‘Since you’ve got to stay in the hospital anyway, how about covering for me this evening?’ he asked breezily. ‘Just be on call this evening and through the night?’
Obviously Will didn’t expect to be turned down. But Megan was tired. She remembered what Christopher had said about being put on, and, in spite of several hints, Will hadn’t offered to repay her for the four occasions she’d covered for him. She also realised Will always asked her when he could be sure that Christopher was out of the way.
‘What’s so important?’ she asked.
Will laughed. ‘Just the usual. A few of the lads are coming up. We thought we’d go out on the town and have a few drinks. A sort of reunion, you know.’
‘You could go out and not drink,’ she pointed out. ‘Just keep your bleeper with you.’
‘Come on, Megan! Just because you don’t know how to have a good time, it doesn’t mean that I don’t. Anyway, the trouble you’re in, I would have thought you’d want all the support you can get.’
‘So you’ll support me if I work your hard hours? Presumably, if I don’t work them, you won’t support me. Forget it, Will!’ She rang off, and sat on her bed, trembling. How dare he!
She might have guessed. Will rang back straight away. ‘Look, Megan, I’m sorry I said that,’ he said, trying to be conciliatory. ‘Now, I really do want to –’
He thought he could talk her round. She was so soft that anyone thought they could talk her into anything. Well, she was going to change!
Silkily, she said, ‘Will, I really think this is the kind of decision that ought to be taken at a higher level than ours. Ask the consultant or one of the registrars to arrange it. I have plans for the evening already.’
She rang off. This time he didn’t ring back.
She was still trembling. She didn’t like arguing with colleagues, she wanted to be seen as a co-operative member of a team. But it had had to be done. Once she would have given way. Now she was deciding it wasn’t worth it. She would follow Christopher’s advice and fight back.
Slowly her anger subsided but was replaced by restlessness. She wasn’t tired any more but she didn’t want to study. She rang her home. Neither Sue nor Jane were in. The hospital was getting on top of her, she needed to go out. She opened her curtains and peered at the darkness outside. There was a wind blowing, lashing rain across her window. It was an evil night. No matter, she would soon be warm in the car. She would just drive!
Pulling on her anorak, she ran across the car park. Her car might be old but it was still a good runner, and the heater was magnificent! She found a local radio station playing loud, non-stop pop music, and headed down towards the river. Within minutes the car was warm and she unbuttoned her coat. She took the bridge across the river, drove towards the motorway, then turned left and headed for the hills and woods of Cheshire.
Here it was dark. There was the occasional village, the occasional passing car. But she had a map to hand and she knew the area quite well. She spent most of her life with people, and it was good to get away once in a while. Outside there was rain and wind, but here she was insulated from the world in her own warm cocoon.
She thought about how yesterday Christopher had kissed her. So far she’d put it from her mind, hidden from what had happened as if it wasn’t important. But it was. Now she knew that it had been more than a casual kiss. She wasn’t an experienced girl – far from it – but there had been something in that kiss which had told her that his feelings for her were very real. And what did she feel? She’d liked being kissed. And she liked him.
She was smiling to herself as she turned off the main highway onto a narrower road through the woods. In summer this road was thronged with picnickers, but now it was deserted. As she turned she heard the roar of another engine behind her, and there was the flash of headlights. She slowed to allow the car behind to pass, but it didn’t. Obviously a cautious driver.
Her mobile rang. She had it fixed to a special device on the dashboard, which allowed her to talk without removing her hands from the steering-wheel. Strange, few people knew her number, and it certainly wouldn’t be the hospital. She flicked the switch that accepted the call.
‘How’s my little Megan?’
It was a man’s voice, and she didn’t recognise it at first. Then a thrill of horror throbbed through her. It was Jeremy Parks! At first she couldn’t speak. ‘What do you want?’ she gasped eventually. ‘How did you get this number?’
He laughed. ‘Well, that evil cow Maddy Brent would say I stole it. I looked it up in your diary when I had a leaf through it. Anyway, Megan, this is no way to talk to an old friend. I need to speak to you face to face. Pull over, will you? I’m right behind you.’
‘I never want to speak to you again!’ she yelled. ‘How dare you phone me?’
‘I dare because you can do something for me.’
The thought of him behind her filled her with horror. But what could he do? She was in her car, quite safe. She accelerated and lost him for a couple of seconds. But he was quickly behind her again, and she remembered he had that powerful sports car.
‘The editor has been on at me,’ the drawling voice continued. ‘He’s an idiot, he thinks it’s my fault he made a fool of himself on that programme. I told him not to go on. Anyway, it can all be put right if you give me a few more facts. I’m sure we can find something if we just talk about it. Another article, the paper gets its own back on that TV programme, everyone is happy. There might even be money in it for you.’
He was very close behind. She came up to a bend, a tight one, and felt her tyres slipping on the wet tarmac.
‘You must think I’m mad! What you did was despicable. I’m never going to speak to you again. Anyway, not unless there’s a solicitor in the room.’
‘Oh, I think you will. I’ve still got your tapes, Megan. Every word you ever said to me I’ve got recorded. Used selectively, you’d be surprised what an article I could put together. Now, pull over and we’ll have a chat. Remember, otherwise there might be something about our love affair.’
‘Love affair?’ she faltered, utterly stunned.
‘Yes, that love affair. Between you and me. I could write a wonderful account of it. You could deny it, of course, but there are a lot of people who would believe me. After all, no smoke without fire.’
She realised he was toying with her, deliberately trying to anger and provoke her. Or perhaps he wasn’t. What he said was true. He couldn’t prove that they’d had an affair, but neither could she prove that they hadn’t. He could write what he liked. She was trapped!
The road curved again, and she wrenched at the steering-wheel to pull her heavy car round. There, paralysed by the headlights, in the middle of the road was a deer. She slammed on her brakes, and heard them scream on the road. Then there was a great crashing noise, and her car jerked forward. Her body was thrown forward, her head whiplashed backwards and forwards and her seatbelt cut agonisingly into her waist and shoulder.
Her car stopped. The deer trotted away.
She sat there in the middle of the road, her hands still clutching the steering-wheel, frozen. On her face she could feel tears and sweat. She could feel the incredible thumping of her heart and her breath was hoarse in her throat.
It took a conscious effort to move a hand from the wheel to switch off the engine. After the great noise there was silence. The wind still hissed through the trees and there was a dripping or a tinkling sound behind her.
She knew what had happened. Jeremy Parks’ sports car had hit her own vehicle. He’d been too close to her, too intent on frightening her. It had been his fault. Her driving instructor had drilled into her time and time again to remember that one day the car in front was going to stop – without reason and without warning.
She’d braked and Parks had been too busy crowding her, talking, crowing, threatening. And he’d crashed into her. It had been his fault. It had been entirely his fault.
Somehow she climbed out of her car,
then stumbled and almost fell. She realised she was in shock, but she had to keep herself conscious, aware. There were only two of them here.
She staggered to the back of her car to see what had happened. Parks’ car was lightweight, probably built from a kit. It hadn’t been constructed to withstand crashes of this kind. The bonnet was folded in, the hood had been thrown back and the dashboard pushed backwards. She could see that Parks was trapped there, white-faced, struggling vainly. There was blood on his face, but it was only superficial. She could see no sign of pulsing arterial bleeding.
He was shocked himself. His voice was high and unnatural. ‘What a stupid place to stop! Women drivers, they’re all the same. Is this the best you can do? Look at my car!’
Any sympathy she may have had disappeared. ‘It was your stupid fault, you were driving too close. Any kid knows better than that. Are you hurt?’
‘Of course I’m hurt. My chest hurts, I can hardly breathe, and I think my foot is broken. See if you can lever this door open so I can breathe.’
‘No,’ said Megan.
He looked at her in amazement. ‘I’m stuck, I’m hurt, it could be serious. Come and help me.’
‘I’m not trained,’ said Megan. ‘This is a specialist job. Let the paramedics handle it.’
All her training, all her instincts, urged her to what he’d asked, but something held her back. For a start, she didn’t think he was too seriously hurt.
‘All right, get on that mobile of yours. I’ve lost mine. Phone an ambulance, and make it quick. I’m hurting.’
‘I’m hurting, too,’ Megan said. ‘I think I’m shocked. I’m going to lie down in the back of my car. I’ve got a blanket there.’
She started to walk away. When he spoke, for the first time there was fear in his voice. He seemed to realise that he couldn’t bully her any more, that he was in trouble and there was only one way out. ‘Megan, what about me?’
‘You’re no problem of mine. When I feel better I’ll report this accident. It’s got to be some time in the next twenty-four hours.’
‘But … Megan, my breathing’s getting worse. I might –’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel too good.’
‘Megan, please!’ Now there was terror in his voice. She guessed that he’d looked around him, had felt the rain on his face, and had realised that there wasn’t another building for miles and that probably there wouldn’t be another vehicle until the morning.
‘Please what?’
‘Please, help me. What can I say? I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you. I’ll make it up to you, I really will. But, please, please, get me out of here!’ His voice was now a sob.
‘I believe you have tapes of our conversations. And you’re going to write about our love affair, the affair I can’t disprove.’
‘I was … I didn’t mean it. It was just to try to make you stop and we could work out some kind of a story. Megan, I’m hurting.’
‘I was hurting when I read that story.’ To her amazement she found that she was getting angry again. Then she realised it was probably a side effect of the shock. She would have to be careful. But the realisation didn’t stop her saying, ‘Of course, if you die here there’ll be no chance of you ever writing lies about me again.’
Then she winced. Had she said that? She was a doctor.
‘I feel cold, Megan. I think I’m going to lose consciousness. You have to send for help.’ But there was still something in his voice that told her he thought he could manipulate her. He was injured but he was still playing games.
‘I don’t have to do anything. But I might help you if you give me something. Where are my tapes?’
‘Help me out and I’ll –’
‘Tapes, Jeremy! Or I’ll light a match and look for them!’ As she made the threat she felt the bumping of her heart, and the doctor in her told her that she wasn’t acting normally. She was in shock, not responsible for her actions. But something deeper and more primitive made her go on.
‘You’re a –’ he yelled.
She said, coldly, deliberately, ‘Matches, Jeremy. Can you smell petrol?’
‘They’re in the briefcase behind me! All of them, they’re in the briefcase. You can have them, you can have anything, Megan, but get me out of here!’
She found the briefcase, and the tapes, neatly marked with the dates of their conversations. This infuriated her even more. There was a pocket recorder with them, too, an expensive one. She put a tape into it and pressed the playback button. There was her own voice, sweet, innocent, babbling away to this creature. It made her angrier than ever.
She threw the recorder into the trees, then put the tapes into her pocket. ‘Goodbye, Jeremy,’ she said. Then she walked up the road, ignoring the outburst of weeping behind her.
After twenty-five yards she stopped, turned back to her car, and dialled 999. Then she found a tyre lever in her boot, went back to the sports car, and successfully prised open the door. She managed to free the seat and ease Jeremy’s body back. She gave him what first aid she could, but it was better to wait for the experts in a case like this. As she’d thought, he wasn’t seriously hurt. He was still conscious – the greatest damage had been to his psyche.
The police and the ambulance came practically together. After loading Jeremy into the ambulance, the paramedics suggested very strongly that Megan come to the hospital to be checked over as well.
‘I don’t care if you are a doctor, love, or how good you feel,’ one paramedic said. ‘You look a mess, and you need someone to see to you.’
The police agreed. They would take measurements and make diagrams, and arrange for the two cars to be towed away. Statements could be put off until later. All would be arranged. She felt herself dropping into a vast fatigue. All she wanted was to sleep, to forget things, to let someone else take charge. A distant part of her brain told her that this was merely the effect of shock. But she let herself be persuaded. Besides, how would she get home?
Megan had worked in A and E departments before. She knew exactly what would happen, what the priorities would be. Inside ten minutes she had a hurried check-over by the triage nurse, and then was told she would have to wait. The nurse fetched her a cup of tea and sat her in the waiting room. ‘If you suddenly feel bad,’ the kindly nurse told her, ‘tell Reception and I’ll come back for you. But you know how it is, don’t you?’
‘I know how it is,’ Megan acknowledged. There would be too much work and too few staff.
She checked her watch. It was only half past nine. So much seemed to have happened. What was she to do next? Suddenly, she desperately needed a friend. She told the receptionist she was going for a breath of air, and took her mobile outside. She could easily have called Sue or Jane. Instead, she phoned Christopher. After all, he was her boss. He’d have to know some time. ‘Christopher? It’s Megan.’
‘What’s happened? Where are you?’ He sounded concerned, as if he knew something was wrong. She hadn’t realised her voice would betray her so easily. She must be worse than she thought.
‘I’ve had an accident. A car crash. I’m all right really, just a bit shaken and shocked. The police have brought me to Ransome District Hospital. I’m in A and E. Jeremy Parks crashed into me.’
‘He what? What were you doing with that madman?’
‘It’s a long story. He was following me. I think –’
Christopher interrupted. ‘We can talk about that later. Now, are you sure you’re all right? D’you want me to phone, try to get a consultant to see you?’
She smiled wanly. ‘We don’t want me to get preferential treatment, do we? What would the papers say? No, I’m not badly hurt. I’ll be out in half an hour.’
‘Stay in A and E. I’ll be there for you.’ He rang off.
She walked back into Reception and got herself another cup of cardboard tea. Then she rubbed her neck and sat back to wait.
There was the usual busy-ness of an A and E department at night. She’d worked in
a department like this and had enjoyed it, but you needed to be a special kind of person to cope with the work. You had to be both sensitive and detached. After her time she’d decided it hadn’t been for her.
The police brought in an old drunk, found collapsed in a bus shelter. Was he just drunk, or could there be something more serious wrong with him? Another RTA – road traffic accident. This time there had been a drunk weaving across the middle of the road. He was complaining loudly that he wanted to sue someone – even the police if they didn’t help him. A two-year-old had swallowed the end of a pencil – we think. A man in rough clothes, blood spattered down his front, walked in by himself. His hand was badly cut. He’d cut himself with a scythe. A scythe? At this time of night?
Finally, the nurse came for her and led her to a cubicle. A doctor, even younger than herself, came in and wearily Megan told her story over again. He did what she would have done – checked her vital signs, looked carefully in her eyes, felt her neck and asked her to move it. He made absolutely sure that she had no other pains or injuries. ‘You’d be surprised what people don’t notice,’ he told her.
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
He smiled. ‘I see we understand each other. Look, Dr Taylor, I’m not going to send you for an X-ray, I don’t think there’s anything broken. But your neck is badly strained, and you’re going to suffer an awful lot more than you’re doing now. I’ll give you some painkillers and I suggest you have three or four days off work.’
‘Rubbish! You know what I do. I can’t take time off work.’
‘I know that if you were sitting here that’s what you would say. You’re going to suffer, Dr Taylor.’
They heard the mumble of voices outside and then the nurse looked through the curtains. ‘Your boss is here,’ she said. ‘Says he is a consultant.’
‘He is,’ Megan said wearily, ‘but there was no need to tell everyone.’ She looked at the doctor. ‘Can he come in?’
Lifting Suspicion Page 9