by K. L. Slater
I try to push thoughts of the letter I received to the back of my mind, just like I buried the actual note under the contents of my bedside table drawer once Mum had left.
Maybe it was just someone playing a silly prank and the stuff that’s happened recently is exactly as Shaun and Mum have suggested: simply bad luck.
If someone really wanted to scare me, I’m sure they could come up with something a bit more inventive than messing up the herb garden and writing a cryptic note.
Keep looking over your shoulder, you utter cow, because you’ll never know when it’s coming.
Besides, it doesn’t make sense. The person who issued that threat three years ago is dead. And dead people don’t damage tyres and windows.
Unless it’s nothing to do with what happened back then and this is a person who wants to scare me for other reasons…
Once I’ve given the past a way in, it is unstoppable, and before I know it, I’m back there at Clayton and McCarthy.
Damian was one of the last people to return from lunch.
I called out to him on his way across the office.
‘Damian, when you have a minute, could I have a quick word?’
He laughed and carried on walking as he answered me. ‘When I have a minute, yes, you can, Emma. Not sure that’s going to be today, though.’
‘Fine.’ He couldn’t say I hadn’t asked now.
Mid afternoon, Mr McCarthy himself arrived back at the office. I knew I couldn’t hold on to what I knew or there would be questions asked of my judgement. So I tapped on Barbara’s door and ask if I could have a few minutes with him.
‘What’s it about?’ she asked.
‘It’s confidential,’ I said curtly, and her nostrils flared.
‘Take a seat on the chairs and I’ll ask him.’
I watched from the client waiting area as she picked up the handset and called through to Mr McCarthy. She looked at me pointedly as she spoke to him.
Then she put down the phone and nodded towards his office, which sat across the corridor from hers.
I knocked on the door and he called for me to enter. I stepped cautiously inside and he regarded me suspiciously from behind his desk.
‘Emma, take a seat. What’s so urgent it can’t wait for an appointment?’
I guessed Peter McCarthy was in his late fifties. He had coarse salt-and-pepper hair and was a hulk of a man: over six feet four tall. He carried his height easily but walked with a slight limp due to a car accident he’d had in his thirties.
Things had moved on a lot in the workplace since Peter first opened the practice, although you wouldn’t necessarily know it at times. His nickname downstairs amongst some of the employees was ‘dinosaur’ because his management style belonged back in the dark ages.
He frowned as I sat down without invitation, obviously irritated by my interruption.
‘I’m sorry to have to bring this to you,’ I said, genuinely regretful as I unfolded the wedge of paperwork in my hand. ‘But I think you’ll agree it needs addressing right away.’
His face suddenly became grave as he noted my serious expression.
‘What have you got there?’
I stood up and spread the copied pages of the medical report on his desk.
‘I was asked to photocopy this for the counsel’s court bundles,’ I explained.
He scanned the report and nodded. ‘OK, so this shows the client was under the legal alcohol limit while he was driving the car. That’s a good thing.’
I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket.
‘But this is the original report. I had to take photographs because Damian Murphy locked the physical copy in his office drawer.’
This time Peter looked at the report and his face paled.
I cleared my throat. ‘As you can see, it looks very much as though someone has altered the original document.’
‘And you say Damian did this?’ Peter’s brow grew increasingly furrowed as he stared down at the paperwork.
‘I’m saying that as far as I’m aware, he’s the only one who has handled a copy of the original report,’ I said carefully.
‘My God,’ Peter muttered, looking again between the photos of the original report and the tampered version I’d photocopied. ‘If this fake report is used, the whole company could be struck off the SRA register.’
‘Exactly.’ I nodded. ‘Which is why I felt I had to come up and see you right away.’
‘Yes. Of course.’ He loosened his collar. ‘You did the right thing, Emma. Where’s Damian now?’
‘He’s at his desk.’
Peter thanked me and I quickly made myself scarce.
Later, I popped down to the staff kitchenette to make a drink. I was staring thoughtfully out of the tiny side window that looked out onto the brick wall of the neighbouring offices when the door opened quickly behind me and closed again.
I turned round to face Damian, his face a twisted mask of hatred and fury.
‘You absolute fucking bitch,’ he spat, and I stepped back, my palms in the air. Behind me, I met the edge of the worktop, and I found myself leaning back over it to distance myself from him. ‘Why did you have to do that? What couldn’t you have spoken to me?’ He bit his lip. ‘I could’ve explained.’
‘Explained? I had a duty to report it, as well you know.’ I took a breath and forced the words out as powerfully as I could manage, even though my knees were shaking. Foolishly, I’d expected Mr McCarthy to protect my identity as whistleblower, at least for a while. ‘As you would have done if you’d discovered that someone else in the office had falsified results.’
‘Did you know I’ve just bought a new house? That I’m getting married in December?’
‘I didn’t, but that’s not my problem, Damian.’ I softened my tone slightly. ‘I did ask to speak to you first. You left me no choice.’
He pushed his face closer to mine and spoke through gritted teeth.
‘If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll repay you for what you’ve done to me, the way you’ve ruined my career, my life, in a matter of minutes. Keep looking over your shoulder, you utter cow, because you’ll never know when it’s coming.’
And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, slamming the door forcefully behind him.
Chapter Forty-Five
Maisie
Her mum had been acting totally weird all weekend, and when she had a go at Joanne in front of everyone, Maisie actually wished she herself could drop down dead on the spot.
Maisie had known what her mum’s reaction would be if she saw her new slimline body in the shower. Her mum simply didn’t understand that she’d been getting fatter. Unbelievably, she seemed to find it cute. ‘Puppy fat,’ Gran had laughingly called it when she caught Maisie staring into the mirror, pinching at the excess flesh around her middle.
Ariana Grande had no puppy fat, and neither had most of the other girls at her dance classes.
The other girls had started staring at her, and Maisie felt certain it was because she looked revolting in her leotard and tights. And every time she glanced around, Piper would be whispering with the group of girls that used to be Maisie’s own best friends.
Why, oh why, did Piper have to join all of Maisie’s classes? Before Maisie’s dad moved in with Joanne, she only saw Piper at ballet. But now she had access to all Maisie’s friends, all of the time, and she had poisoned them against her.
There was something wrong with Maisie, there had to be. That was why she was always telling her she was too fat, too lazy, too ugly. She’d even said that that was why her dad had left home, to get away from her.
Unless she tried to make herself more likeable, her friends would be lost forever.
At first Maisie had ignored the nasty comments, but after she had heard the same insults again and again, the vicious words somehow seeped into her skin and she thought about them every time she looked in the mirror and every time a meal was served.
The worst
thing of all was that Maisie knew that if she told her mum all the stuff that was wrong with her, and that Dad had left them because he couldn’t stand being with her any longer, her mum would end up hating her too.
And if that happened, Maisie thought she might as well just be dead and save herself the heartache.
On Tuesday morning, Maisie dressed in her school uniform as usual.
She hated school like she hated everything else right now. The only good thing about it was that Piper wasn’t around, and also she didn’t have to listen to the hateful comments she endured at the dance school.
It had got much worse since Miss Diane had made the announcement. Maisie hadn’t even told her mum yet. She didn’t want to face up to it.
It had happened halfway through class. They usually had a quick break to grab a drink. People used it as an excuse to mess about and chat. Maisie used to be one of them, but now she always stood at the back of the group on her own, hoping nobody would notice she was there.
Miss Diane clapped her hands and the room fell immediately quiet.
‘I have a special announcement to make.’ She beamed, scanning all the curious faces. ‘I’ve decided who will take the lead role in the Christmas show!’
There was a burst of anticipation, a buzz of voices as everyone tried to guess.
Maisie glanced over at Piper, who stood staring at the dance teacher, a self-satisfied smirk on her perfectly made-up face.
‘So this year, our Dorothy is going to be…’ Miss Diane hesitated tantalisingly and some of the girls giggled. ‘Maisie Barton!’
Maisie staggered slightly, as echoing gasps rose around her.
‘What?’
‘Her? She looks awful!’
‘She’ll make a rubbish Dorothy…’
Miss Diane pushed through the rows of girls and led Maisie out to the front.
Please God. Let me just die before I get there, Maisie silently pleaded. But she didn’t die. She stood next to Miss Diane, and tried to smile at the sneering faces.
‘I know you’ll all join me in congratulating Maisie,’ Miss Diane said, a hint of warning in her voice.
She began to clap, and the girls all reluctantly joined in with a smattering of applause.
Nobody cheered, nobody rushed up to hug her.
But everyone turned as Piper ran crying out of the hall.
Downstairs, Maisie refused breakfast. She honestly didn’t feel in the least bit hungry. She’d lain awake since the early hours with a banging headache and the horrible taunts replaying in her head.
She felt relieved when her mum didn’t go on and on about how she wasn’t eating enough. Although Maisie could see she had lost weight in the mirror, it wasn’t nearly enough to make everyone like her again.
As her mum drove her to school, Maisie suddenly noticed where they were.
‘You’ve come the wrong way again,’ she told her. Mum had done it more than once; she called it being on automatic pilot when she had a lot of pressure on with work. ‘You should’ve turned off back there.’
‘I’m not taking you straight to school,’ her mum said firmly. ‘We have to call in somewhere else first.’
‘Where? I’ll be late!’ Maisie’s headache pounded harder when she thought about having to walk into the class with all eyes on her and sarcastic comments from people who used to be her friends just a short time ago.
Even though Piper went to a completely different school, the faces that stared at Maisie now in class and during breaks and lunchtimes looked uncannily like Piper’s own, with their narrowed eyes and sneering lips.
She didn’t know why people had started being nasty to her; it could only be, as she kept saying, that Maisie had become truly ugly and unlikeable.
It was true she didn’t like joining in silly playground games like she used to. Sometimes she just felt so shaky and unwell, she’d take herself off to a quiet corner. It hadn’t taken long for the others to find someone else to replace her on the courtyard benches.
‘It’s fine. I’ve called school and left a message for your teacher that you’ll be in later.’ Her mum glanced across at her. ‘I made you an appointment with Dr Yesufu.’
‘What?’ Maisie’s face blazed. ‘I don’t need to see the doctor, Mum.’
‘I think you do. You’ve lost too much weight, Maisie, and I need to know you’re not ill.’
‘I’M FINE!’ she shouted, and her mum looked shocked. ‘I’ve told you a hundred times, there’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘Yes, you keep telling me that, but it’s clear that something is wrong. So I need to ask the doctor to check you’re OK.’
‘I told you I didn’t want to go to dancing any more but you wouldn’t listen.’ Maisie scowled.
‘You need a hobby, otherwise you’ll just waste away stuck in your bedroom,’ her mother snapped back.
Maisie felt too furious to respond. She could tell when her mother was resolved and couldn’t be convinced, and this was definitely one of those times.
They travelled the rest of the way to the surgery in silence.
Chapter Forty-Six
Dr Yesufu gave Maisie a jolly smile but she didn’t return it. She sat moodily in the chair next to her mother and folded her arms.
There was a photograph on the desk of Dr Yesufu’s family. His wife wore traditional African dress with a brightly coloured turban, and his children, a boy and a girl, both quite a bit younger than Maisie, wore Western clothes.
She imagined he was a good father who loved his wife and his well-behaved children. She’d bet he would never leave them for a new life with another family.
Her mother began to speak, and although Maisie gave every impression she wasn’t bothered, she tuned in with interest.
‘I’ve been concerned because Maisie has lost a lot of weight in a short time, Doctor. When I ask her about it, she denies that she’s not eating.’
‘Ah, I see. We must begin with first things first.’ Dr Yesufu stood up, his ebony skin glowing under the fluorescent strip light. ‘Come over here, Maisie. I can take your weight and height measurements so we know what we are dealing with.’
She slipped off her shoes and stood on the antiquated-looking column scales. Then she stood against the wall against a height chart.
Dr Yesufu grunted to himself a couple of times and wrote something down on paper.
‘Please, sit down, Maisie. I must now take your blood pressure.’ He produced a black cuff and slipped it over her hand until it circled her upper arm. He pressed a button and the cuff inflated, giving Maisie a feeling of pins and needles.
‘Ow,’ she complained.
‘Uncomfortable, I know.’ He grinned. ‘But necessary. Now, let’s see.’
He consulted a digital screen and then wrote another number down.
He considered his notes a moment and then addressed her mother.
‘Now. I’m pleased to say that Maisie isn’t dangerously underweight at this point.’
‘See!’ Maisie told her mother triumphantly.
‘However, you are on the borderline of becoming underweight, young lady.’ He looked at her. ‘You’re looking quite pale and tired. This trend of losing weight quickly must not continue, or you could soon become ill. Do you understand?’
Maisie nodded meekly. ‘I’m still eating, just not as much.’
‘Her gran found food she’d hidden,’ her mother blurted out, as if she were telling tales to the teacher.
Dr Yesufu frowned.
‘That was just leftover food I’d forgotten to take down,’ Maisie objected. ‘Gran gets annoyed if I leave food and plates up in my room, I was going to bring it down but then I forgot.’
‘Ah, it seems that little mystery is solved!’ Dr Yesufu looked pleased, but her mother still wasn’t having it.
‘All her clothes are baggy on her now, Doctor. And she stays in her room for hours on end.’
Dr Yesufu looked at her. ‘Maisie, could I ask you to pop back into the waiting room for a
few minutes, just while I finish off the details with your mother here?’
Maisie shrugged and stood up, shooting her mother an annoyed look. She walked out of the office, leaving the door slightly ajar.
She pushed open the double fire doors in the corridor leading to the waiting room and let them sweep closed again. Then she tiptoed back to Dr Yesufu’s door and pressed her ear close to the gap.
‘I appreciate it is difficult for you, as her mother, not to worry, Mrs Barton, but an obsession with food is often a pre-teen thing and a passing phase. That is all.’
‘But she was never like this before her father left home!’ Maisie winced at her mother’s desperate tone. ‘I think she’s taken it badly and certain people in her dad’s house are making her feel bad.’
‘You suspect abuse?’ Dr Yesufu’s voice turned suddenly grim.
‘God, no! But I think Maisie perhaps feels insecure and a little inadequate in the company of her dad’s new partner and her daughter. The girl is the same age as Maisie, and I think she’s a bit of a bully.’
‘The best advice I can give you is to keep the lines of communication open between the two of you. Talk to your daughter, tell her you trust her to be sensible.’
‘I’ve tried talking to her, but she just insists she’s fine. She used to be such a happy little girl, smiling and full of energy.’
Maisie frowned at her mother’s description. She was ten years old; Year 6 at primary school and starting at the high school next autumn! She was hardly a little girl.
‘I understand your frustrations, I do,’ Dr Yesufu said quietly. ‘But my best advice right now is to monitor Maisie while giving her a little space. Don’t focus on food in your conversations; that could just make things worse. With any luck, this difficult time will pass and she’ll soon be back on track.’
There was a pause in the conversation, and Maisie realised her mother was crying. She recoiled in horror, opened the double doors in the corridor slowly and quietly and slipped out into the waiting room.