‘How’s mum?’
‘Okay,’ Louisa replied. ‘I think she’s just been really thrown by everything and doesn’t know what to think. She’s asleep upstairs. What about your dad?’
‘Not great,’ Sam revealed. ‘He’s in defensive mode. He’s afraid any police investigation will harm the family.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘So can I – but it’s about more than this family, isn’t it? There’s another family to think of.’
‘I know. So what are you going to do?’
Sam looked up towards the top of the stairs, thinking of his mum. ‘Definitely stay here tonight, if that’s okay with you. I’d like some more time with them, although I think dad’s mind is set. Then tomorrow, assuming he still wants to meet, I’m going to go and speak with Marcus.’
22
Sam woke early, the morning sun blasting through the curtains just the way he had always liked it. It was strange waking up as a thirty-four year old in the same bed, and the same room, as you had spent your childhood - like going back in time. The room hadn’t changed much since his teenage years. The wooden desk was still in the corner, on which he had written his application for university. The same wardrobes ran across the back of the wall, except that now they were full of overflow clothes from his parents’ room, instead of his jumpers, jeans and shirts. Cathy’s room was different. Some grieving parents can’t bear to alter the room of a dead child, and it becomes a shrine, frozen at the moment before the pain came. But just two weeks after her murder, his dad had gutted the place, enlisting Sam’s help to repaper the walls, re-carpet and move out Cathy’s belongings. Cathy’s room became an office.
Sam had understood why he’d done it, but he couldn’t quite forgive him.
For a while he just sat there, enjoying the sun’s glow, thinking about everyone – his mum, dad, Cathy, and Anna. He’d received a text message from Anna just before midnight. She was still good, but looking forward to coming home. And he was really looking forward to seeing her. Then, he thought, everything was seem alright again.
But he knew that before then, there were important and difficult things to do.
The time was just approaching half past seven. He rolled out of bed, dressed quickly, and went downstairs. The kitchen was empty. When Cathy and he were young, his dad used to be the first downstairs, always. His dad’s job was preparing the breakfast, Weetabix for all plus toast with strawberry jam, before travelling off to work in Manchester. That was then, though. That was when things were so different, before the spectre of Cathy’s murder changed everything.
He’d just filled the kettle when he heard someone move behind him.
‘Morning, Sam.’
Sam turned to see his mum enter the kitchen. He could see straight away that she was worrying about something. He recognised the same facial expression from his own – it was a dead giveaway. ‘You okay?’
His mother nodded unconvincingly. She was dressed too. She moved towards the oak table and pulled out a chair, lifting it up from the floor so as not to make a noise on the wooden floor. ‘Don’t want to wake your father,’ she explained, taking a seat.
Sam continued preparing the tea as his mother watched. He would wait for her to tell him what was troubling her.
‘You know I’m very proud of you, Sam.’
Sam turned around. ‘Thanks.’
‘I mean it, Sam. Sometimes I can’t believe that our son is a heart surgeon in London. Cathy would be so proud of her big brother.’
Sam abandoned the preparations and took a seat opposite. She was going to tell him something. The breakfast could wait.
‘How are you feeling?’
She managed a weak smile and shrugged. ‘I’m okay. I was so shocked yesterday when the police came, but I’m okay this morning. Talking to Louisa helped a lot.’
‘That’s good,’ Sam replied. ‘And what about you and Dad – have you talked about it?’
‘You know your father doesn’t like to talk about Cathy,’ she said. ‘I tried to talk to him after the police left, but he wouldn’t say a word. He just went off to the allotment. But I could tell how upset he was. He tries to hide it from me, but he can’t.’
‘He’s worried that going back over all this will hurt you.’
She seemed surprised. ‘Is that what he said?’
Sam nodded.
She smiled sadly. ‘Did he tell you what he told the police? That he didn’t want them to investigate any further?’
Sam nodded.
‘Sam, when Cathy died, it was devastating for all of us. For everyone, a part of us died that night along with Cathy. But for your father, it totally changed him. He isn’t the same person he was before. I know you saw the change too. Cathy was always Daddy’s Girl and he just couldn’t deal with the thought that she was gone, and that she’d been hurt. He buried his feelings so deep, because he couldn’t cope with them, but they’re always there. He’s scared, Sam, for himself, of how he’s going to cope with all this again.’
Sam stared down at the grains in the wood on the kitchen table.
‘I’m so sorry, mum; I wasn’t there when it mattered. I went away to London and left you two on your own. You shouldn’t be proud of me.’
Sam felt her arm cup his neck. ‘Sam, we’re both proud of you, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about going to London when you did. Knowing you were getting on with your life helped us both to get over what happened. Honestly.’
‘I’m still sorry I wasn’t around more,’ Sam said, meeting her gaze.
‘Well don’t be.’
‘We went to Cathy’s grave yesterday, on the way here. I was hoping she might give me a message, about what was really going on.’
His mother didn’t seem surprised. Sam knew that she often ‘spoke’ to Cathy there. ‘And did she?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Sam said. ‘Maybe.’
She waited for further explanation.
Sam decided this was the moment. For years he had wanted to broach the subject, and now was the time. Now it was his mum’s turn to recognise the worried expression. Sam took a deep breath and spoke. ‘What would you say if I said I was going to see Marcus?’
Her reply was instant. ‘I would say, make sure your father doesn’t find out.’
Sam didn’t expect that. He’d always assumed that his mum had agreed with his father, who since day one had made his hostile views on making contact with Marcus crystal clear. ‘But what about you, what do you think?’
She waited a few seconds. Again that worried look. ‘Sam, I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘What?’
She leaned forward. ‘You must promise not to tell your father about this.’
‘I won’t,’ Sam said. ‘What’s the matter?’
There was another nervous pause. ‘I’ve…I’ve been meeting with Janet Johnson, ever since Cathy died.’
Janet Johnson, Marcus’s mother. Even though the circumstances appeared to have changed dramatically in the last couple of days, even though Sam had dared to think that Marcus might have been innocent all along, the revelation still brought a strong sense of betrayal.
‘I don’t understand. Why?’
‘I can understand why you might be upset, and by God, I would never tell your father, but you’ve got to understand, Sam, Janet and I were friends ever since you and Marcus were babies. I thought after what happened I could just cut ties, but then I thought why should I? What happened wasn’t Janet’s fault. She was suffering just as much as we were. We’d lost a daughter, but in many ways, they’d lost a son. So we started to meet up, and it helped a lot. It helped us both.’
‘But you never told dad.’
‘No.’
‘And did you talk about Marcus?’
‘Not at first, but later, yes. She was so certain that he didn’t kill Cathy.’
‘And what did you say to that?’
She shrugged. ‘I started to think the same.’
Sam c
ouldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. But it was a familiar sentiment, echoing Louisa’s recent words. How could he not have known? How had this stayed so hidden for all these years? ‘You believed that Marcus was innocent?’
‘I went to visit him.’
Sam’s eyes widened at the shock of her revelation. ‘You went to visit Marcus in prison?’
She nodded, looking extremely uncomfortable. ‘With Janet.’
He struggled to take it in. His mother had dared to do what he hadn’t – to go face to face with Marcus, in search of the truth. ‘When?’
‘Eighteen months into his sentence. I only went once. I had to see for myself what he had to say, to ask him myself if he killed Cathy.’
‘And?’
‘He said that he couldn’t remember what happened, because he’d been so drunk. But he didn’t believe he could ever have hurt her.’
‘So no different to what he said in court.’
‘Not in what he said. But it was different, Sam. Sitting just a few feet away from him, I could see that he meant it, he really meant it. You could see it in his eyes. He told me he loved Cathy.’
Sam tried to take in the information. For years he had cemented the painful belief that his best friend had raped and murdered his sister. But now he found out that his own mother didn’t even believe it. Now yesterday made sense, the unexpected calmness when she’d opened the door. It hadn’t been the shock. ‘So when you heard about Richard Friedman yesterday, you weren’t surprised at all. You always thought Marcus was innocent.’
‘I could never be sure, but no, I wasn’t surprised when the police told me someone else had confessed.’
‘But you never shared this with dad?’
‘Your father wouldn’t have wanted to hear it,’ she dismissed. ‘It would have just made things worse. It helped that he had someone to blame, and there were no other suspects, until now.’
Sam put a hand to his neck and let out a steadying breath.
‘I can understand that you’re shocked,’ she said. ‘I just hope you can understand why I had to do it. I would never do anything to hurt you or your father, but I just thought this was the right thing to do. I don’t enjoy the lies, but I can’t tell him. It could tear us apart.’
‘I do understand,’ Sam replied. ‘It’s just a lot to get your head around.’
‘I know it is, Sam.’
‘So what now?’ he said. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘I want you to go and speak to Marcus,’ she said. ‘Do what I did, look him in the eyes, and ask him the question. And help the police however you can. For Janet’s sake, for all our sakes, we need to find out the truth about what happened to Cathy.’
Sam filled Louisa in on all the details during the journey back to London. She didn’t seem surprised about the news that his mother had visited Marcus in prison, and Sam suspected that it might have come up in their conversation the previous night. Maybe Louisa had even persuaded her to tell Sam. But Louisa was well versed in client confidentiality, and she didn’t reveal anything about their discussion. She just sat there and listened. By the time they reached the capital it was early afternoon, and the traffic slowed to a crawl as they moved through the dreary outskirts, past tired office blocks and fast food outlets, heading for the hospital. The rain was falling again, drenching the dirty streets, washing them clean. They passed Waterloo station and the gigantic IMAX cinema, turning left past the London Eye, through a series of traffic lights and down into the hospital’s underground car park.
Sam and Louisa parted at the hospital entrance. Louisa had a team meeting to attend and for Sam, it was a chance to catch up with the progress of Sophie. With all that had gone on, and being away from the hospital, it would have been easy to forget about her, but he wasn’t going to allow that to happen. First he headed for the cardiothoracic unit to pick up his mail.
Doug intercepted him as he approached the post trays.
‘Sam,’ he said brightly, his wide smile a welcome sight. He looked well; toned underneath his royal blue shirt and fresh-faced, despite being at the back-end of a long shift. His marathon training regime was obviously going better than Sam’s. ‘Great to see you back.’
They patted a hello. ‘Just a flying visit,’ Sam explained. ‘Have you heard how Sophie is?’
‘Sorry, no,’ Doug said, his Scottish accent seemingly getting stronger. ‘It’s been so busy today, absolutely manic, I haven’t had time to come up for air.’
‘I’m going to go up there now,’ Sam said, ‘to see how she’s doing.’
Doug nodded his approval, and then clicked his fingers as he remembered something. ‘I nearly forgot. You had a visitor, about an hour ago. I didn’t think you’d be in today, otherwise I’d have told her to wait around. She seemed pretty keen to speak with you.’
‘A visitor? Who?’
‘A woman. She came up to the nursing desk, asking to speak with you – said it was very important. I just happened to be at the desk.’ He fished around in his trouser pocket and handed Sam a piece of paper. ‘She left this number.’
There was no name.
‘Who was she?’
Doug shrugged. ‘An older woman, probably in her early seventies, maybe late sixties. Reddish hair, quite short. London accent. Feisty. Ring any bells?’
Sam tried to think of who it might be, but couldn’t. ‘She didn’t leave a name?’
‘No. Just said for you to call her as soon as you get the message. She seemed very keen to speak to you.’
23
Sam retreated to a quiet corner of the department and dialled the number. It went straight through to a generic answer service, giving no clues as to the phone’s owner. He left a short message, explaining that he was now back at work and would try to call again later. He then checked his mail and found the letter that he had been waiting for. It was a brief but important message. He’d been invited for interview in a week’s time for the consultant post. But the rare feeling of good news was tempered by the thought of whether getting the job was important anymore. How could he focus on that with everything that had happened? Still, life went on. He slipped the letter into his trouser pocket and turned towards his office. Miles was waiting for him by the door.
‘I assume that you got the letter too,’ he said, gesturing towards Sam’s trouser pocket.
Sam nodded. He must have been watching him at the post station.
‘I just wanted to say good luck.’
Miles turned to walk away, not waiting for an answer, but Sam called him back. ‘Miles.’
He turned around, hands in his pockets and raised his head expectantly.
Sam gestured towards his office. ‘Can you talk for a minute?’
Miles nodded and followed him inside.
‘Take a seat,’ Sam said.
He did as requested and sat facing him. Miles still didn’t look at his best – his eyes betrayed a genuine tiredness. His tired face was combative, as if ready for hostility, and Sam wondered whose fault this all was – he’d certainly played his part in maintaining the bad atmosphere between them over the past couple of years. It was easy to get caught up in things, sinking to new levels of animosity, so such so that it becomes the norm. But now he decided to do what Anna had advised him to do a long time ago – really try to make peace. She knew Sam had never liked the situation. And anyway, there were too many problems in the world without this.
‘I didn’t thank you properly,’ Sam said, ‘for picking up the slack while I’ve been off.’
‘No problem,’ Miles said, wary but obviously taken by surprise at Sam’s comment.
Sam continued. ‘I’m especially grateful for what you did with Sophie Jackson. You saved her life.’
‘For now,’ Miles replied flatly.
Sam nodded. ‘How is she doing?’
‘Better than I thought she would,’ Miles admitted. ‘You were right about her, Sam, she is a little fighter.’
‘Do you think she’ll pu
ll through?’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Depends on whether a suitable heart becomes available. But if one does, I think she could make it.’
‘So do I,’ Sam concurred. ‘And I really do mean what I said, so thanks for everything you did the other day. You’re a good surgeon. Whoever gets the consultant job will have deserved it, be it you or me.’
Miles’s forehead creased with suspicion and confusion. ‘Why are you doing this, Sam?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Being so nice.’
Sam shrugged. ‘I just want things to change around here, between us both. We might never be the best of friends, Miles, but it doesn’t mean we have to be enemies. At the end of the day, we’re both here to do our best for our patients; patients like Sophie.’
Miles just sat there for a second, as if weighing up a decision of national importance.
‘Fair enough,’ he said, ‘that’s fair enough.’
He held out a hand across the table, which Sam shook. Miles’s grip was strong and Sam responded, fighting to suppress a smile – it would be very difficult if not impossible to banish the air of competitiveness between them. But this was a good start.
When Miles left, Sam powered up his computer and waded through the stack of emails that had built up over the past couple of days. There was very little of interest. Carla Conway had sent him a message, concerned about how he was coping following Richard Friedman’s suicide. She offered any support she could, in the way of private counselling, and also emphasised that the board had committed to inject more money into hospital security. There would be more security staff, and all CCTV cameras would from next week be fully operational. Access to the roof would be secured.
Sam wondered, maybe cruelly, whether Carla was trying to protect staff and patients or the hospital’s reputation. Suicides on hospital property certainly weren’t a welcome news story.
He closed the email and logged onto the internet, quickly checking his private email account. There was a message from Anna. Relief work that day had gone well, and they were on target to finish connecting a health centre back to the mains water supply before she returned in three days’ time. She was looking forward to coming home and seeing him. Sam typed out a brief but warm reply. He didn’t mention any of the recent events, including the visit to his parents, as it would just raise her suspicions that something was going on. There would be plenty of time for explanations when she returned. He pressed send and scanned down his inbox. The message from Richard Friedman was still there, along with the link to the dating website. Sam highlighted the message and selected delete.
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