by Peter James
As was starting to seem like her new morning routine, Georgie perched on a chair in the Relatives’ Waiting Room, waiting for the morning ward round to be completed. She was relieved to be alone in the room, not in any mood to have to chat to someone. Her mind was all over the place and her stomach was fluttering – despite having done an early-morning walk which usually, at least, energized and calmed her. But not today.
She gazed around, staring at the leaflets – over the past few days she’d already read every word of them. She checked her phone, scanning her emails – so many she hadn’t replied to while her life was on hold. She looked at her to-do list. A private client was booked in for this evening. She debated whether to cancel him but decided to keep the booking. The timing fitted in reasonably well with the afternoon ward round and she’d already cancelled him once this week, on Monday. He was an impatient guy, a fund manager who was full of himself and not her favourite client, but nonetheless, she didn’t want to risk losing him and having him bad-mouth her for blowing him out again. She needed her clients now more than ever.
She began checking her diary for the following weeks ahead and saw the skiing trip to Val d’Isère in France they’d planned for mid-February. Roger had been so much looking forward to it, although with her being well into her second trimester at that time, she’d been advised that the risk of a fall causing a miscarriage was too great. She’d be limiting her activities to finding a hotel spa and gym she could use. But could Roger possibly be well enough by then, less than a month away, to ski?
Would he even be alive?
That thought struck like a massive wave of icy water surging through her.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Oh God, please Roger—
Her phone was ringing. She grabbed it and saw a landline number she didn’t recognize. ‘Hello?’ she answered, and could hear the tremor in her own, edgy voice.
‘Hello, Georgie.’
It was Kath, but sounding less vivacious and more subdued than usual.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘You sound very low. How’s Roger today?’
‘I’m just waiting to go and see him – after the ward round. Yes, I guess – I’m feeling more and more scared – I’m so worried about him. I know he’s in the best hands, but – I guess I was a bit stupid – I sat in bed last night googling the mortality rates of people after splenectomies – 3.2 per cent get infections following the operation and 1.4 per cent of those die.’
‘Georgie!’ Kath admonished, good-naturedly. ‘Googling stuff like that is just about the worst thing you can do to yourself! And anyhow, 1.4 is a tiny percentage.’
‘But what if Roger is in that 1.4 per cent?’
‘You see, that’s what googling stats doesn’t tell you. The people at that end of the spectrum are almost certainly elderly and frail. We both know your Roger is a pretty fit person, isn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, stop worrying – the more positive you are, the more you’ll transmit that positivity to Roger. OK?’
Georgie smiled, thinly. ‘Thanks.’
Clow suddenly sounded more serious. ‘Georgie, the reason I’m calling you is I’ve had the results from the biopsy I took yesterday and there’s something not quite right. I want to get an MRI scan of your cervix to see what’s going on. From—’
‘Not quite right?’ Georgie interrupted. The room seemed to have darkened, suddenly, and it felt as if all the warmth had been sucked out with the light. ‘What – what do you mean?’
‘Honestly, from my assessment, Georgie, I don’t have any real worries at all, but I’d like to try to book you in as soon as possible, just so we can eliminate the Pathology department concerns. Is there any time that wouldn’t work for you? I don’t know how busy they are – if they can’t fit you in today, would tomorrow be possible?’
‘Yes, that’s fine. I’m clear all day today and tomorrow – but what do you mean that something’s not right?’
‘I really don’t want you to worry. What I saw during your colposcopy appeared normal.’
‘But you took tissue for a biopsy, and now the path lab is telling you otherwise. They won’t have made a mistake, would they?’
‘What I think he’s almost certainly seen is some of that pre-cancerous tissue that you had removed eighteen months ago. There may be some residual scar tissue, too small for even the colposcopy to pick up, containing a few cells which have shown up in the biopsy. If that’s the case, it’s a five-minute job to remove them. I know how much this baby means to you, Georgie. Trust me, as your friend first, and obstetrician second, I just want to make sure everything is one hundred per cent, which I’m confident it is. My assistant will be in touch with a time for the scan. OK?’
‘Kath, promise it’s OK?’ Georgie said, lamely.
Before ending the call, Kath tried to reassure her. ‘Listen, Georgie, I’m on it, I’m looking after you.’
Georgie stood, too unsettled to remain seated, and paced around the little room. Wondering. What was all that about? What was her friend not telling her? What was so urgent that the MRI scan needed to be done immediately, even tomorrow, on a Saturday, rather than waiting for next week?
There’s something not quite right.
Something more than Kath was telling her.
Behind her, she heard the sound of the door opening and the voice of Kiera Dale.
‘Hi, Georgie, good morning!’
Georgie turned and mustered a smile.
‘How are you today?’
‘I’ve had better mornings. How is Roger?’
‘Well, the assessment team have just been with him. The good news is there’s been no deterioration in his condition overnight.’
‘Does that mean he’s responding to the antibiotics?’ she said, hopefully.
Kiera nodded but her expression was less positive than Georgie would have liked. ‘Yes. But I’m afraid there are concerns at the levels of his readings and his bloods – they are indicative of sepsis.’
Georgie felt a swirl of terror at the word. ‘Sepsis? Blood poisoning? That’s fatal, isn’t it?’
‘It can be if not treated in time, yes, but very rarely in an ICU environment. The medical team is going to make a treatment plan and timescale for Roger right away.’
‘Timescale?’
She nodded. ‘If Roger doesn’t start responding they will have to operate and see if they can find something going on.’
‘Like what?’
‘Most likely an infection around the area of the splenectomy.’
Georgie thought for a moment. ‘If you suspect that, why don’t you operate right away and have a look?’
‘Anaesthetics – and surgery – take a big toll on patients, Georgie. They’re worried at the moment whether Roger’s strong enough to cope with anaesthetics.’
Georgie stared at the nurse, the full realization of what she had just been told sinking in slowly. ‘What you’re saying is you’re worried Roger isn’t strong enough to survive surgery, right?’
Evasively, she said, ‘Hopefully he’ll respond to the drugs and surgery won’t be necessary.’
Too upset to speak any more, Georgie followed her into the ICU, after the ward round had been completed, and sat beside Roger, placing her phone, switched to silent, on his bedside table. Roger was asleep but she kissed him and took his hand, trying to be positive as Kath had advised, chatting to him about her class last night, and how Marcus Valentine had come along – and was very unfit.
Then she lapsed into silence.
When, she wondered, would this nightmare ever end?
And how?
Something not quite right.
Biopsy.
Cancer?
Her phone vibrated. It was Kath Clow’s assistant asking if she could come to the hospital tomorrow at midday for an MRI scan.
Georgie replied that she could and thanked her. The moment she ended the call, she googled cancer of the cervix. Half an hour later, after reading everything s
he could find, she wished she hadn’t.
73
Friday 18 January
By five o’clock, Georgie, sick with worry about Roger and with fear from what she’d found on the internet about cervical cancer, was feeling badly in need of a break. The medical team had just arrived for the late-afternoon ward round and she decided to use the time she would be excluded from Roger’s bedside to carry out the check of the hotel that she’d skipped last night. Anything to give her a few moments away from dwelling on her thoughts.
Leaving the Patriotic Street car park she drove slap-bang into the Friday evening rush hour. With one ear she listened to the news on Radio Jersey, but she barely absorbed any of it. So far Roger had failed to respond to the antibiotics. At least, small mercy, he had remained stable throughout the day – maybe that was a positive.
Less positive were the words of Kath, still ringing in her ears.
I’ve had the results from the biopsy I took yesterday and there’s something not quite right.
What was not right?
So not right that she needed an urgent MRI scan?
Wouldn’t that be dangerous for her baby?
The baby that Roger might never live to see?
Forget that line of thought. Think positively. Roger is going to be fine. You are going to be fine. Bump is going to be fine!
She turned away from the news, none of which was fine, to a music channel. As if in some kind of synchronicity, ‘Everything is Fine’ from the band All Time Low was playing.
She hummed along quietly to it. Usually, when it ended, she shouted out, ‘Yayyyyyyyyyy!’
But not today.
Ordinarily the drive from the hospital to the hotel took ten minutes. But tonight, it was closer to twenty. It was 5.45 p.m. when she pulled up in front of the gym entrance. The entire hotel was in darkness, and hopefully Edouardo would have left for the day. Holding the keys in her hand, she unlocked the gym door, switched on the lights, then locked it from the inside, shooting a nervous glance at the three static egg timers on the wall. At that moment a text pinged from her client cancelling, apologetically.
She cursed momentarily, but actually it would enable her to do her checks and get back to the hospital more quickly. She sent him a polite acknowledgement, then, leaving the gym by the doorway through to the corridor, she pressed the light switch. To her relief, the lights came on – Edouardo must have repaired the fuse, she thought, gratefully. She switched on more lights as she made her way past the kitchens and then dutifully began her security sweep.
It was strange, she thought. Normally, walking down the long, dark corridors scared her, but tonight she was fine, confident that no spectral lady was about to climb out of a bathtub or that no intruder was about to bash her over the head. She had bigger, far more real, worries on her mind.
Finally, after a sweep of the bar and the restaurant, reassured that she could report back to Tom Vautier that all was in order, she headed back along the corridor towards the gym, reaching the one area she had not yet checked today – the kitchens. As she stopped outside the door, she heard a faint electrical hum.
She pushed open the door and entered, switching on the lights and looking around at the range of cookers, the multiple sinks and work surfaces. The hum was louder now. It was coming from the far end of the room where there was a large steel door. A red light glowed beside it.
She stood still for some moments, thinking. Vaguely recalling the tour of inspection that Tom Vautier had given her back in September. This was the entrance to the deep-freeze room, where Tom had told her they hung beef, sheep and pig carcasses as well as storing fish and shellfish and some vegetables.
But why hadn’t she noticed the hum before? Or the red light?
She tried to rationalize it. The freezer couldn’t have switched itself on, so either someone had been in here since her last inspection and turned it on, or else she had missed it.
She would call Vautier and ask him, she decided, pulling up his number from her Contacts list. She dialled and got the overseas tone.
‘Hi, Georgie!’ he answered after just a couple of rings.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, Tom,’ she said. ‘Just a very quick question about the hotel.’
‘Sure, what’s on your mind, Georgie?’
‘The deep-freeze room. I’ve not noticed it before, but the power is on – I just wanted to check if you keep it running all winter?’
‘The power’s on?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry but I only just noticed. I mean – I don’t want to bother you unnecessarily – just in case you weren’t aware. Of course, you’ve probably got frozen stuff in there.’
‘No, Georgie, I haven’t. It gobbles up a lot of power. We make sure everything in there is used up or thrown away before the end of each season. Are you saying it’s been running since the end of September?’
She thought hard for a moment before answering, not wanting to sound stupid for missing it. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve not noticed it before, until just now – I’m sure I would have if it had been on earlier.’
There was a brief silence. ‘I just don’t know how it could have happened. There’s nothing in there, Georgie – at least, there shouldn’t be. My suppliers don’t start deliveries until a couple of weeks before we open for the season. There’s a master switch – a big red one – to the right of the door. Just push it up, please – but I guess you’d better first check there isn’t any meat or anything that could go off in there. I really don’t think there is.’
‘I’ll do it right away.’
‘Thanks! Everything else OK?’
‘All looks fine, I’ve just done my checks.’
‘Brilliant! Kill that freezer. I’m really grateful to you for spotting it – my electricity bills are sky high as it is.’
‘No problem. Are you skiing at the moment?’
‘Yes, fantastic snow. Two degrees today and sunny. How’s Jersey?’
‘Eleven degrees and blowing a hooley!’
‘Don’t worry, kiddo, it’ll be summer in six months! How’s that Edouardo, still dressing up in that clown outfit? He scares the pants off me when he gets that on!’
‘Tell me about it! He’s fine. It’s his day off but I’ll update him about the freezer tomorrow.’
Ending the call, Georgie strode over towards the deep-freeze door, which was the size of the entrance to a bank vault, and before switching off the power, just to check there wasn’t anything in there, turned the handle and tried to pull the door open.
Even heavier than it looked, it took a firm yank to budge, swinging open slowly and releasing a blast of cold air that enveloped her. She stared into the semi-darkness at racks of empty wooden-slatted shelving, then found the light switch and turned that on.
It was a substantial size, extending back further than she had realized, with recesses towards the rear to the right and left. Shivering from the cold, she investigated further, walking past a row of butcher’s hooks along a tiled wall, with a drain gulley beneath, until she reached the far wall. The recess to her right was in darkness and she used the beam of her phone to peer in. A rack of marble shelves.
She turned the beam to the other recess. And instantly saw the shape on the floor, in the middle of it. Her first instinct was to rush forward. But she only managed a few steps before the beam of light struck his face.
74
Friday 18 January
Robert Resmes was lying on his back, motionless, his face blue, eyes open as if focused on something on the ceiling. But there was no flicker of the lids; no twitch or shimmy of his facial muscles; no sign of his chest rising and falling; no sound of breathing. There were crystals of ice in his hair.
Vapour rose from Georgie’s mouth. For an instant, she stood still, shaking, her vision blurred with panic and fear. Then she rushed over to him calling, ‘Robert! Robert!’ She knelt and touched his face. It was as hard as stone. He was like something she had once seen at Madame Tussauds waxworks. Like a
dummy. Not a real person.
She felt his wrist. It was equally hard – there was no pulse. She drew back and felt like she was about to pass out.
There was a sound behind her. Like the shuffle of a foot. She spun. ‘Who’s there?’ she called out. ‘Who’s there?’
She listened.
The only noise was the thudding of her heart.
She stabbed out 999 on her phone. Her heart sounded like a boxer pummelling seven bells out of a punchbag. There was a roaring noise in her ears, as if she was standing on a platform with a tube train entering.
The phone did not ring. She peered at it and could immediately see the reason why – there was no signal in here. Shit.
She was going to have to step out. To where she’d heard the sound of someone moving. Was there someone waiting, out of sight, ready to strike her? The person who had done this to Resmes?
As loudly as she could, making out she was talking into the phone, she said, ‘Police, please. I need an ambulance and the police.’ Then a moment later, still loudly, Georgie said, ‘Hello, police, I’m in the Bel Royal Hotel, St Lawrence, I’ve found a body in the deep-freeze room of the kitchen.’ Holding the phone in front of her, ready to use it as a weapon, she stepped back into the kitchen, and then, her eyes darting wildly left and right, out into the corridor.
No sign of anyone.
She stood, listening. The roaring in her ears persisted; she was shaking, eyes still darting, fixing on shadows, checking for movement. Her phone had a signal again. She pressed the button and almost instantly the call activated.
‘Emergency, which service do you need?’ said a calm female voice.
‘Ambulance and the police. Please.’
She held her breath. Was that a shadow moving at the end of the corridor, where it kinked right?
‘May I have your name and location, please, caller?’
Georgie blurted it out to her, her voice hushed now. Fearful. ‘I’ve just found a man in the freezer of the Bel Royal Hotel. He’s dead, I know he’s dead.’
‘Does he have a pulse, Georgie? Is he breathing?’