Vital Signs

by Candy Denman

  Once introduced by his chairperson, Savage stood to talk to the people in the room. Smiling genuinely and engaging with everyone, apart from Claybourne and his group, who he studiously ignored. It was interesting that they clearly knew each other. Claybourne, for his part, sat with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

  Savage was a good speaker, talking eloquently about the suffering around the world, telling them that people needed to find a safe place to live, that they had a right to it and that we, as a rich country, had a duty to help. He touched on the tragedy of those who had drowned trying to reach the safety of our shores and explained that he had spoken with the prime minister about how having a more open immigration policy and allowing a greater number of refugees to claim asylum could help reduce people trafficking and so stop the dangerous flow of migrants coming across the Channel.

  He got an enthusiastic round of applause from his wife, the students and the vicar, but it wasn’t loud enough to wake the sleeping man.

  At the end of his talk, Savage turned to leave, but Claybourne sprang to his feet.

  “Not going to open the floor to questions?” Claybourne asked. “I didn’t have you down as a coward, Ted.”

  Savage turned back, with a resigned look on his face.

  “I am happy to answer reasonable questions, Councillor, but I won’t stand for any abuse.”

  “Abuse? I’m not here to abuse anyone. I’m just here to put the working man’s point of view.”

  “What makes you their representative?” It wasn’t Savage who asked the question but one of the students.

  “At least I am one of them, not just a parasite living off my parents while pretending to study art.”

  Callie wondered if Claybourne actually knew the girl as her face flushed, suggesting his barb had hit home. Claybourne turned back to Savage.

  “The working man, from Hastings that is, has a right to a job, and a home too, you know. Bleeding-heart liberals like yourself, who want to take in all-comers, people who’ve never lived in this country, never paid taxes here and who will overwhelm our NHS, you will deprive the rest of us of our rights. Rights that we’ve worked and paid for.”

  There was a murmur of agreement from Claybourne’s cronies.

  “Of course, Hastings’ people have the right to a job and a home here, and we need to make sure that they have them,” Savage answered, surprisingly evenly. “And we have to make sure that the NHS can cope, as well, but some of these people have been through hell, their homes and families have been destroyed. They are in fear for their lives. They have rights too, they have the right to life – everyone has the right to that.”

  Whilst Savage was being remarkably controlled, his chairperson was clearly worried by the confrontation and trying to usher him out. Interestingly, it was Mrs Savage who seemed most angry at the disruption, glaring first at Claybourne and then at her husband, as if he should take control and stop the discussion.

  “And what if your constituents disagree? Are you prepared to stake your career on that?” Claybourne asked Savage.

  “Yes,” Savage replied and he turned to leave the room.

  “We’ll see what they say come election day, then,” Claybourne called after him as Savage left the room, his wife and the constituency chairperson scuttling after him, Mrs Savage looking more than a little rattled by the exchange.

  Claybourne clearly felt he had had the better of the argument and left the meeting room grinning like a Cheshire cat, his entourage following closely behind. As everyone else, apart from the slumbering man, left the room, Callie sat for a moment or two, trying to work out what had been going on. It was clear that Claybourne was very much opposed to Savage’s stance on the migrants and it looked to her like he might even be preparing to stand against the sitting MP at the next election.

  She was about to leave herself when the door at the back of the room opened again and the constituency chairperson stuck his head out. Seeing her and also that the room was effectively empty, he scurried over.

  “Um, Dr Hughes, glad I caught you. I wonder if you have a moment?”

  She stood and followed him through the door to a small, spartan office where Mr and Mrs Savage sat. Whilst his wife was nursing a cup of tea, Callie could see that the MP had an amber liquid in his mug and a hip flask was on the table in front of him.

  “Ah, thank you for coming, Dr Hughes.” Savage stood and indicated a chair for her to sit.

  “I’ll get off now, Ted. Don’t you worry about Claybourne, he’s nothing but a windbag, he’ll lose his deposit if he stands against you.”

  The thin man waved a vague goodbye and left the room, confirming Callie’s thoughts that Claybourne was planning a move to be the next MP. She sincerely hoped that Miller, or Trading Standards were able to link him to the cigarette smuggling and effectively end his political ambitions by putting him in jail. She didn’t like him one bit. Savage took a sip of his whisky and smiled at Callie.

  “You must be wondering why I asked you to come this evening.”

  “I have to admit, I was surprised.”

  “It’s because you were right.” He looked at her intently. “And I wanted to come clean. Tell all.”

  He almost seemed to be flirting with Callie which was strange as his wife was sitting next to her. Callie stole a quick look at the woman and could see that she wasn’t happy. Whether it was because her husband was flirting or because he was about to say something she didn’t approve of, Callie wasn’t sure.

  Callie turned back to the MP and smiled encouragingly. She felt sufficiently sure that he wouldn’t pounce with his wife in the room, although, given some of the stories she had heard about politicians, perhaps that was naive of her.

  “I did indeed give the reporter the question that I wanted him to ask.”

  Callie and Mrs Savage both seemed to sigh with slight relief. Indeed, Mrs Savage seemed suddenly quite relaxed, compared to her normal rather uptight demeanour, and she even took a sip of tea.

  “And why did you do that?” Callie asked him.

  “Because I wanted to answer it.”

  Callie felt that was a very inadequate reply.

  “But you knew that the boat had not been sabotaged.”

  “No, no, I had no information on its condition.”

  Which was a typical politician’s answer, Callie thought, neither confirming nor denying.

  “You had no reason to suspect that it had been damaged.”

  “Well, you might say that, but it capsized, or sank, or whatever, so it might well have been sabotaged,” he said.

  “Or it might just have been unseaworthy, or unsuitable for the conditions, and overloaded with people who had no idea about boats, navigation, tides or just how treacherous the sea can be.”

  “It seems to me, that it amounts to much the same thing. Young men died and someone else was to blame.”

  “Yes, but by suggesting the boat had been deliberately damaged, you implied that in some way, a far-right group, possibly even the FNM could have been responsible. You made out they were murderers,” Callie said.

  “It is, I suppose, possible that people could have misinterpreted the situation, yes, and I must take the blame for that and the subsequent disruption of the FNM rally, I suppose. But I can’t say that I’m sorry. The whole reason they were having the rally was to celebrate the death of those men, and to capitalise on the situation. You can’t believe that was right.”

  Callie held up her hands in mock surrender.

  “Of course not! But your actions could have caused a riot. Could have got more people hurt or even killed.”

  He waved away her concerns, dismissively.

  “Dixon and Claybourne are just thugs. They might be a bit heavy-handed, but they wouldn’t want anything serious to happen. They’d never get elected if it did.”

  Callie realised that he was disappointed about that. When he hinted at the FNM involvement in the deaths of the migrants in the interview, he had hoped there mig
ht be serious unrest at the rally and that maybe his actions would not just disrupt the proceedings, but also damage the political ambitions of the organisers.

  “So why are you telling me all this?”

  “I wanted you to understand what I was trying to do, and what the consequences of men like Claybourne and Dixon getting into power would be.”

  “I know that already.”

  “And that it’s important they are stopped.” He leant forward, eyes boring into her. “It’s important that the police do not take sides. You do realise that more anti-fascists were arrested at the rally than members of Dixon’s mob?”

  “No,” she replied coolly, beginning to understand what he wanted from her.

  “Of course, the police have a history of being−” He stopped, sensing she wasn’t happy with the way the conversation was going. “It would be good to know there was someone there who was putting the alternate view, who could remind them that they need to be impartial.”

  There was no doubting his sincerity.

  “Whilst I can assure you of my own impartiality,” she responded, “telling the police how they need to behave really isn’t my role.” And she stood up to leave, hoping that he took the hint and didn’t seriously expect her to be his mole or whatever it was he thought she might be and to her relief he just nodded and stood up as well.

  “Good. I just wanted you to know that I believe in the sanctity of life. Of all lives, equally. As I am sure you do too.” He grabbed her hand and shook it, then glanced at his wife, as if expecting her to show Callie out, but she was still sitting, gripping her teacup, white-knuckled.

  “Teresa?” he said sharply.

  She started at his voice, a small amount of tea spilling down the front of her pristine white shirt.

  “Oh, oh dear!” she said and fussed about, putting down her tea and mopping at her shirt with a tissue, as her husband looked on with an expression of surprise. Callie made her way to the door.

  “Goodbye, Dr Hughes,” she finally managed to say to Callie’s retreating back and hurried after her to show her out.

  Callie wondered what sort of conversation would be going on in the room now she had left and the door had been firmly closed behind her.

  Chapter 24

  Callie suppressed a faint feeling of nausea as she followed the receptionist down the utilitarian school corridor. Schools still smelled the same as when she had been a student, even if she had been at a small private school rather than the large academy that she was currently visiting. A trip to see the headmistress or principal as they now seemed to like to be called, was still as frightening.

  Resisting the urge to pull down her skirt or fidget, Callie waited in the comfortable chair outside the office as instructed. She was pleased not to be kept waiting long as patience had never been one of her strengths. The principal turned out to be a very smartly dressed woman in her forties. Callie could only admire women who managed to have demanding jobs but kept themselves immaculately groomed and somehow managed to do it all in high heels. Perhaps she had a pair of comfy slippers hidden under the desk.

  “I’m so pleased you’ve come to see us,” the principal said to her once they were settled in her office. It looked like every headteacher’s office Callie had ever been in: a bookcase laden with suitably serious tomes and a variety of cups and awards displayed, framed certificates hung on the walls along with photographs of the principal with a number of local dignitaries, including both Councillor Claybourne and Ted Savage MP. “The um, coroner’s officer said that you would be in touch.”

  “It’s very good of you to respond so quickly.”

  “Well, it won’t have escaped your notice that one of our students has died, Dr Hughes.”

  “And two others have been near misses.”

  “Exactly. So, we’ll take all the help we can get. I absolutely don’t want any more tragedies.”

  She seemed genuinely to be concerned for her pupils rather than the school’s reputation, although the two obviously went hand in hand.

  “Do you have any idea why this has happened?” Callie asked her.

  “I rather thought that was more your area of expertise.”

  “I rather hoped you might be able to help.” Callie smiled to remove any sting from her words, she needed this woman onside. “Anything that could help us get an answer to why these young girls are abusing their medication.”

  The principal hesitated before answering.

  “One of the teachers caught a boy acting suspiciously and when she searched his bag, found, amongst other banned substances, several asthma inhalers. We do not have asthma listed as one of his many problems,” she added, drily.

  “He was selling them?”

  “That would be the implication. He has been suspended pending review of his case, and past problems we have had with him, and I will be recommending permanent exclusion.”

  Callie sat back. An illicit trade in inhalers made little sense to her, but she would research it, find out why it might be and if it was a problem elsewhere.

  “Okay, I’ll speak to the asthma consultant who has agreed to come with me to give a talk and confirm the date with your secretary. We might need to change what we say slightly, in light of your information.”

  “Yes. That’s very kind of you. I don’t want you to get the impression that we have a big drug problem here, but−”

  “Every school has some, I do understand that, but that’s also why it’s important for us to try and nip whatever is going on here in the bud.”

  “Exactly.” The principal seemed happy with that.

  * * *

  Once back at the surgery, Callie asked her colleagues, but none of them had ever heard of asthma inhalers being sold by drug dealers, or could think of any reason why they might be. Even a search online wasn’t very helpful, there was a suggestion that the use of inhalers before taking other drugs might enhance their effect simply by expanding the airways. Apparently, there was a “rush” rather than a “high” from overuse, probably because it made the heart beat faster, but everywhere agreed, there was little real effect, apart from the problem of reducing sensitivity to the drugs that might save an asthmatic who was having an attack.

  At a loss to know what on earth was going on at the school, Callie left a message for the consultant to call her and discuss their upcoming visit. She also managed to get hold of Anna’s mother, and asked her to talk to her daughter and see if she could find out why the girl was using so much and why her friends seemed to be doing the same.

  That done, she settled down to an uneventful surgery. It wasn’t until she was just finishing off the last few bits of paperwork that either person got back to her.

  The consultant wasn’t really able to enlighten her on reasons for the abuse of inhalers.

  “I have heard that teenagers that abuse drugs are more likely to misuse their inhalers too,” he told her. “So perhaps you are right, perhaps they believe it will give them a bigger hit or something. I’ll talk to my colleagues, see if anyone has any ideas.”

  But Mrs Thompson’s reply to her earlier call was much more illuminating.

  “Right, Dr Hughes,” she started. “The preventer inhaler, it’s a steroid, isn’t it?”

  “Well, generally, yes,” Callie replied cautiously.

  “And steroids cause weight gain, right?”

  “Well, no, not these sorts of steroids and anyway, the dose is tiny, just a few micrograms.”

  “Oh, well that seems to be Anna’s concern.”

  “She thinks she’ll put on weight if she uses her preventer inhaler?”

  “That’s right. You know how sensitive she is about her weight.”

  “All teenage girls are.”

  “Goes with the territory,” Mrs Thompson agreed.

  “So where do you think this information came from?”

  “She just said ‘everyone knows’ and ‘dunno’ when I asked her that.”

  “Okay, well, at least I have som
ething to go on now. Thank you. Please tell Anna that she needs to use her preventer and reassure her that they won’t make her put on weight. I’ll get onto the local asthma consultant and tell him what’s going on. We’re due to speak at a school assembly later this week, so we’ll focus on that particular bit of misinformation. That’s been really helpful. Thank you.”

  And it had. Although, as she explained to Billy later, it didn’t entirely explain why the school drug dealer had so many salbutamol inhalers in his possession.

  “He was probably just taking advantage of the situation. Supply and demand.”

  “But how would he get hold of a regular supply?”

  “Recruit all the asthmatics he knows and get them to over-order.”

  Callie gave that some thought, it seemed pretty devious, but actually quite easy to do.

  “Perhaps if I could speak with the lad who was dealing…” she mused.

  “You’ll be lucky to find out who it is. Can’t see the school releasing his name to you.”

  Callie knew Billy was right, she had to find another way of identifying him, and stopping him from continuing to sell inhalers. His actions might have contributed to the death of one girl already and nearly killed another. She made a mental note to speak to the consultant again before their talk at the school. They needed to make sure they made it clear that steroid inhalers did not cause weight gain.

  Chapter 25

  Just as she was due to leave for work the next morning, Callie got a text from Miller suggesting they meet for lunch. There was also a message from DC Nugent telling her to watch breakfast television.

  Switching on the TV as she said goodbye to Billy, Callie saw the picture of the young boy on the screen.

  “Is that the age regression pic your mate at the lab did for body number nine?” Billy asked, pausing at the door.