‘She wasn’t herself, the rash, it started to spread to her shoulders but, the rest of her body was fine. Her temperature was 37.5 when Jen left her with me and although it was a little high it wasn’t too worrying since she looked a little under the weather. What worried me was her lethargy. I rang you to ask you what you wanted me to do but when you didn’t pick up I made her a bed in the playroom, so I could keep an eye on her. When she started to shake I covered her with a blanket. I rang you again. I’ve looked after poorly children before, but this was very different. Maisy felt cold and clammy and the shaking got worse, so much so that I was worried she might have a fit. I tried to call you again and again. When you didn’t answer I did another top to toe check. The rash was unchanged, her hands and feet were like ice but her temperature had risen. I rang you again. I panicked, so I rang Jen at the police station and they put me through to the admin office. I know Jen said to ring you but I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do ... Her meds... The Calpol wasn’t due for another forty minutes you see...’ A sob caught in her throat as fresh tears trickled down her cheek. ‘The lady I spoke to, Avril, Jen’s boss? She told me Jen was in a meeting, she didn’t know how long she would be and I had to ring back. What a horrible woman... Oh, God I hope I haven’t got her into trouble?’
Dylan shook his head. ‘No, no, not at all.’
‘I tried Jen again about ten minutes later and luckily this time I got another lady who got Jen straight away. I can’t believe it’s got to this after a couple of hours...’
‘What have the doctors said?’
‘Nothing... They’re still doing tests.’
‘Go home. There is nothing more you can do here. I will ring you the minute we have any news I promise.’
‘You sure?’
Dylan nodded his head.
Chantall turned to go.
Dylan grabbed her arm. ‘I... we can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done,’ he said with tears in his eyes.
Dylan knocked on the door, put his hand on the handle and opened it slowly. The nurse appeared from behind the curtain. Her white, leather plimsolls made no sound as she softly walked towards him.
‘I just hope and pray it was enough,’ Chantall whispered into the tissue as she walked a few steps down the corridor. All of a sudden she felt dizzy and sick. She stood facing the wall, her burning forehead touched the cold surface, her hands twisted the tissue she held in her hand, but she made no sound and the hospital inhabitants walked past her unseeingly.
Jen sat close to the bed. She looked to Dylan as if she had been there for hours; upright, solid and still. Dylan put her hand on her shoulder but she didn’t acknowledge him. ‘I’m Maisy’s dad,’ Dylan said to the doctor in a hushed tone. The doctor had a high, bald forehead and staring eyes in a face with a complexion the colour of raw meat.
‘Mr Dylan,’ he said with a nod of his head.
Maisy was shaking violently. ‘Temp forty point one,’ said the nurse to the doctor.
The doctor had a puzzled look on his greasy face as he examined Maisy’s leg that had begun to swell. ‘Toxic shock,’ he said, abruptly.
Jen looked up at him. ‘She fell yesterday... I kissed it better and sent her back to play,’ Jen stuttered and began to weep again, quietly. ‘Bless her,’ she said, stroking her small flaccid hand that lay on the bed sheet. The sun suddenly shone through the window and rested on Maisy’s pale, serene face.
‘This little graze here,’ he said pointing to a tiny mark on her knee with one forefinger and a mechanical grimace, ‘is probably how the virus got into her bloodstream and Maisy appears to be having an allergic reaction to it. You have a very poorly little girl. I’m going to arrange to have her taken down to the operating theatre immediately to drain the toxins from her blood.’
Jen reached out to her daughter and stroked to one side the fine strands of damp hair that were stuck to her forehead.
‘I want samples sent to infectious diseases for analysis,’ he said the nurse who made notes. Then he turned to Dylan and Jen, ‘We won’t have the results back for at least forty-eight hours,’ he said. ‘In the meantime we will put her on antibiotics. Is she allergic to penicillin?’
Jen shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said. She looked at Dylan.
‘She’s never had to take anything like that before,’ he said.
The doctor was thoughtful, he looked at Maisy and then back at Dylan. ‘We have to make a decision and quickly.’
‘Do whatever you need to,’ he said. Reassuringly he gripped Jen’s shoulder and looked at the doctor with disbelieving eyes.
Jen’s hand lay on the pillow next to her daughter’s face, her wedding ring shone in the sunlight on her long, slender finger. She lifted it and touched Maisy’s cheek, stroking it intermittently, and her touch was featherlight.
‘We need to get her temperature down,’ said the doctor. His face was sombre and Dylan recognised the adorning of his ‘professional mask’. A ‘mask’ that Dylan himself used when delivering bad news. A sob caught in his throat but he nodded at Jen’s upturned face and hoped that his ‘professional mask’ fooled his wife in her moment of need.
Jen eyes were fixed on the hospital gown that rose and fell gently with every breath Maisy took and Dylan watched Jen as fresh tears tumbled periodically down her face. The nurse offered her a box of tissues and she accepted it with a wan smile.
***
Detective Sergeant Rajinder Uppal walked into the incident room and Detective Sergeant Vicky Hardacre who was new to the role of supervisor was uncharacteristically silent; it was such a pleasant shock it left her speechless. ‘Thank God,’ she said silently. Dylan hadn’t returned and the pressure was building as actions flooded in. Whether Dylan had arranged Rajinder’s attendance or there really had been some divine intervention Vicky might never know but the relief that flooded over her was immeasurable.
Raj gave Vicky a knowing smile when she saw the younger woman’s face and the smile reached her big brown eyes. Raj was a bit older than Vicky and had considerably more experience in the role, and Vicky had been lucky enough to work with her on previous enquiries. There would be none of that awkwardness, none of the ‘getting to know you’ and it was a good job as DS Raj, as she was affectionately known, senior Detective Sergeant seconded on this enquiry, was going to have to hit the ground running and take ultimate charge, in the absence of Dylan.
Raj’s shoulder length hair was tied up in a neat knot; a stark contrast to Vicky’s blonde, wild mane. She sported a slight olive tone to her skin as opposed to Vicky’s fairness, and although she was Indian she could easily be taken for being of Mediterranean origin.
‘Lisa, Raj can have the desk next to mine – it’s free,’ Vicky said as she jumped to her feet and wheeled over a nearby vacant chair. Leaning over the work station she briskly swept the contents into the middle of her desk; the only free space available. Several discarded, dirty mugs were swiftly moved by the younger of the women to the top of the filing cabinet behind and the remaining disregarded stationery was finally scooped up and thrown into Vicky’s overflowing drawer.
‘I see you haven’t changed,’ said Raj, putting her briefcase down next to her chair. She took off her suit jacket, walked to the coat stand at the far end of the office and took a duster out of her bag.
The office personnel looked on as she very deliberately unfolded the duster and wiped the desk. Vicky saw her take a new notepad, pen, mug, blotter and desk tidy out of her bag and place them neatly on her desk alongside a pile of post-it-notes in different colours and sizes.
‘Lists, she loves lists,’ Vicky whispered to Lisa. ‘Nor have you,’ Vicky said louder this time and with an eyebrow raised. ‘You ready to hear the facts?’
‘I’ve read the facts,’ said Raj.
Raj sat down, crossed her legs and opened her notepad. Accepted a cup of tea from Lisa, picked up her pen and turned her attention to Vicky. ‘Right where are we at kid?’ she said. ‘And have we h
eard from Dylan how his daughter is?’
***
Maisy was dressed for theatre. There was an agonising silence. The consent forms that Dylan had signed lay on top of her hospital file. Her body looked tiny enveloped in the bed with its cot sides up. Although it was a nice gesture, the characterised Princess trolley was lost on Maisy, who was thankfully fast asleep and unaware of what was happening. Jen stood, holding onto her daughter’s limp hand. Jen’s heart hammed against her chest. The nurse checked Maisy’s hospital wristband, and that her drip was stable. She nodded her head when the porter arrived before once more flicking through the paperwork in her arms. Jen felt sick, faint, she looked at Dylan’s face for reassurance but all she saw the mask of the detective.
‘Can I go with them?’ Dylan asked.
‘Sorry,’ said the doctor. ‘We can only allow one person to go with her.’
The nurse walked in front. Jen clung to the cot side. The porter pushed Maisy along the corridors. Each time they turned a corner the next looked exactly the same. They were all long, They were all mostly empty. However, when they encountered people they invariably moved to the side to let them pass. Jen looked down at the floor to avoid the sympathetic looks. She couldn’t bear to see the compassionate faces. The floor covering was highly polished. Her heels pitter-pattered. The echo bouncing off the stark white, glossy walls. The hospital was terribly warm and Jen was thankful for the breeze of cool air from a door opening to the outside world. Down in the lift, through the bowels of the old building they buffered their way through the tightly sprung doors before finally arriving at their destination. Silently Jen, alongside her sleeping daughter, stood in a room with no windows and two doors. A masked anaesthetist awaited them, he didn’t speak but immediately got on with the job he was tasked to do. A member of the theatre staff jovially exchanged pleasantries with nurse. The porter left. One side of Maisy’s cot was dropped unceremoniously. The noise was loud to Jen’s ears. She looked at Maisy with horror in her eyes. Please don’t let her wake up in this place, she thought. The anaesthetist was busily putting plastic pads in place to monitor the sleeping child.
‘Has she any allergies’ he said as the surgically clad theatre staff member took the patient’s notes from the nurse and checked Maisy’s wristband against the notes.
‘Not that we’re aware of, no,’ said Jen quietly.
‘Is she on any prescribed medicines?’
‘Only the medicines that she has been given whilst she has been here but she did have a dose of Calpol about eight o’clock this morning.’ The anaesthetist dismissed this interaction without a look but a wave of his hand. Jen’s voice was shaking and the nurse looked at her through thick brown eyelashes. Touching her arm she gave her a comforting little smile.
‘We won’t be administering Maisy with the anaesthetic until she is in theatre, through the cannula that is already in place,’ said the anaesthetist to Jen.
As Jen was steered out of the room by the nurse Maisy was pushed through the swinging doors of theatre. Jen turned to the nurse and sobbed into her open arms as though her heart would break.
‘Try not to worry. Maisy is in excellent hands Mrs Dylan,’ said the nurse as she gave her a squeeze. ‘It’s likely she will go into Intensive Care after she leaves Recovery and I will be the one taking her there.’
‘When will we be able to see her?’
‘You will see her as soon as we have her settled.’
***
Dylan was on the phone to the incident room. The nurse and Jen arrived back in the examination room where they were told to wait until they had news that Maisy was out of theatre. The nurse closed the door behind her. Dylan walked over and held Jen’s hands in his. She sat on one chair, he sat on the other, she reached for Maisy’s teddy on the bedside cabinet and held it to her face, inhaling the comforting smell of home. There was a huge bed sized void in front of them.
Dylan’s voice seemed to bounce off the walls as if he was in an empty cave. Jen looked around for something to read, there was nothing, no newspapers, no magazines, nothing on the walls. He eventually turned off his mobile. ‘Okay?’ he said. Jen nodded.
‘I have to make a few calls,’ he said. Jen closed her eyes momentarily and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Jen, I have to do something. I’m going out of my mind with worry too for God’s sake.’ He got up and stepped outside into the corridor and the door remained slightly ajar. She heard his voice growing quieter and quieter as he walked away. The only sound Jen could hear after a while was the rustling of paper under the cushion of her chair when she changed her seating position. Dylan didn’t return. Her eyes hung on the hands of the clock on the wall yearning to hear footsteps along the corridor that would enter the room. She began to wish Dylan had not left her alone but neither did she want to leave the room to look for him in case the doctor returned. Surely Dylan would be back soon?
Eventually the nurse returned and it was obvious to Jen that Dylan had been watching from a distance as within moments he followed her into the room. He closed the door behind him.
‘I’m taking you to Intensive Care Unit where Maisy is now comfortable. The doctor will come see you,’ she said. ‘Maisy is being administered antibiotics. Don’t be alarmed by the tubes, wires and cables, it’s our way of monitoring her. You may also hear alarms and bleeps in Intensive Care which again are nothing to worry about in most cases. If you are unsure about anything there are always specialist nurses and doctors on hand to answer your questions. Don’t be afraid to ask. Most of the patients in ICU are asleep because they’re more than likely on painkillers or sedatives which make them drowsy.’
Jen walked alongside the nurse, Dylan behind. He checked his phone.
‘Is everything okay?’ said the nurse. ‘Your husband...?’
‘He’s heading a murder enquiry.’
‘A murder enquiry?’
‘Yes.’
‘My goodness, as if he doesn’t have enough on his plate.’
The nurse held the door of ICU open for Jen and Dylan. The walls in the ward were too white, too shiny, the beds were aligned too neatly, the beeping of the monitors too regular, the sheets too starched. Even the sun shining through the window was not enough to soften the harsh, sterile practicality of the room. The doctor who was by her side looked up at Dylan and Jen. ‘The operation went as well as could be expected.’ Jen let out a sigh of relief. Dylan put his hand around her waist and she wiped the tears from her eyes.
‘How long will she stay in here?’ Jen said.
‘As long as we feel it necessary. We need to stabilise her, her temperature still remains higher than we would like so, until that time we want to keep a close eye on your daughter.’
‘Can I stay?’
‘Of course,’ said the nurse. ‘We have a room where you can sleep or we can bring you a chair to sleep at her bedside.’
Unspeaking, Dylan and Jen sat either side of their daughter. Jen could see tears in Dylan’s downcast eyes. She slid her small warm hand on top of his.
‘You should go home and rest,’ said Dylan.
‘No, you go home and see to Max, he’ll be crossing his legs bless him,’ said Jen. ‘I want to stay here...’
‘You heard the doctor they’re going to monitor her. There is nothing we can do.’
Jen shook her head. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Okay, if you don’t want to leave her alone I’ll stay. After all I’m used to being awake all night.’
Jen sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. Dylan could see in her eyes that there was no way his wife would be leaving the hospital that night.
‘You sure, you’re okay?’ said Dylan as stood up to leave. She walked him to the door. ‘She’s going to be fine now. Look,’ he said raising his chin to look at Maisy over Jen’s shoulder. ‘Her colour is coming back already. She’s a little fighter.’ Dylan gave Jen a hug. He pulled back and looked into her face, caught a lone tear that had broken free of her closed eyes and kissed
her. Her face crumpled.
‘The last time I was in ICU was after mum’s accident.’ Jen inhaled sharply as her bottom lip wobbled. ‘They told me she’d be okay then and... She died.’
‘That is not going to happen this time.’
Jen gulped back the tears.
‘Ring me if you need anything.’ Dylan handed Jen his handkerchief.
Jen nodded her head and wiped her eyes. She breathed in deeply. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ she said giving him a weak smile.
Dylan walked out of ICU reluctantly alone, he looked back twice and saw Jen watching him from the head-high small window in the door. It was at times like these that he knew Jen desperately missed her mum and no matter what he did that was one wish he couldn’t grant her but, he knew something that would make her feel a whole lot better. He put his hand in his pocket and looked at the list of missed calls as he walked down the hospital corridor. But, there was something he needed to do first – call Jen’s dad Ralph.
***
A sharp, shrill ring pierced the silence. Dylan woke with a jolt in his armchair. Too damn early was how his brain interpreted the neon-green digital numbers on the clock. He swiped a hand roughly over his face; the stubble lining his jaw rasped softly on the palm of one hand and he picked the phone up with the other.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Dylan?’
‘It is.’ Dylan’s mouth was extraordinarily dry. He looked at the empty wine bottle and the glass on the table at his side.
‘Control Room sir, we’ve got a body. I’ll ring you back when you’re awake.’ The phone went dead and Dylan held it away from his ear, looked down at the hand piece and growled. He flopped backwards only to feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. ‘Who do you think answered the bloody phone?’ Dylan said, through clenched teeth.
***
By the time he had begun to feel fully awake Dylan found himself standing on a dark, draughty street corner in Harrowfield town centre. He looked up to the name of the street on the soot stained brick wall of the Council offices. The blue flashing lights lit it up for him to read. ‘Viaduct Street’. A Dragon Lamp was being set up by the Crime Scene Investigators a sure sign the circus had already arrived. He opened his car boot, took out his coveralls and booted and suited was putting on his gloves when Vicky arrived.
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