“Miss Adams,” he said in a velvety voice as he extended a hand. “I’m Doctor Burscough.” He looked at her with twinkling brown eyes. Lizzie bet all the rich old ladies who came to this clinic loved him.
“Hi, Doctor Burscough,” Lizzie said as she shook his hand. There was no offer of first-name terms from the clinician. He sat down next to the examination couch and balanced a thin file on his knee.
“Well, apart from being a little under-weight, you’re in good shape. I don’t expect that the bloods will show anything unusual.”
“Excellent stuff,” Lizzie replied. “I try to keep as fit as I can.”
“Indeed, indeed. So, just a few questions and then we’re all done.”
For the next few moments, he asked Lizzie standard questions about her medical history. When she told him about the injuries she’d sustained previously, a mask of concern crossed his face.
“How did that happen?” he asked. Lizzie’s reply deepened the mask. “Oh, my word,” Doctor Burscough replied, making a note in her file.
The next few questions were all about her family history, whether she drunk too much alcohol or smoked. It was all standard stuff, and the answer to most of his questions was no.
“Okay, so this one’s a little personal, but I do need to ask given where you’re going.” Lizzie frowned, not sure what he was about to ask her. “Your urine test was negative, but is there any possibility you could be pregnant?” She paused for a second before replying.
“Um, no,” she replied.
“Are you sexually active at the moment?” Lizzie could feel her cheeks reddening at the question.
“Yes.”
“And you’re heterosexual?”
“Yes.” Lizzie’s cheeks were getting redder by the second.
“Do you mind if I ask when you last had sexual intercourse?”
“Er, about an hour ago.”
Behind Doctor Burscough, Lizzie saw the nurse’s hand fly to her mouth to stifle a laugh. The doctor smiled, but at least he managed not to laugh. Lizzie was mortified at what she had just said. She opened her mouth to apologise, but then closed it again. There wasn’t anything she could say.
“Well, yes, that is rather active, isn’t it?” Doctor Burscough said. “Just remember, if you do think there’s a possibility you may be pregnant, you must raise it with Allied Forth. Sierra Leone is probably not the best place for you to be, were that to be the case.”
“Okay, thank you, Doctor Burscough. I will. Can I go now?” All Lizzie wanted to do was leave.
“Yes, yes,” he replied. “I’ll e-mail your cohort leader and let her know that everything’s in order. I hope you enjoy the sabbatical.”
“I hope so too,” Lizzie said, swinging her legs down off the examination couch and standing up. The doctor extended a hand for her to shake and wished her good luck. Lizzie glanced at the nurse, wondering if she needed to shake her hand as well, but the woman wasn’t even looking at her. It looked to Lizzie as if she was still trying not to laugh.
Outside the clinic, Lizzie took a deep breath and blew it out.
“You idiot,” she muttered to herself. “What on earth did you say that for?”
She walked from the old part of Norwich where the clinic was located and towards the centre of the city. There were a few things that she needed to get that Allied Forth had told her were hard to get hold of in Sierra Leone, but Lizzie was well used to going to places where getting decent toiletries was difficult.
As she wandered around the aisles in Superdrug, filling her basket with what she hoped would be enough supplies to last her for the whole sabbatical, Doctor Burscough’s words came back to her. Lizzie started laughing, not just at her reply to his question but at what Adams’s face would look like if she were to tell him she was pregnant. They’d been careful, but they’d also been frenetic. Lizzie wandered further down the aisle and looked at the pregnancy testing kits.
Should she get one, just in case?
32
Eleanor sighed as she buttered the toast. She wasn’t that hungry, but Liam would need something to eat after the amount of booze he’d consumed last night. In the corner of her small kitchen, a coffee percolator was chugging away to itself. She looked at her watch. It was almost ten on Saturday morning. Liam had slept enough.
“Here you go, mate,” Eleanor said as she walked into her lounge and placed the plate with the two slices of toast down on the coffee table. On the sofa next to the table, Liam stirred into life. “Coffee’s on its way.” He groaned and tried to pull the blanket over his head, but Eleanor reached out and grabbed it.
“Just a few more minutes, Eleanor,” Liam said, his voice pleading.
“No, Liam,” Eleanor shot back. He’d been sleeping on her sofa for the last few nights, but it wasn’t an arrangement that could continue. Her flat was barely large enough for just her, let alone two of them, and he constantly left the bathroom in a disgusting state. Eleanor loved her brother to bits, but there was no way she could live with him. “Come on, sort yourself out.”
Liam got to his feet unsteadily.
“Need a pee,” he mumbled as he shuffled towards the bathroom. She heard him urinating a moment later, irritated that he’d left the door open. Liam didn’t know, but Eleanor had called their mother last night when he was passed out on the sofa. If he didn’t go home today, then she was going to come and get him and take him home. Their mother had made up his old room for him and was standing by to come to Eleanor’s rescue. She heard Liam flush the toilet, and a few seconds later, he was standing at the lounge door.
“Did you put the seat and lid down?” she asked. Liam swore under his breath and walked back into the bathroom. There was a loud crash as he did as she had asked.
By the time Liam had eaten his toast and drunk two cups of strong coffee, he was much brighter. Eleanor refilled their coffee cups and sat down opposite him.
“We need to talk, Liam,” she said, forcing herself to keep her voice even. “Listen, I know you’ve been through a lot, but-”
He held up a hand to silence her.
“It’s okay, don’t worry. I’ll go back to my flat. It’s just, I’ve got memories there. Some of Fiona’s things are still there.” Eleanor thought back to the evening that she’d spent at his flat. When she finally put him to bed, Eleanor had noticed some of Fiona’s clothing strewn on the floor of his bedroom. The saddest thing was the indentation in the pillow on the opposite side to where Liam slept. That was why she had gone round the next day and asked him to come and stay with her for a few days.
“Why don’t I go round there and just have a bit of a tidy up?” Eleanor asked her brother. “I’ll put Fiona’s things all together and away in a cupboard so that when you’re ready, you can look at them.” Liam looked at her dolefully. “But they won’t be around as constant reminders to you?”
“Would you mind doing that?” No, Eleanor thought, not if it gets you out of my flat. She immediately felt bad for even thinking that.
“Liam, I’m your sister,” she said, pushing the thought away. “Of course I don’t mind.”
It only took Eleanor an hour or so to go through Liam’s studio flat. The size of it helped. When she had finished, there was a black bin bag full of washing that she could do at hers to avoid him having to go to the launderette. Or just not bother, which was more likely. The air was the freshest it had been in months, helped by the wide-open windows, and there was a small box in his lounge with the rest of Fiona’s things. There wasn’t a great deal in the box. Some toiletries, a copy of a Marian Keyes book that certainly wasn’t Liam’s, and a few items of clothing. Eleanor had even done the washing up.
She made herself a cup of tea in a mug that was cleaner than it had been since it was in the shop and sat down on Liam’s sofa. As she did so, she nudged his laptop with her leg and the screen came to life. Eleanor was about to close the screen when she saw the distinctive logo of the Ascalon Institute in the corner of the screen. She leaned
forward to look and, when she realised it was an e-mail from Fiona to Liam and that the logo was in Fiona’s signature block, Eleanor couldn’t help but read it. She was a journalist, after all.
Hey babe,
Have a look at the link below - it’s to a 2 bed flat on Riverside. We could certainly afford the rent if you’re serious?
xxx
Eleanor’s heart sank as she read the e-mail. Liam hadn’t mentioned anything about moving in with Fiona, but it was obviously something that they’d talked about. She looked around her brother’s pokey little studio flat and for a moment thought that she was going to start crying. He wouldn’t be able to afford anything larger on his own, and was too proud to accept the loan that their mother had offered him for a deposit on a place that was halfway decent, in her words.
She logged out of Liam’s e-mail account and opened up a fresh window. The logo in Fiona’s signature block had reminded her of something. Eleanor navigated her way to the Ascalon Institute’s website, and she clicked on a link for Current Vacancies. The firm had wasted no time at all in advertising Fiona’s post. The poor woman wasn’t even buried yet, and already there was an advertisement for an administration assistant.
Eleanor looked at the various documents that accompanied the advert, and a plan started hatching in her head. She took a sip of her tea, thinking hard.
“What would Bernstein and Woodward have done?” she said out loud to no-one. They certainly hadn’t been able to do what they had done by not taking risks, nor would any of the current journalists that she admired. There was even a woman on the telly who did the weather, who’d been an undercover reporter at a school at some point.
Eleanor moved her finger over the track pad of Liam’s laptop. On the screen, the small arrow moved in response until it was hovering over the button she wanted it to.
The one that read Apply Now.
33
“You got everything you need then?” Adams asked Lizzie. She was sitting on her suitcase trying to compress the clothes inside enough for her to close it, and he had to make a conscious effort not to laugh.
“I have been away before, Adams,” she replied, shooting him a look of mock annoyance. “Get your fat arse over here and help me close this, would you?” He laughed and walked over to her.
“Are you calling me fat?” Adams said as he sat next to her on top of the suitcase. Lizzie didn’t reply, but tried her best to work the zip around the sides of the case. Eventually, she managed to close it.
“You’re fatter than me, Adams,” she said as she got to her feet, grinning at Adams as she did so.
“Yeah, well,” he replied. “It’s not the size of the nail that matters, it’s the size of the hammer.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I’m only repeating what your mother told me.”
“I’m going to upgrade that to shut the fuck up.” Lizzie grinned at Adams. “My mother thinks you’re contemptible, and that I could do so much better.”
“She never mentioned that when she left this morning,” Adams replied, grinning broadly. They both knew that for some bizarre reason known only to her, Lizzie’s mother loved Adams. “What’s that noise?”
Lizzie tilted her head to one side and listened. There was a faint buzzing noise coming from her suitcase.
“I’m not sure,” she said. Adams started laughing.
“I think I know what it is,” he said. “Have we just set your vibrator off when we sat on the case?”
“No!” Lizzie shot back, her cheeks instantly on fire. “I’ve not got one.” Adams crossed his arms and looked at her with a wide grin.
“I just hope it’s ten inches long and called Paul.”
“In your dreams,” Lizzie replied, returning his grin. “And mine, come to that. It’s my bloody electric toothbrush.”
A few moments later, when she had retrieved the toothbrush and turned it off, Lizzie turned to Adams.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” she asked him.
“Don’t know,” he replied, feigning indifference. “I’m just disappointed you don’t have a vibrator named after me.”
“Maybe I do,” Lizzie replied, “and the only reason I’m not taking it is because I don’t know if I’ll be able to get those teeny, tiny batteries out there.” She raised the little finger on one hand and wiggled it at him. “Maybe that’s why Pencil Paul is staying here?”
“That’s what I’m going to miss most about you while you’re away, Lizzie,” Adams said as he crossed to where she was standing and put his arms around her. “Your lightning wit.”
They hugged in silence. Lizzie breathed in deeply, and Adams was relieved that he’d remembered to use the deodorant she had bought him on the basis that if they were going to be together, he needed to use something other than Happy Shopper body spray.
“Seriously, what’s the plan?” she asked a few moments later. “You going to the match?”
“No, not today,” Adams replied. “I’m meeting a mate later to give him my ticket. I was thinking maybe the cinema? There’s a new Bond film out if you fancy it?”
“Is that the one with the new bloke? Damien, what’s his face?”
“Yeah, the one with the unpronounceable surname. Van something or other. Then, how about dinner at Delia’s?”
“You’ll never get a table there,” Lizzie replied. “But I do fancy the Bond film. That Damien bloke’s definitely the best Bond of the lot of them. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the match, though?”
Adams looked at her, trying his best to stay upbeat.
“No, I’ve already arranged for my mate to go. It’s your last full day in the country, so I didn’t think you’d want to go to a football match.” Lizzie stifled a laugh. “But I’ve already got a table at Delia’s, so we’re good.”
“How on earth did you manage that?” Lizzie asked. Delia’s was rated Norwich’s best restaurant by some distance.
“Their head chef came into the department the other day,” Adams told her. “He’d sliced his hand open on a Japanese knife.”
“You bribed him?”
“Let’s just say we came to a mutually beneficial arrangement, and he was seen rather quickly.” Adams started chuckling. “He was back in the kitchen before the starters were even served.”
“You’re a wicked man, Paul Adams,” Lizzie said as she ruffled his hair. “That’s why I like you.”
Adams and Lizzie got a taxi into Norwich so that they could both have a few drinks with dinner. The driver dropped them off at the taxi rank by the train station, thanking Adams for the more than generous tip that he gave the man. The cinema was only a few minutes’ walk from the station, and Carrow Road stadium, where Delia’s was located, was not that far away. Adams looked around, noticing that the pubs were already crammed with football fans who were having a few drinks before the match.
“Where are you meeting your mate?” Lizzie asked him.
“He’s getting the train in from Yarmouth,” Adams replied. “I said I’d meet him on the concourse. I would say why don’t we grab a drink somewhere, but everywhere looks rammed.” They watched as a couple of fans from the opposing club tried to get into the Compleat Angler, a pub just over the river from the station that used to be a favourite for travelling supporters before it changed hands. The new landlord, a Norwich fan himself, soon changed that.
“We could head up into the city?” Lizzie said. “It’ll only be busy near the stadium, won’t it?” Adams glanced at his watch. By the time they’d got into the city, it would be time to come back to meet his friend.
“Might as well just mooch about here for a bit,” he said. “My mate’ll be here soon.”
“Adams, it’s not too late to change your mind about the match,” Lizzie said. “I can just go shopping and meet you after?”
“What’ll my mate do? He’s coming up from Yarmouth just for it.”
“Is he fit?” Lizzie asked, grinning. “He could come shopping with me instead?”
<
br /> “Hmm, let me think about that for not very long. Watch Norwich at home or go shopping with you? Which would he prefer, I wonder?”
Lizzie slapped his arm playfully.
“Come on, let’s go and wait for him inside the station,” she said, grabbing his hand. “You can buy me a coffee and a sausage roll at the coffee shop.”
34
Titch arranged his flag carefully on the wall of his room, using the pins he’d left in there since the previous Saturday. A few hours earlier he’d received an e-mail telling him that the results of his DNA analysis were in, and that he should join a Zoom call in about twenty minutes’ time. He was excited at the thought of talking to George and Charlotte again, and even more excited about the results of his test.
The last few days hadn’t been particularly good for Titch. Chalkie, following their trip to Brize Norton, was threatening to put him on a charge for what he’d said about Luton, or more specifically the inhabitants of Luton. Titch hadn’t known, but Chalkie’s brother had married a Muslim woman.
“Your brother’s one of them?” Titch had said, jerking his head at the people on the street outside the van.
“No, he’s not one of them,” Chalkie had replied angrily. “Neither is she.” They had driven on in silence for a few moments, Titch getting increasingly angry at what he was seeing outside the van windows.
“This isn’t multiculturalism, is it though?” he had asked Chalkie. “They’re not assimilating. They’re just coming over here and recreating their own culture to replace ours. Where’s that going to end?” Titch knew exactly where it would end, and he had that evening re-watched one of George’s lectures on The Great Replacement. What George had talked about made perfect sense, especially after Titch had seen it with his own eyes in that area of Luton. Genocide by substitution, George had titled his lecture. Chalkie hadn’t seen it that way at all, though, and had just told Titch to shut up. A few moments after that, Titch had been told to shut the fuck up by an irate Chalkie as they drove past a mosque and Titch had offered the opinion that buildings like that didn’t belong in England. Now he was seriously considering charging Titch for falling well short of the RAF’s expectations.
Enemy Within: A heart-wrenching medical mystery (British Military Thriller Series Book 3) Page 13