slept on the sofa until his next appointment with Hargreaves. When he phoned the sleep clinic and told them what had happened, the doctor said to keep using the CPAP machine, but to stop taking the melatonin and replace it with trazodone, an antidepressant which helps with problems like insomnia. The clinic doctor emailed Jack’s GP and the next day Maggie collected the prescription and took it to the local chemist.
Doubtful that drugs were of any use, Jack started working out for two hours a day at the gym instead of his usual one hour, hoping that excess physical exertion would tire him out and make him sleep better. It didn’t.
Anxious and feeling Jack was now stuck in a vicious cycle, Maggie made an appointment to see Doctor Hargreaves herself. She didn’t tell Jack. She said she was going to the hairdressers.
Hargreaves had read the sleep clinic report and Jack’s MRI results, and the first thing he said was that there was no tumour or other physical issues with Jack’s brain. He asked if the antidepressant tablets were helping.
Maggie sighed and shook her head. ‘He said they make him feel lethargic during the day and he’s finding concentrating difficult. The CPAP machine has helped a bit, I think, but he’s still having nightmares... which makes it even more dangerous with that mask attached to his face. He ended up with the tube wrapped around his neck the other night.’
Hargreaves made some notes then looked thoughtful. ‘Did Jack have any sleep problems when you first met?’
‘No. He can’t recall ever suffering from insomnia or nightmares before. I even asked his mother... she said he was never a restless sleeper until recently.’
Hargreaves leaned back in his chair. He knew discussing a patient’s medical condition was unethical, even with the spouse. However, Maggie was a friend and also a medical professional, so they were bound by the same oath of confidentiality. That blurred the lines sufficiently for Hargreaves to continue.
‘In his sessions with the sleep clinic psychiatrist, Jack said he could never remember the content of his nightmares. But the situation only manifested during a recent trial?’
Maggie nodded. ‘Yes, Rodney Middleton. He murdered several young women.’
‘Then, rather than sleep apnoea, it’s more likely Jack has parasomnia. His nightmares are troubling; intense dreams that cause anger, anxiety or fear. The punching and kicking occurs because he acts out his dreams. The disorder is associated with multiple triggers, including stress, anxiety, depression and post-traumatic stress.’
Maggie nodded. ‘I knew Jack was under a lot of pressure even before the trial started. He doesn’t like to talk about it... in fact, he loathes bringing his work home. We both feel that way, especially as time together as a family is precious. I also had to deal with a lot of darkness and tragedy during the pandemic. We put it aside.’
‘Quite natural,’ Hargreaves said. ‘But you must persuade him to talk now, Maggie. To you, or me, or a therapist of his choice. Keeping it all inside isn’t working. Hypnosis might be a good next step if you can get him to agree. Recalling nightmares is the last thing the sufferer wants to do, but he must face his fears out in the open if he’s to move on.’
Middleton knew that all prison phone calls were monitored and recorded, with the exception of calls with people identified by Rule 39 — legal counsel, the courts, anyone from the law society. These calls were the only ones with a guarantee of privacy. After her release, Middleton’s girlfriend, Amanda Dunn, had joined the zero-hours, slave-fucking-labour cleaning agency used by the firm of solicitors representing Middleton so that, after hours and using the name of one of the legal team, she could call him or be there waiting for him to call her. As far as the prison was concerned, the woman on the phone was paralegal Gail Leadbetter and not Middleton’s partner in some of the most horrific murders they’d ever come across.
At this moment, Middleton was talking quietly into the prison’s public payphone, instructing Amanda to bring him drugs, hidden inside a Kinder Egg toy capsule which she would insert into her vagina. He dribbled on the mouthpiece of the phone as he imagined taking the egg back to his cell, the drugs on the inside and the smell of her on the outside. As he spoke, he cupped his groin and squeezed rhythmically.
‘Tell me you’re listening. Let me hear you.’ But before she could respond, Middleton’s two minutes came to an abrupt end.
Maggie was on her way home with two full bags of groceries, sighing heavily. Getting Jack to even consider hypnosis would be a tough sell. She intended to spend one more month off before going back to the hospital and she prayed that during that time they would find something to help Jack’s condition.
In the meantime she had the christening to arrange and either an au pair or nanny to hire, whether Penny liked it or not. As she was thinking, Maggie immediately hit the familiar brick wall of not knowing where their finances were at. Could they even afford to employ help? Her personal account was overdrawn, and she assumed their joint account had very little money left. When the loft was completed, there’d be another hefty cash payment to find. Then she remembered Hannah’s school fees... It was never-ending.
Maggie opened the front door, pausing to listen when she heard Jack’s infectious belly laugh. What a lovely sound! And so rare in recent months. Then she heard Hannah’s high-pitched squeal.
‘Daddy, do it again!’
Opening the dining room door, Maggie saw the table and chairs stacked against one wall and, covering most of the floor space, a blow-up mattress. Jack rolled around laughing as Hannah jumped up and down in excitement. Each time she landed, Jack released the pump which created a loud farting sound.
‘Daddy’s doing bottom burps!’
Maggie grinned. ‘I can hear! Where’s your mum?’ she asked Jack.
‘Upstairs with the baby.’
‘I’ve ordered a KFC. It’ll save me having to cook,’ Maggie said.
‘I’ll eat with Josh when he arrives.’
Maggie had forgotten his American friend was coming to stay. Of course! That was why he’d got out the inflatable bed.
‘The spare duvet and pillows are in Penny’s wardrobe. Sheets and stuff are in the airing cupboard. Where’s the big table?’
‘Ah, we moved that into the kitchen. The old pine table is in the garden.’
‘Fine by me. Come on, Hannah. Bath time.’
Maggie bathed Hannah and put her into her pyjamas, then let her play in her bedroom while she settled the baby after his feed. Just after seven, she went back to the dining room where Jack was putting the fitted sheet onto the blow-up bed.
‘I’ll move the dining chairs into the kitchen,’ she said. ‘It’ll be great we won’t need a dining room when we have a big kitchen-diner.’
She was shocked when Jack suddenly rounded on her. ‘I’ve made room for my friend to stay over, not agreed to knocking more walls down. Gimme a break. I’ve had enough of the place looking like a building site. Plus, Marius has cost a fortune, even cash in hand. And, let’s face it, we won’t know if the work is any good until they’ve all packed up and gone.’