by Peter James
She stopped in front of twin granite arches, reading the signs. Through the left one were elevator doors, with a magenta floor-standing sign in front warning, VISITORS: DO NOT VISIT THE HOSPITAL IF YOU HAVE EXPERIENCED ANY DIARRHOEA AND VOMITING OVER THE PAST THREE DAYS, TO HELP PREVENT THE SPREAD OF NOROVIRUS.
Beneath, on the same sign, was a translation in a Slavic language and below that in Portuguese.
Through the right arch, beneath a sign which read GRANITE BLOCK – ENDOSCOPY AND BARTLETT, RADIOLOGY (X-RAY), were double doors.
They opened automatically as she approached. Passing through, she went down a long corridor and entered a very modern, softly coloured waiting room bearing silver lettering on one wall, WELCOME TO LIGHTHOUSE MRI, an array of chairs, a two-seater sofa, a smart, loaded magazine rack and a wall-mounted television showing a cookery programme.
A young, plump, smiley woman appeared through a door, clutching a bunch of forms. ‘Hello, Georgina Maclean?’ she said in what sounded to Georgie to be a Mediterranean accent.
‘Yes.’
‘OK, good. I’m the registrar. I just need to go through some paperwork with you and then we’ll get you ready for the scan. Do you have any music you would like played?’
‘Music?’
‘We can put on whatever music you would like when you’re in the scanner.’
‘Oh, OK.’ She tried to think. Music. Van Morrison? No, that might upset her too much. Who did she find soothing? Alec Benjamin? ‘Do you have any Alec Benjamin?’ she asked.
‘Yes, no problem, we can fulfil most requests!’ the woman said, brightly.
They both sat down. Georgie was handed a two-page form and a pen, and began to fill it in, while the woman asked her a series of questions about her health and whether she had any metal implants in her body. It was only when she got to the section marked ‘Next of Kin’ that she wobbled.
She wrote, ‘Roger Richardson’. And nearly added, Please God.
‘Are you claustrophobic, Georgina?’
‘I am, very.’
‘Would you like any sedation?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine, thank you.’ Somehow, she thought.
When she had finished, the young woman fetched a dressing gown and slippers, and led her to a changing cubicle with brightly coloured curtains.
‘Please make sure you remove anything metal from your body, including your ring,’ she asked.
‘Sure.’
As Georgie entered the tiny space and heard the curtains behind her close, her fear deepened.
82
Saturday 19 January
Marcus Valentine entered the quiet calm of the Radiology room. A young female assistant was tapping a keypad, staring at a monitor. The radiographer, a young, dark-haired man, was switching focus between the person who he could see currently inside the MRI scanner and the images that were coming up on the monitors. At 12.20 p.m. the scan was well underway.
‘Hi,’ he said.
Both glanced fleetingly around at him.
‘I just popped in to see Ana Gomes – Kath Clow asked me to discuss Georgie Maclean’s scan results with her.’
‘Ana is monitoring the scanner now, Mr Valentine,’ the radiographer said. ‘She’ll be done in about twenty minutes.’
‘Great, thank you, I’ll wait. Don’t let me disturb you.’
They both returned to their tasks. He stood, keeping quiet, not wanting to break their concentration. What they were doing was important.
And the woman inside the scanner was important to him.
She was his future.
Georgie was in the room that was lit by a soft haze of sky-blue light, the white machine almost ethereal in the middle of it. He could just make out her head. He knew what she would be experiencing in there. The curved inner wall of the machine inches from her face. The intermittent metallic drumming. Having to remain absolutely still. He asked the assistant if Miss Maclean had chosen any music to be played.
‘Here. Take a look,’ the assistant replied.
Alec Benjamin, ‘If We Have Each Other’. Interesting choice, Marcus thought, then skipped it on a few tracks . . . Alec Benjamin, ‘If I Killed Someone For You’. Much more appropriate with its lyrics about changing for someone you love. Well, maybe not really changing, but more enriching, he felt. She would thank him for it someday soon.
He watched the images appearing on the screens, changing by the second, all in black and white. Changing too fast for him to be able to assess them. That did not matter. The one thing that mattered was the junior registrar. Today, all the gods were aligned. None of the six consultant radiologists were on duty. Instead, they had left Ana Gomes to interrogate the scans. That was lucky, but in a short while he’d truly know if luck was on his side or not. All he could do was wait.
And think.
And dream.
He pictured what the scanner was seeing through her clothing. Her naked body. So vulnerable. She needed protecting. Why wasn’t her fiancé protecting her?
Two floors above, Roger Richardson was slowly, steadily, day-by-day, drifting away as sepsis increased its grip. And hopefully his luck would hold, and the doctors didn’t decide to open him up. Really, there wasn’t any need.
Finally, the radiographer turned to him. ‘All done, Mr Valentine. Ana is in the second office on the left, I’ve just sent the images through to her.’
Thanking her, he slipped through the door into the office suite, gave a courteous knock on the door and entered.
Ana Gomes was seated at her desk in the tiny room, with four monitors in front of her.
‘Hi, Ana,’ he said.
She turned, then smiled in recognition – and respect. ‘Hello, Mr Valentine, can I help you with something?’
‘These are the scan results for Georgie Maclean?’
‘Yes, just through.’
‘Kath Clow’s off today. She’s very concerned about this patient and asked if I’d give her an assessment after the scan had come through.’
‘Of course, thank you, I’d value your opinion.’
‘It would be my pleasure, Ana. How are you getting on here?’
‘I like it, everyone is so friendly and helpful, much more than in the previous hospital I was in, in England.’
‘Good!’ he said. ‘So maybe you’ll consider staying here in Jersey?’
‘I would love to. My husband has a job he loves with the Indigo Medical Practice and we’re just about to get a dog. So, I’m really hoping!’
Valentine beamed. ‘I’m sure I can help you, Ana. All my colleagues have been very impressed with your work – and your attitude, which is so important. We run a tight team here, and we rely on mutual respect. If you’ll allow me to be your mentor, I’ll do all I can to ensure you have a future with us, in this department.’
Ana’s eyes widened. ‘Really? That’s incredibly kind of you.’
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s not about kindness, it’s about recognizing real talent. We have a high standard in this hospital. I think, from all I hear about you, that you have what it takes, Ana.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, looking delighted. ‘Thank you so much. I will work as hard as I possibly can to justify yours and the hospital’s faith in me.’
‘I know you will. I can see that in you.’ He smiled again.
‘You are very kind.’
‘I just want the best for this hospital, which I love.’
‘Thank you. I’ll always do my best.’
‘I believe you will. So, may I take a look at the scan images?’
‘Of course, sir.’
On one monitor, the split screen showed four different black-and-white images of Georgie Maclean’s endometrium. On the next was a full screen of her cervix. It showed her placenta covering much of the cervix.
His luck was in. He could scarcely hold back his excitement. This was truly a gift!
He peered closer. Top right on each image was ACC. NO. 91870499. Below was AGE 41Y, and be
low that SEX: FEMALE, and each was labelled A, B, L, R.
The one that interested him was B on the third screen. He leaned in, looking at it closely. Covering much of the cervix was a large sac that, blown-up, looked a little like a hunched rodent.
‘So, Ana, tell me, what is your assessment of this scan?’
Observing what he was looking at, the registrar said, ‘It looks to me like Placenta Previa – low-lying and encroaching. Would you agree?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I agree it looks like the placenta is low-lying and encroaching – but that’s a mistake I once made in my early days, with catastrophic results for the patient. I still have guilt about it almost twenty years later.’
‘Really?’ She turned to face him, shocked.
He nodded, looking very sad. ‘She died from cervical cancer just months later. I’m afraid it’s easily done when you haven’t got experience. And it’s an understandable mistake. It’s very understandable to miss what is really going on.’ He pointed. ‘You see that area of white?’
She looked back at the screen, to where he was indicating, and nodded.
‘That’s high signal in the region of the cervix. This lady’s colposcopy showed a stage-2 cancer, which was supported by the histology.’
‘Oh my God,’ Ana Gomes said, sounding shocked. ‘I would have missed this.’
‘Honestly, don’t feel bad. As I said, it’s a very easy mistake to make. I’d be happy to help you write your report.’
Ana turned back towards him, bright-eyed with gratitude. ‘Would you really? Thank you so much.’
‘There’s something I tell all my students, one of the first things they are going to learn when they start, which is that medicine is a very inexact science.’
‘I think I’ve just had my first lesson in that.’
‘I think you have, Ana.’ He smiled.
83
Saturday 19 January
‘Ex-wives – or ex-husbands – can be very bitter people, George,’ Lucy said. ‘I think you have to take anything that woman said to you with a pinch of salt.’
She and Lucy were seated in the bar of the Yacht Club, overlooking the port of St Helier. It was 2.15 and with the sky heavily overcast it already felt that the day was drawing to a close. Lucy, with hair that managed to look both wild and tamed at the same time, was elegant as ever, wearing a quilted Barbour over a roll-neck, jeans and leather boots. She was the kind of person Georgie aspired to be herself – calm and seemingly always able to cope with anything, someone who loved her work and study but didn’t let it totally dominate her life.
Lucy sipped her glass of wine, which Georgie looked at enviously, her own lime and soda on the table, untouched, like her tuna salad.
‘So the radiology people wouldn’t give you any information at all?’
Georgie shook her head. ‘They said the report would go to my obstetrician and she’d be in touch with me. Luckily, my obstetrician is a friend, so at least I feel I’m in good hands there. She’s the one who does all those triathlons.’
‘Kath Clow, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s lovely – she delivered both my sister’s children, we really liked her.’
Georgie nodded glumly. ‘I know she cares. But . . .’ Her voice tailed off.
‘But?’
‘I don’t know. I just have a really bad feeling. I mean, if she wasn’t worried, why would she have rushed me in for a scan on a Saturday?’
‘I wouldn’t read too much into it. She’s highly conscientious.’
‘I asked if they routinely saw patients on a Saturday, Luce. She said Saturdays were mostly for catching up on stuff, but they did scans where consultants were concerned and wanted results quickly. I wish I hadn’t bloody asked.’ Georgie lowered her head, her eyes moistening, voice cracking. ‘God, what have I done to deserve all this?’
Her friend reached across the table and stroked her arm. ‘You poor love, you really are going through it. Just think, when it’s all over, we’ll go and celebrate.’
‘A month ago, I felt so happy. When that pregnancy test showed positive, honestly, it was one of the greatest moments of my life. Ever since, everything’s turned to crap.’ She felt Lucy’s hand on her arm. Closed her eyes so her friend couldn’t see her tears, then looked away, sighing. ‘I just don’t know what the hell is happening – or how much more I can take.’
Lucy was silent for some while. Then she said, ‘You’ve had a big shock, finding that body in the freezer, and that just a few days after poor Roger’s accident. I think you’re probably actually suffering from shock. Roger will be fine, believe me, he will.’
Back with her eyes closed, Georgie said, ‘I wish I could believe you.’
‘Georgie, I had a friend who went through a similar situation after a motorbike accident. She was over a month in the ICU before she started to improve. She’s right as rain now and back on her bike.’
Georgie nodded.
‘You’re not exactly having the best day of your life today, are you? Seeing Roger in Intensive Care; having an MRI scan, which can be a frightening experience, then going from here to give a statement at the police station? I’d come with you, but I’ve got to pick up my sister’s Harry from a party, I promised her.’
Georgie gave a wan smile. ‘Yep, not exactly the best day ever.’
And one which had the potential to get a whole lot worse, she thought, gloomily.
84
Saturday 19 January
Still in her cycling kit at 2.40 p.m., Kath sat on a sofa in the bike shop, leafing through a cycling magazine. The problem with her bike was worse than Chris, the mechanic, had first thought. He was in the back with the entire chain and gear mechanism in bits. He’d explained something about alignment, tension and the derailleur and she’d let him get on with it. His original estimate of half an hour to fix it had increased, when he’d seen the extent of the problem, to an hour, then an hour and a half. It was now nearing two hours since she’d come in.
Glancing at her watch, she felt slight panic – the day was running out on her. She had a big food shop to do, and then she and Bob had planned to grab an early bite out before going to a symphony concert at the Opera House. She stood up and walked to the rear of the shop, to see how Chris was getting on, and to her relief she saw the bike was all back together. He had it mounted on a roller, testing the pedals and going smoothly up and down through the gears.
Her phone rang. She answered and heard the voice of the young radiologist.
‘Hi, Ana,’ she said. ‘Hold on a sec!’
She walked back to the sofa and perched on an arm. ‘I’ll have to talk quietly, I’m in a busy shop.’
‘I’m calling you as you asked for my report on Georgina Maclean.’
‘Yes, thank you.’ She waited expectantly.
‘It doesn’t look good for the lady,’ Ana said.
‘I was kind of expecting that.’
‘Very fortunately Mr Valentine came in to help me interrogate the images.’
‘OK, great,’ Kath said. Good of him, she thought, he must have been having a quiet day in the hospital. And she was very comforted to know that this inexperienced radiologist had someone so experienced on hand, helping her – it saved her the need to get one of the consultants to double-check the results on Monday. ‘Yes, so tell me, Ana?’
When Kath ended the call, the bike was ready and waiting. She paid the bill, then wheeled the bike out onto the pavement, stopped and strapped on her helmet. The light was already beginning to fail and a cold breeze was blowing. It felt as if it was blowing right through her. She had to deliver bad news in her job, and although it was never easy for her, she was normally at arm’s length from her patients, and whilst being sympathetic, she was able to be dispassionate. But it was different with Georgie, she was her mate. She was dreading having to tell her – this was something no amount of medical training could prepare her for.
She used the twenty-minute cyc
le ride home to collect her thoughts, plan what she was going to say to Georgie and how she was going to say it.
85
Saturday 19 January
Georgie had to sit in the police station waiting area for some while before a young, suited man appeared through a glass door, introducing himself as Detective Constable Price. Apologizing for keeping her waiting, he led her through the doorway and towards a lift.
‘Do you know what happened?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid not fully at this stage – we’re hoping you may be able to help us.’
They emerged into an open-plan area, on the second floor, and he led her past several people at their workstations into a smart conference room, where a middle-aged man with a big bushy beard stood up and shook her hand.
‘Detective Inspector John Cunningham,’ he said. ‘We appreciate you coming, Miss Maclean – can we get you a drink?’
‘I’d love some tea, please. No sugar, just some milk.’
The younger man went out and she sat down opposite the DI. He had a tablet in front of him and a recorder. ‘I’d like to stress that you are not a suspect in any way, Miss Maclean, we’d just like to ask you some questions about what happened at the Bel Royal Hotel on Thursday night, and we would like to take some elimination fingerprints before you leave.’
‘Of course,’ she said.
The window looked down over the roundabout in front of the police station, and the entrance to the tunnel on the far side. It was growing dark. A large, white, Ferryspeed lorry with its headlights on was emerging from it, with a line of traffic following.
For a few minutes they chatted, pleasantly, about how long she had been in Jersey and where she lived, and he told her he’d been here ten years – before that he’d been with the police in Norfolk.
Then DC Price returned with a tray of teas, sat down beside his colleague and they began.