Sleepless Nights

by Anne Weale

  ‘Having seen both presumably?’

  ‘Yes. I spent a year travelling before I switched careers.’

  Sarah was silent, sipping the hot tea and thinking thoughts it would be tactless to disclose to him.

  Disconcertingly, he read her mind. ‘You’re thinking that journalism is a trashy occupation compared with medicine. I’ve had lots of people put that to me. They forget that if it were not for investigative journalists, a lot of bad things would continue unchecked. Some forms of journalism are tacky, but a free press is still our main safeguard against bad governments and unscrupulous vested interests such as some of the drug manufacturers. Just recently I wrote an exposé of racketeering in cosmetic surgery. It carried more weight coming from a doctor and it certainly warned a lot more women to be careful who they trust their faces and bodies to than I could have done any other way.’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ she conceded. ‘I hadn’t thought it through. My attitude to journalists is coloured by all the bad things we know they do...targeting public figures in the hope of catching them doing something they shouldn’t...hounding people at times when they need to be private...concentrating on the horrors and ignoring the good side of life.’

  ‘You’ve been reading the wrong papers. You must try The Journal,’ he said, smiling. ‘I won’t say we never publish anything questionable, but I’ve been with them for five years and I’ve never felt moved to resign.’

  When they returned to the clinic, Neal led the way upstairs to the room where Rose was lying down. She was dozing but only lightly. Within seconds of him bending over her, she opened her eyes.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘My head aches.’

  ‘Sarah is going to take you back to your hotel. It’s very important that you drink plenty of water because of the shot you had and to clear your system. You need sleep but you also need fluids every time you wake up.’

  Rose nodded obediently, but Sarah wondered if she would remember and act on his instructions. It was difficult to judge what kind of person she was in normal life. But the quarrel with her husband, ending with them going in different directions, suggested that neither of them was overburdened with common sense.

  Rose was certainly in no state to think about paying for the attention she had received. It was Sarah who, while Neal was ringing for a taxi, asked for the bill.

  ‘Do you have your credit card on you, Rose?’

  Rose handed it over and signed the docket when Sarah brought it to where she was sitting. But she took no interest in the amount involved. In Sarah’s opinion it was very reasonable.

  When, the formalities completed, she rejoined Rose, Neal was with her, saying, ‘If you’re not feeling OK tomorrow, don’t hesitate to come back. I shan’t be here, but whoever’s on duty will have my notes about you.’

  Turning to Sarah, he said, ‘I hope the trek goes well. Call me when you get back. Take care.’ Putting a hand on her shoulder, he inclined his head to touch his lips to her cheek.

  After they had gone, Neal waited until his friend Bill was free and then discussed with him the likelihood of contacting Rose’s husband.

  Neal and Bill had been medical students together. Bill had been married and was now divorced. After the breakup, he had resigned from a thriving group practice and become a locum, standing in for doctors who were ill or on holiday. There was always plenty of work and he claimed to like living out of a suitcase with frequent changes of scene.

  Neal thought he was punishing himself for the failure of his marriage. In Neal’s opinion most of the blame for that was the fault of Bill’s ex, an ambitious lawyer who had refused to compromise when their careers conflicted. There had always been men who sacrificed their family life to their professional goals. Now women were doing the same thing.

  While they were talking, part of Neal’s mind was on Sarah. She had come clean about something he had already suspected, but he knew she was still holding back information that would normally have been on the table by now.

  What, for instance, was behind that cryptic remark ‘but my life went another way’? What was the reason for a perceptible hesitation before she had agreed to give him straight answers from now on?

  Each time they met he found her more desirable. He wanted to take her to bed with an impatience he hadn’t felt for a long time, if ever. He knew that she wanted it too. When he had kissed her cheek, he had heard her draw in her breath, sensed the quiver that had run through her.

  Instinct told him that, behind the low key, level-headed façade, there were pent-up emotions which perhaps had been let loose once and then fimily battened down, or had never been released at all. He wanted to light the fuse that would explode her control over those turbulent feelings.

  Rose’s hotel didn’t seem too bad to Sarah. The entrance was down an alley, the ground floor a budget restaurant. On the way there Rose had complained of ‘cooking smells’ wafting up the narrow stairs to the bedrooms. To Sarah they were the intriguing aromas of an exotic cuisine.

  It depended on one’s point of view and since her arrival poor Rose had been seeing everything through the distorting lens of disappointment.

  Her bedroom was cramped but clean. Sarah turned down the bed and helped Rose to undress and put on a nightdress. As she lay down, she began to cry again.

  ‘I wish I could go home...I hate it here...it scares me being on my own.’

  I can’t leave her, Sarah thought. At the moment she’s so unbalanced, she might do something crazy.

  Aloud, she said, ‘I have to make a phone call. I’ll ask downstairs if I can use their phone. I shan’t be gone long.’

  Sandy, when Sarah got through to her, said angrily, ‘Where the hell are you? Everyone’s started lunch. You should have been back half an hour ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry. There was an emergency. Someone was taken ill and I had to get her to a doctor.’

  ‘Where are you now?’ the tour guide demanded curtly.

  ‘I’m at this person’s hotel. It’s in the centre of Thamel. I don’t know the address but it’s one of the scruffier backstreets. She’s alone and still very distressed. I can’t leave her in the lurch. I left my backpack ready before I came out. Can’t I meet you at the airport? What’s the latest possible time I can check in?’

  ‘Beatrice brought your backpack down with her luggage which was very good of her. No, you can’t meet us at the airport. I want everyone on the bus at the time on the schedule. Kindly get back right away. If the woman is sick, the hotel will look after her. She’s not your responsibility... and you’re making it bloody difficult for me to carry out mine,’ Sandy expostulated.

  Her belligerent tone and her language brought back a rush of memories. Sarah was not prepared to be browbeaten ever again.

  She said coldly, ‘In that case don’t bother. Cross me off your list. Forget about me. I’ll do my own thing from now on. Leave my luggage at the hotel and I’ll pick it up later on.’

  ‘You can’t do that. You’re with us.’ Sandy was audibly disconcerted by Sarah’s response to her bullying.

  ‘I was...I’m not any more. I’ve gone off the whole idea. I’d rather stay in Kathmandu.’

  ‘Where are you going to stay? Everywhere’s very booked up. If you can find a room, how will you pay for it? Stars and Celebs magazine won’t fork up. They’re only committed to cover your trekking expenses.’ There was a note of anxiety in Sandy’s voice now. Perhaps she was starting to worry about how the situation would impact on her standing as a guide.

  ‘I’ll pay my own way,’ Sarah told her. ‘My flight back will still be valid.’

  Having made the decision, she immediately felt much better, even quite kindly disposed towards the bossy woman at the other end of the line. ‘Don’t worry. I shan’t complain. I’m doing this by my own choice. Have a good time. Goodbye.’ She rang off.

  Her luck was in. Rose’s hotel had a single room on the top floor which was free for the next two nights. During
the afternoon, while Rose was in a deep sleep, Sarah retrieved her backpack from the other hotel.

  Having missed lunch, she was having a snack in the restaurant when Neal walked in.

  He said, ‘What are you doing here? You should be at Lukla by now.’

  ‘I opted out. I couldn’t leave Rose on her own.’ Would he guess that wasn’t the only reason for the decision? ‘How did you know where to find her?’

  ‘You wrote this address on the form at the clinic...remember? How’s she doing?’

  ‘Sleeping most of the time. When she’s awake she’s weepy. But she hasn’t thrown up any more and I’m making sure she drinks plenty.’

  ‘She’s lucky you were around to pick up the pieces. What’s your situation now? Are you staying where you are?’

  ‘I’ve moved myself here. It’s a lot less expensive than the other place.’

  ‘I must take you down to Freak Street some time. That’s where I stayed on my early trips. This area, Thamel, was fields then. But I was still at school the first time, so it’s going back a long way.’

  ‘Did your school organise the trip?’

  ‘No, no...I came with my brother. He was four years older and the responsible type. My parents knew he’d keep me out of trouble. By the way I’ve done what I can to get word to Rose’s husband, but frankly it isn’t much. When people are “on the hill”, they’re out of reach...and they can’t get back in a hurry even if they want to. Now and then, in extreme emergencies, a helicopter will go in and lift out someone who can afford the expense or has insurance cover. But that doesn’t happen often.’

  Sarah had not missed the abrupt change of subject or the bleak look in his eyes when he spoke of his brother. Intuition told her that something about his first visit was better forgotten...like her own life at that age.

  By now she had finished eating.

  ‘Shall I come up and see Rose?’ he suggested.

  ‘Would you? That’s very kind. I think it would reassure her.’

  Rose wasn’t there when they entered her room.

  ‘Must be in the bathroom,’ said Sarah, starting to straighten the bedclothes and shake up the pillows.

  Neal went to the window and looked out. Moments later they heard the flush and then the door opened and, with an embarrassed squeak, Rose stopped short on the threshold before scuttling back into bed and pulling the bedclothes up to her armpits.

  ‘Hello, Rose. How’s the head?’ Appearing not to notice her discomfiture at being caught in her nightie, Neal sat on the side of the bed and smiled at her.

  ‘It’s a bit better, thank you.’

  ‘That’s good.’ He reached for the bottle of water on the night table, refilled the glass and handed it to her. ‘Keep up the fluid intake. We’re doing what we can to contact your husband.’

  Her small mouth started to tremble. Her pale blue eyes brimmed with tears.

  ‘Now come on, that’s not going to help,’ Neal told her kindly. He took some tissues from the box by the bottle and thrust them into her hand. ‘Blow your nose and stiffen your lip. One good cry is allowable, but Sarah tells me you’ve had that. More is over the top. You don’t want your guy coming back and finding you with pink eyelids like an albino mouse.’

  Rose managed a watery titter but did as he told her.

  Watching her, Sarah sensed that now she was somewhat recovered, she found Neal’s proximity disturbing. As well she might, thought Sarah. Even when he was wearing his doctor’s hat, he was still disturbingly tall and muscular and male. Seeing him sitting on a bed immediately raised conjectures about what he would be like in bed with a woman who wasn’t his patient.

  ‘How’s the tummy now? Settled down?’ When Rose nodded, he went on, ‘That’s good. But even if you feel peckish, I’d give it a rest till tomorrow.’ He glanced at his watch, ‘I must go. Get some more sleep. See you later.’

  When Sarah opened the door for him, he signed for her to step outside.

  On the landing, he said, ‘If I’d known you were going to be here, I’d have asked you to have dinner with me. Now I’ve fixed to eat with some local people who might be offended if I changed the arrangement. Can we eat together tomorrow night?’

  ‘I think we should include Rose. I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving her on her own.’

  ‘All right, if you insist...but don’t let Rose become a millstone. You’re here to enjoy yourself, not to nanny her. A crack on the head and a bout of Kathmandu Quickstep are unpleasant but not life-threatening. Until tomorrow.’ He gave the top of her arm a light pat before running down the stairs.

  Sarah went to bed early and read a book she had bought in one of the many used book shops catering to backpackers.

  She couldn’t help wondering if the ‘local people’ Neal had mentioned included the woman called Julia.

  As the hotel didn’t have room service, next morning, after checking that Rose was feeling better, Sarah brought her breakfast on a tray. Rose decided to stay where she was until lunchtime, reading a magazine.

  ‘I have some things to do, but I’ll be back for lunch. I’ve seen several rooftop restaurants that look nice places to eat,’ said Sarah. ‘You’ll need to stay with bland food for a day or two.’

  She had already noticed more than one office where people could pick up and send e-mail and use the Internet. During the morning she went into one and asked what it would cost to use these facilities. The charges being reasonable, she paid the necessary rupiahs and was shown the PC she could use.

  She debated spending her first few minutes on-line sending an e-mail to Naomi, but decided against it. She didn’t want to explain why she was still in Kathmandu. She would do that when she got back.

  Instead she used a search engine to locate the address of The Journal. Once she had it, it didn’t take long to bring the newspaper’s home page onto the screen and to access that day’s edition. Neal’s column wasn’t listed in the index, but it was the work of minutes to trawl through recent back issues until she spotted his name under the heading Compulsive shopping may be sign of depression.

  A click on the mouse brought the article on screen with a photograph of Neal at the top of it.

  When she had read the article, she said to the man in charge of the office, ‘Would it be possible to print a copy of this?’

  ‘Certainly, madam. For that I must charge you extra, but the service is very cheap considering we have the very latest technology. Would you like a cup of coffee?’

  Touched by his efforts to compete with the cybercafés of the western world, Sarah declined the coffee which would probably be cold by the time it was brought from a nearby restaurant. Instead she took the print-out to the rooftop where she thought they might lunch.

  Sitting under a sunbrella, in a booth formed by flowering shrubs, she read Neal’s article about shopaholics.

  It was a well-written piece, infused with understanding tolerance. If she had never met him, she would have liked the way he came over. Although, if there hadn’t been a photograph of him, she would have thought him much older; a man with a long experience of human foibles and a humorous eye for the absurdities of people’s behaviour.

  The article ended with an amusing paragraph inspired by something he had read in a medical journal. In a study of forty-two doctors’ pens, Austrian pathologists found more than half of them infected by at least one type of bacterium. Several other studies had revealed that colonies of bacteria could grow on doctors’ ties, which was why they tended to wear bow-ties more often than other men.

  The photograph allowed Sarah to study his face more closely than she ever could when he was with her. It was a fine face, as well as a good-looking one, she thought.

  But the fact remained that, despite the many good impressions she had of him, she still felt that for a man of his age to be unmarried suggested that, if not an out and out womaniser, he wasn’t prepared to commit himself to any one woman.

  A couple of hours later when she was sitting in the same
chair but this time with Rose on the other side of the table, she said, ‘Did you realise that Neal Kennedy is quite famous? He writes a weekly medical column in The Journal.’

  ‘Really? When he came yesterday, I had a feeling I’d seen him somewhere before, but I don’t see how I can have done. Nobody I know takes The Journal. It’s a boring paper.’

  ‘You might have seen him on TV. He is on it sometimes, he told me.’

  ‘Oh, is he?’ said Rose, showing more interest. Clearly, in her estimation, appearances on television counted for a lot more than being a broadsheet columnist. ‘I wonder what programmes he’s been on?’

  ‘Ask him,’ said Sarah. ‘Do you like him?’ she added.

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. I’m too worried about Cliff. Supposing he’s had an accident? Supposing he doesn’t get back in time for our flight? I wish I’d never let him persuade me to come. I never wanted to come here. I wanted to go to Florida.’

  By the end of lunch, Sarah had lost patience with her.

  Neal took her to dine at an Indian restaurant which they had almost to themselves.

  ‘I thought if you’d had a difficult day you’d like somewhere uncrowded and restful,’ he said, when they had finished with the menus and were sipping their pre-dinner, drinks.

  ‘What makes you think it was difficult?’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’

  Their table was lit by a candle in a glass storm shade. The soft upward glow emphasised his strong features and made his eyes seem more piercing.

  ‘It was rather,’ she agreed. ‘It probably sounds unkind, but I have to admit I was glad when Rose decided she didn’t feel up to joining us.’