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the dampness had reappeared on his temples and his jaw muscles were flickering angrily. Hugh signalled to Isabel for water and, touching Tom’s arm, put the glass by his elbow, but if he noticed he gave no sign.
    Bavistock was saying, ‘If the patient doesn’t get as far as a psychiatrist, if he only gets to see his GP, then depression would be the most likely diagnosis, would it not?’
    ‘It might be.’ Then, relenting, Ainsley added, ‘Yes, it would be the most likely.’
    ‘Now, in the annals of medical history, PTSD is a fairly recent condition, is it not?’
    ‘The term itself is relatively recent, yes. But medically, the condition has been recognised for a long time, since the nineteenth century in fact, but under different names.’
    ‘Indeed . . . And what sort of names would have been most common?’
    ‘Well . . . shell shock . . . neurasthenia . . . war neurosis . . . battle stress . . . nervous shock . . . survivor syndrome . . .’
    ‘It was seen, then, as a condition that arose mainly from combat situations?’
    ‘War was certainly accepted as one of the most likely causes of the condition. But it was recognised in civilian life too, in mining accidents, train accidents, and so on, and then it was known as nervous shock or fright neurosis, among other things.’
    ‘But shell shock, combat stress, combat neurosis were the most common terms. I put it to you that the medical community has long recognised, whether under the old names or the new, that PTSD is most commonly seen in people exposed to the horrors of war.’
    ‘I couldn’t say most commonly. The statistics would be hard to establish.’
    ‘Well – frequently, then? Would you agree that the condition was, and still is, frequently seen in people exposed to the horrors of war?’
    Ainsley paused, distrusting the semantics. ‘I would only say that it’s seen regularly in combatants.’
    ‘Did Mr Deacon mention that he’d been treated for depression at various times in the eight years after leaving the Army and before the accident that killed his daughter?’
    Tom sucked in his breath with an audible hiss and shook his head.
    ‘He said he’d found it difficult to adjust to civilian life. And yes, he mentioned taking anti-depressants.’
    ‘He didn’t say what precisely was depressing him?’
    ‘Well, adjusting to civilian life, as I’ve just said.’
    ‘But what was it about civilian life that was giving him difficulty?’
    ‘He wasn’t specific.’
    Hugh had a good idea where this was leading and hoped that Ainsley did too.
    ‘Isn’t that surprising?’ Bavistock suggested. ‘Wouldn’t you expect him to talk about what exactly had been worrying him at that time?’
    ‘Not necessarily.’ Then, forgetting the golden rule of the expert witness, Ainsley volunteered additional information. ‘People with depression often can’t identify anything in particular that’s getting them down.’
    ‘So he may have thought it was his difficulty in adjusting to civilian life that was causing his depression when in fact it was something else altogether?’
    Too late, Ainsley saw the trap. He said tersely, ‘Well, it’s virtually impossible to separate depression from life events. Cause and effect feed off each other. So depression might cause someone to lose his job, then the loss of the job itself triggers further depression.’
    ‘And Mr Deacon certainly lost his job on several occasions in the period after leaving the Army and before the accident. Did he mention that to you?’
    ‘He mentioned losing at least one job.’
    ‘But not several?’
    ‘I don’t recall him telling me that, no.’
    ‘Did he mention that he’d been a heavy drinker at that time?’
    ‘He said he’d had periods of heavy drinking.’
    ‘Did he mention that, by his own admission, he was a regular cannabis user?’
    Ainsley thought for a moment. ‘That didn’t come up, no.’
    ‘Or that his marriage had experienced difficulties?’
    ‘He talked