The Kate Fletcher Series

by Heleyne Hammersley

  ‘Can I help you?’ she said, glaring at Caroline as though she were a minor royal granting an audience to an annoying fan.

  Caroline smiled, trying to diffuse some of the tension that had arisen from nowhere. ‘I’m just after some information about my father. I’d like to know when he’s likely to be discharged.’

  ‘Which one is he?’

  ‘Dennis Lambert. He’s been here since yesterday.’

  The woman’s face suddenly softened, the planes and angles flattening in sympathy. ‘Ah, yes. He’s…’

  ‘He’s got liver cancer. I am aware of his condition.’

  ‘You know it’s serious?’

  Caroline nodded. ‘I know he’s not going to get better. Is there somebody that I can talk to about getting him home?’

  A hacking cough came rasping from one of the rooms, desperate and deep.

  ‘Let’s go somewhere a bit quieter,’ the nurse said, standing up and stepping round the desk. ‘It’ll be easier to talk.’

  Caroline allowed herself to be led into a small room around the corner from the nurses’ station which was obviously used for private consultations. It contained a pair of hard plastic chairs and a curtained hospital bed. Beneath a tiny window, a small table held a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope, both casually arranged and unthreatening. Caroline sat down without being asked and leaned forward as the other woman did the same.

  ‘I’m Maddie Cox. I’m a clinical nurse specialist and I have oversight of your father’s condition. He’s in stage four liver cancer and, as you know, his prognosis isn’t good.’

  Caroline struggled to contain a smile. The woman was clearly hiding behind jargon and didn’t want to brutalise Caroline with plain language.

  ‘He can be made comfortable with pain relief…’

  ‘He’s in pain?’

  ‘He will be. At the moment he can manage it with paracetamol but, as the disease progresses we many need to prescribe morphine.’

  Caroline’s thoughts flitted about her brain like angry wasps, unable to settle on anything clear. Morphine. Pain. She recognised the words but couldn’t quite grasp their meaning.

  ‘He should be mobile for a while yet. He can walk and there’s always the option of a wheelchair, further down the line.’

  Further down the line. What did that mean? Caroline could picture a freight train bearing down on her at ever-increasing speed. ‘How long?’

  ‘Well it’s…’

  ‘How long?’

  Maddie sighed. ‘It’s hard to say but, in my experience, cases like this usually don’t drag on. Six to eight months possibly.’

  Plenty of time. Too much time.

  ‘If you’d like to speak to your father’s consultant I can…’

  Caroline shook her head. ‘No. I’m clear about what’s happening and what needs to be done.’

  The nurse nodded, her mouth a flat line of sympathy and understanding.

  ‘Well, if…’ She stood, obviously expecting Caroline to do the same. Something dropped from her pocket and rolled under her chair. Caroline leaned forward to retrieve it despite Maddie’s protests and saw that it was a blue plastic disc with the number 50 and the letters GA on one side. The other side was blank.

  Caroline passed it back to Maddie without comment, storing away this small nugget of information about the nurse. Knowledge was power, Dennis had taught her that.

  Chapter 7

  Caroline timed her next visit to the hospital precisely – not enough time to get caught up in Dennis’s misery but just enough to have a chance to talk to the nurse that she had met the previous day; if she were working the same shift. Back at her father’s house, Caroline had spent the evening tapping the screen of her phone, researching her father’s cancer, the stages and possible progress of the disease. It might take longer than she’d anticipated.

  She negotiated the foyer with more confidence this time, the uncertainty of her previous visit banished by her faith in the seeds of her plan. This time she noticed how drab the corridors looked; scuffs and scars marred the flooring, and the walls, although bright, were battered and scraped. She breezed into Aspen ward and walked up to Dennis’s bed, empty-handed this time. He was asleep. Caroline briefly considered giving him a nudge but couldn’t really see much point; at least, this way, it was easier for her to re-establish contact with Maddie Cox.

  The nurses’ station was deserted again, the staff obviously too busy to spend time answering phones or updating records, so Caroline wandered around the ward peering into each ‘room’. Most contained quartets of elderly men who looked like they were hovering somewhere between life and death surrounded by clusters of relatives who mostly looked bored. Faces turned towards her, a sudden rush of anticipation, and then settled back into their set expressions of hopelessness.

  There was no sign of Maddie. One or two nurses gave her a curious stare as they ministered to patients but none wore the dark blue uniform of the clinical nurse specialist. Was she on a different shift? Was it a day off? Frustrated, Caroline paced back to Dennis’s bed and considered her next move. She sat on the hard chair next to his bed and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept. He looked almost peaceful. Her resentment uncoiled inside her, a taut spring looking for release after years of strain. Finally, decisively, she pressed the call button on the handset which lay next to Dennis’s arm.

  Hurried footsteps approached, barely allowing Caroline time to set a concerned expression on her face and pull her chair closer to the bed.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  The nurse who arrived was slightly dishevelled-looking as though the call had dragged her from a few snatched minutes of sleep. Strands of her blonde hair hung loose from her practical bun and the dark smudges beneath her eyes made her look exhausted.

  ‘I think his breathing’s a bit funny,’ Caroline lied, pointing to her father’s still-sleeping form.

  The nurse looked at her sceptically then leaned closer to Dennis. ‘He sounds fine at the moment. He had a bit of a rough night so he’s probably exhausted.’

  ‘Rough night?’ Caroline prompted.

  ‘Unsettled. I think he wants to go home and he got a bit agitated.’ She picked up the chart that hung on the bottom of the bed. ‘It looks like he was given something to help him to sleep, that’s all. He might be a bit groggy when he wakes up.’

  ‘I was just worried. I spoke to Nurse Cox yesterday and she sort of prepared me for the worst. I was hoping to speak to her again. I have a few questions about bringing my father home.’

  The nurse glanced over her shoulder towards the nurses’ station. ‘I think she’s still on shift. If you give me a few minutes I’ll see if she’s available to speak to you.’

  Caroline watched the woman walk away before turning back to her father. Sleeping pills. Another piece of information to store away for future use. Dennis’s breathing was slow and steady and the effect of the heat of the ward and the rhythm of his chest was soporific. Caroline felt her eyes growing heavy as she waited.

  ‘You’re back then?’ Her father’s voice roused her from her stupor and she looked up to see his cold eyes watching her suspiciously. ‘Thought you’d have gone back to Sheffield by now.’

  ‘No. Still here. I told you I’m going to take you home when you’re ready to leave. I had a chat with one of your nurses yesterday so I’ve got a bit more of an idea of what you’ll need.’

  Was that fear in his eyes? She couldn’t be sure. And, if it was, what was he afraid of? Death? Her? ‘What did she say, this nurse?’

  He obviously hadn’t asked. He tried to sit up and Caroline leaned forward to rearrange his pillows so he could get comfortable. There was a scum of whitish saliva in the corners of his mouth and she tried not to look at it as she spoke.

  ‘She said it’ll be a few more days. I’m going to talk to her again about what I’ll need to do for you.’

  This time the fear was more obvious. Visions of bedpans and sponge baths darted acr
oss Caroline’s mind, the lingua franca of elderly illness. Hopefully, not this time.

  ‘You were asking for me?’ A voice behind her.

  She turned to see Maddie Cox peering anxiously at her father, probably expecting him to have deteriorated rapidly; her eyes flicked back to Caroline when she was satisfied that her patient’s condition hadn’t changed.

  ‘I was,’ Caroline said. ‘I have a few more questions about my father’s care after he’s discharged. I just thought you’d be the right person to ask after we spoke yesterday.’

  Maddie coloured slightly and Caroline wondered if she was remembering the Gamblers Anonymous chip that Caroline had picked up for her.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, glancing expectantly from Caroline to her father.

  ‘Not here,’ Caroline said with a pointed nod towards Dennis, knowing that he would make no protest, that he’d accept whatever the professionals suggested without question.

  Maddie led the way to another cramped room hidden away behind the nurses’ station. It was obviously a rest room for staff as one wall was lined with cheap foam-seated chairs which looked like they’d been shoved together to make a makeshift bed. The walls were adorned with posters warning about the dangers of MRSA and other illnesses, and the window blind was closed. Opposite the row of chairs was a kitchen counter with a sink, microwave and kettle. A small fridge nestled beneath the sink. All the basics, Caroline thought, with the emphasis on the ‘basic’.

  ‘Have a seat,’ the nurse said. Caroline perched on the one nearest the door, forcing Maddie to sit further inside the room; further away from anybody who might overhear.

  ‘So what do you need to know?’

  ‘To be frank, I didn’t just want to ask about my father. It’s a bit more personal than that.’

  Maddie sat back in her seat, a wary expression of surprise in her eyes.

  ‘Personal?’

  ‘I saw your fifty-day chip from GA when you dropped it the other day. I recognised it immediately.’

  She paused and waited for the implication to sink in.

  ‘Oh, you’re…’

  ‘Yes. I’m an addict. I’ve been attending GA for a few months and one of my worries about staying with Dennis is that I won’t be able to get to meetings should I need to. I thought I could ask you where to go.’

  Maddie scowled, obviously irritated by the intrusion into her personal life. She dug her hands defensively into the pockets of her uniform top.

  ‘You could have looked in the yellow pages. Or online.’

  Caroline hung her head. ‘I could have. But it’s hard enough going to a new group. I thought you might let me tag along, introduce me.’

  Maddie shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mix work with my personal life, especially this part of my life. Use Google.’ She stood up.

  Caroline sighed. ‘I’ve overstepped. Sorry. It’s just that I’ve got such a lot going on and I know what I’m like. I’ll give in eventually. I haven’t had a bet in over a year but the first thing I thought about doing when I left on Tuesday was going to the bookies and then to the pub. You’re right though. It’s my problem. I’ll find somewhere. I apologise in advance if I end up gate-crashing your meeting.’

  Maddie sighed, walked over to the door and closed it quietly. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help. I’m just not sure it would be right. I’m looking after your dad. I don’t want patients or their families in my personal life. You can understand that.’

  ‘I do. And I feel embarrassed for putting you in this position. Hopefully he’ll be out of here soon and you can forget this happened.’

  Maddie held the door open for her and allowed her back through to the nurses’ station. As soon as she’d turned her back on the nurse, Caroline’s face cracked into a self-satisfied smile. She’d seen the look on Maddie’s face as the nurse had listened to her sob story. This wasn’t the end of the discussion.

  Caroline closed the lid of her laptop. She’d taken Maddie’s advice and searched online for GA meetings in Doncaster. There were two regular ones but neither was near the infirmary. However, two meetings gave her a 50/50 chance and she wasn’t in a hurry; she’d find the right one eventually. She stretched out her arms, easing the tension in her muscles. It was good to be home. She’d decided against spending another night at her father’s house. One had been enough. The memories and the grime had both been off-putting in different ways and she couldn’t bear the thought of being watched by Bren every time she stepped out of the door.

  She looked around the room, taking pleasure in the bright décor and the modern furnishings. She loved this house and the area, and had no regrets about moving back to South Yorkshire despite her initial misgivings. Dore was far enough away from Thorpe for the village to barely cross her mind but close enough for her to get back if she needed to. Now she needed to.

  She’d tried to get as far away as possible when she’d left home for university, and Bristol had been the perfect place. Three years of freedom and a geography degree gave her the confidence to move even further south and west, and she’d spent the next twenty years in and around Plymouth working for the city council as a planner. Thorpe had always been there, though, in the back of her mind – a throbbing tell-tale heart. Thorpe and Jeanette. She’d always known that she’d have to come back – for her sister.

  She slipped the laptop onto the coffee table and went through to the kitchen – her favourite room in the house. Standing at the sink to fill the kettle she gazed out at the back garden with its long stretch of lawn and carefully tended shrubs, both looking muted under a blanket of frost. She missed the garden during the winter; missed the feel of warm earth under her fingers and the satisfaction of edging the lawn and cutting back the plants. Caroline always felt connected to her mother when she spent time gardening; a deep-rooted link that was almost genetic. Her mum had loved the garden, loved her roses and chrysanthemums. Until Jeanette disappeared. Nothing had been the same after that. Her mum had barely left the house and her interest in the garden had dissipated almost overnight.

  Caroline poured hot water onto her teabag, still looking at the garden. The patio at the bottom would need a clean after the winter to get rid of the algae and moss. It was the only thing that she’d had to change before she could live in the house. She’d had the greenhouse dismantled and the patio laid before she’d been able to move in any of her furniture. She could barely remember what the garden had looked like when she’d first viewed the property.

  Her father had bought their council house after the first wave of sell-offs in the 1980s. It had been more expensive than if he’d bought it when he’d first had the opportunity but Caroline knew that he’d done it because of Jeanette and their mother’s subsequent depression. It meant that he could make alterations, to make the place theirs, but all she’d felt at the time was trapped by the memories of her sister.

  At nine years old, Caroline had been desperate to move away, to start again but she’d understood that selling the house was impossible and that, if she was going to leave, she’d have to do it by herself. So she’d worked hard at school, convinced that if she could get a good job she’d be able to live wherever she wanted. She’d considered university when she’d started her GCSEs and by the time she was seventeen, she’d known what she wanted to study and where.

  She would have probably stayed in the southwest despite having no real ties there. A few failed relationships had convinced her that she wasn’t likely to get married and have a family; she was too broken and too closed off and she didn’t really enjoy sharing her space with anybody. But the inheritance had changed everything. She had only met her mother’s brother, Ted, twice but she had been aware that he had a job that was something to do with lorries. What she hadn’t understood as a child was that he’d owned a haulage company and, after he died, his solicitor told her that he’d sold it in the late nineties for a substantial sum of money. Widowed and childless, he’d left it to her. So she’d moved back but still
kept her distance; she was financially independent and she could rub Dennis’s nose in it by sending him details of her new address in Dore. Letting him know that she was close. Watching and waiting.

  Bren’s call had still come as a shock, though. Even though another part of the reason for Caroline sending her contact details was for something like this, she hadn’t really expected her father to keep her phone number, much less allow Bren to use it, so the call had left her shaking with confusion and anxiety – and anticipation.

  Chapter 8

  The first GA meeting that Caroline had attended had been in a room at Doncaster library. The person leading the group had been very earnest and the five other attendees had welcomed Caroline without suspicion. But no Maddie.

  The Methodist church was her second option. It was on a side street just off one of the main roads heading south out of Doncaster; secluded and out of the way. From what Caroline had learned from Google, the two groups were run by the same branch of Gamblers Anonymous but they had to use different venues on different nights. She had asked about this at the library meeting, and it seemed that there was little overlap between attendees. The Tuesday library group rarely attended the Thursday church group and vice versa.

  The Methodist church was an imposing red brick Victorian building with three storeys of arched windows and a double entrance door. One side of the door had been propped open invitingly, and Caroline stepped through it into a large, oak-panelled vestibule area. She instantly felt the weight of years of religious practice and hope bearing down on her. She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself focussed on the task ahead. The library meeting had been quite small and Caroline hadn’t felt compelled to ‘share’ her story but, from the buzz of conversation coming from behind the panels, Caroline could tell that this meeting was going to be quite a bit bigger. She placed her palm on the cold brass fingerplate, imagining her handprint captured there for eternity, and pushed open the inner door, rehearsing her fabricated version of her past in her head.