by Dawson, H A
Hiding from her reflection in the mirror, Brittany reiterated Erin’s last words in her mind. She may have an infection, it had happened before and she shouldn’t panic, but somehow it felt different this time. Her time, she sensed, was running out.
Soon, she would know the truth, and thought to an appointment she had made to have a blood test in a few days time. A tingling sensation crept through her body. Part of her wished she hadn’t made it, but the other part, the more sensible side, told her it was a necessity. It was better to know how her kidney was functioning, surely.
Kidney transplants from deceased donors lasted, on average, twelve years, and she had already had that. Feeling bleak, she pondered her future, or lack of it. Her remaining time would be spent on dialysis, a heart-rending thought. She would never marry, never have children, and never pursue dreams. She would merely exist, and half of that time, she would be chained to a machine. She had hoped for more, a miracle.
Some transplant patients lived for up to thirty years with the same organ. They were the lucky ones. Others died of heart problems or other related conditions well before the organ failed. Brittany had had every reason to believe she could achieve longevity, and hoped that her youth would go in her favour. But it wasn’t so simple. Aside from the compatibility of the organ, which she sensed could always be improved upon, there was the donor’s lifestyle to consider. Had they been young or old? Had they lived a clean life or abused their body? Did it even matter? She had done everything she could to keep her kidney working to its maximum potential. It might not be enough.
Her food was waiting for her on the table.
‘This looks fantastic. Thanks.’
‘Not a problem.’
She started to eat, taking small bites of food and chewing laboriously, and hoped her appetite would trigger. The food had been exquisitely cooked; the lamb was tender and flavoursome and the vegetables were tasty and firm. Yet still she struggled, and prayed her nausea would decrease.
‘I can’t believe you’ve never told me you’ve had a transplant.’ Erin said.
‘It’s not something that you can drop into a conversation.’
‘But you’ve been living here a while now. What is it, a year?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Just shows how little you know about someone. You’re a dark-horse.’
‘It’s not a big deal. I avoid smoky places and don’t drink alcohol, but other than that life is pretty normal.’
‘I must confess, I did wonder why you were often a bit under the weather, health-wise, that is. I take it that’s to do with it?’
Brittany nodded. ‘I struggle to fight off infection. It’s the medication.’
‘Poor you.’
‘It’s not that bad. It’s given me a few extra years.’
‘Don’t the organs last forever?’
She chewed her food, staring at the plate and fighting for steady words. ‘Unfortunately not.’
‘But you’ll get quite a bit longer, right?’
‘Right.’
The lie swirled in her mind. She could have told her the truth, but what was the point? She wasn’t after sympathy and wanted to be seen to be normal, just like everyone else.
‘It must have been terrible for you getting a new lease of life and then losing your mother.’
‘It wasn’t the best thing that could have happened, but after being extremely sick for weeks the simple fact that I could move around, pain-free, was a massive blessing.’
‘I’ll say. I’m sure if she could see you now, she’d be proud of you.’
Brittany frowned. Did Michelle ever wonder how she had readjusted to normal life having spent most of her childhood away from other children? Did she ever wonder if she had acquired a job, married, or had children of her own? Did she ever wonder how she was doing with her transplanted kidney?
The exposed part of the envelope caught her gaze and her body tightened. Erin noticed her anxiety and turned around, looking between the books.
‘Do you want me to pass it to you?’ she asked.
‘No.’
It was a waste of time; Michelle was selfish and heartless.
‘Let me open it then,’ Erin said, ‘what’s the harm?’
‘I’m not sure I want to see her.’
‘Then you’ve nothing to lose. Come on . . . at least you won’t be wondering.’
Brittany agreed.
Erin placed her knife and fork onto the side of the plate and pulled the envelope free from the books. She did not look up, never gave her opportunity to change her mind, and tore open the flap and released the letter.
Brittany’s pulse raced.
Erin looked up and smiled. ‘You have to ring up for an appointment.’
‘What?’
‘Your mother wants to see you.’
Alive with energy, she snatched the letter from Erin. It was incredible and implausible; it was difficult to assimilate. After more than a decade, Brittany would finally make contact with her mother. Finally.
Chapter 10
Brittany flung her bag into her bedroom, removed her jacket, placing it on a hook in the lobby, and headed to the living room. Her gaze was low.
‘Wow,’ Erin said backing away.
‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’
‘So . . . details.’
‘It was fun,’ she said, weaving by.
‘Fun? Is that all?’
‘That’s what he said. What you doing back so early, anyway?’
‘I’m working later, so I’m having a couple of hours off. I’m just about to go for a run.’
Erin was loitering, waiting for her to summarise her day. She tried to bite her tongue, but her irritations won through.
‘I’m not sure where I stand with him. One minute he seems to be into me, and the next he’s running cold. I’m not sure if it’s worth pursuing.’
‘What happened?’
She puffed out. ‘I don’t know . . . it just didn’t feel right.’
Are you seeing him again?’
Brittany shrugged and then sat on the edge of the sofa and pulled her knees up to her chest. This time, she wasn’t going to beg for a date. If he wanted to see her, he would have to do the chasing.
‘Where did you go?’
‘To the museum and farm across town. You won’t believe it but there was a sheep that kept grinning at us . . . you know, curling back her lips. We tried to take a picture but every time the phone was positioned she stopped doing it.’
‘I’ve heard about her. She was on the news a while back.’
‘Really? I thought you’d say I was making it up. Honestly, you should have seen her. It was hilarious. I nearly wet myself, laughing. And Jason was so funny. He was talking to her and didn’t seem to think anything there odd was about it.’
Erin smiled. ‘A real Doctor Dolittle.’
‘He is gorgeous. I should have taken a photo of him to show you. And he’s great company . . . a genuinely nice man.’
Erin extended her leg, stretching her muscles. ‘It sounds like you had a good time.’
‘We did. I least I thought so. It’s just that he left rather abruptly. I forgot he was getting off the bus before me, so I suppose it wasn’t really his fault.’
‘Then phone him.’
‘No, not this time. I’m not sure it’s going to work anyway. He made me feel uncomfortable about my transplant.’
‘Why? How?’
‘I felt as though he was scrutinising me all the time . . . .looking for signs that my kidney wasn’t working.’
Erin exchanged legs and extended her other calf muscle. ‘Are you sure you’re not imagining it?’
‘No, I’m not. He even said he doesn’t want a relationship with anyone with health problems.’
‘He said that?’
Brittany pressed her lips together and looked away, and her stomach knotted. If she had not had a transplant, there would be no problem.
‘Then he’
s not worth it,’ Erin said. ‘Forget him.’
Erin was right, but it was an impossible request. Jason was inside her head and messing with her thoughts. He was gazing at her with his large round eyes; he was caressing her hand, sending shivers across the length of her body.
As hard as it was to admit, she was love-struck, and longed to be able to erase him from her mind. It was horrible being in a one-sided relationship and knew it would be unlikely that he was giving her even a cursory thought. He would be with Ethan, and not pondering their day out at all. Despite the hurt it created, she had to accept his priorities were entirely different to hers. He was passing time, looking for a bit of moral support to help him through the pain. A relationship would be the last thing on his mind.
The doorbell sounded.
‘I’ll get it,’ Erin called. ‘Then I’m off for a run.’
Brittany turned her head. She recognised Imogen’s voice immediately and her appreciation surged, grateful that Luke wasn’t alone. She stood up and greeted them.
‘Great place you have here,’ he said, ‘and a nice view.’
The park was discernible beyond two rows of houses, and provided tranquillity within the conurbation. There were playing fields, towering trees, hedges, and one side of a large pond. The rest was obscured.
‘Yes, we like it. It’s Erin’s place. I was lucky to meet her.’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I thought she was your sister. You look a bit alike.’
Brittany chuckled. ‘Do we? Now there’s a compliment if ever I heard one. She’s super fit, unlike me . . . and always eating the right things.’ She glimpsed at Imogen. ‘I doubt she’d go on one of your big nights out. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not stiff or anything, she just doesn’t do anything bad to excess.’
‘Seems your type Luke,’ she said.
Luke frowned.
‘We met in a health shop of all things,’ Brittany continued, ‘and we hit it off straight away. I was very lucky. Our attitudes are similar.’
‘It’s not easy finding someone you can live with,’ Imogen said.
Brittany detected a hint of regret in her tone and suspected she was having problems at home. If Luke hadn’t been there, she would have broached the subject. ‘I agree. It takes tolerance.’
‘You’re not wrong. My Mark is turning into a bit of a slob. I’m sick of clearing up after him. I can see the attraction of living with a woman.’
Luke raised his eyebrows.
She prodded him in the arm. ‘No funny ideas mister.’
Brittany stepped towards the kitchen, smiling. ‘Want a drink?’
‘Coffee please,’ Luke said.
Imogen nodded in agreement.
Brittany filled the kettle with water and prepared two mugs. They continued to chatter whilst the water heated, and then headed to the living room.
‘Now, about the case,’ Luke said. ‘There have been developments. I’m not sure if it’s relevant, but we’ve got an impression that the renal department is experiencing problems.’
She held her breath, waiting for him to continue, and felt sure he was going to speak of Jason’s concerns.
‘I don’t want to jump to conclusions,’ he continued, ‘and you shouldn’t either, nor should you mention what we are going to say to anyone.’
Brittany nodded.
‘We think something dishonest may be going on. A man, Tim Canning, was investigating the department, and he died in a car crash a few days ago.’
‘And you don’t think it was an accident.’
Luke’s gaze flitted. He seemed to be weighing up what to divulge. ‘We don’t know.’
‘You must have your reasons, else you wouldn’t be here.’
He glanced to Imogen and remained tight-lipped.
‘Is it to do with the priority list?’
‘What do you know about that?’
‘I’d heard rumours that it has been fixed. Although nothing that could be substantiated.’
‘Who told you?’
‘I’d prefer not to say. But I don’t believe it to be true.’
‘Unfortunately it’s a very real possibility. And as a result there could be implications regarding your mother.’
‘What kind of implications?’
‘We may find something else to incriminate Michelle. If that’s the case, she could go back to prison.’
‘My mother wouldn’t have been involved,’ she replied. ‘What she did wouldn’t have affected the priority list. I needed my transplant. I . . . I was very sick.’
‘I have no doubt your needs were severe, and you shouldn’t think otherwise. Luke leaned forward and clasped his hands. ‘If you want me to find a motive for Scott’s death, we have to look into the possibility that she may have been involved in something bigger, and if she was, we may uncover something you’d rather not have known about.’
‘She won’t talk to me. How much worse can it get?’
Luke held his fist to his chin, refusing to answer, and an uneasy feeling crept over her. Could she risk putting her mother back in prison just to discover the reason for the crime? Maybe she should give up right now, as had been her request.
‘We should give you time to consider it,’ Luke said.
‘How sure are you that something’s going on?’
‘We don’t have any evidence to prove anything either way.’
Brittany crossed her ankles and folded her arms. ‘I still don’t believe Dr O’Riordan would rearrange priorities for transplants.’
‘What makes you think Dr O’Riordan’s involved?’
She looked to her lap. She had promised Jason she wouldn’t say anything, and should not have volunteered information. Her temperature rose and she bit her lip.
‘Brittany?’
‘His name was mentioned in the same sentence as the priorities. Dr O’Riordan is a very compassionate man and he loves his work. If anything illegal or immoral were going on, he would have put a stop to it.’
Luke scribbled something in his notepad.
‘Did you know he’s involved in an organisation to attract living donors?’
‘What’s it called?’
‘I don’t know. One of the nurses told me. I can’t remember her name. They all speak very highly of him.’
Pensive, Luke took a mouthful of coffee. ‘And where did you hear the rumours?’
‘A friend’s son is getting treatment.’
‘What’s your friend’s name?’
She gulped and her voice weakened. ‘Jason Tomkins. He’s not involved.’
Luke scribbled his name on a notepad and her regrets tumbled. What had she started? She should know when to keep her mouth shut.
‘What would happen if I said I didn’t want to continue?’
‘We may have to report what we have discovered to the police.’
‘So you’d continue regardless?’
He nodded, sympathetic.
Brittany ran her fingers through her hair and looked between Luke and Imogen, searching for the answer. Either way, the truth was going to come out. At least if she were involved it may mean she might be able to maintain an element of control.
‘How long do you think these problems have been going on for?’ she asked.
‘It could have been a while.’
‘Since my transplant?’
‘That’s my impression.’
Imogen edged forward on her seat. ‘Michelle might still have been an innocent bystander. She’s not necessarily guilty of anything.’
‘So she could have been set up?’
‘It’s still a possibility.’
Or not, Brittany thought. Would she ever forgive herself if her selfish desire to press for the truth put her mother back in prison?
‘How big is your instinct that Michelle was cajoled into something?’ Imogen asked.
‘It . . . it seems out of character.’
‘Then if I were you, I’d go with my instinct.’
Anxiously, Brittany fidget
ed with her hands and shuffled her legs. One way or another, the investigation was going to happen. It didn’t appear as though she had much of a say.
Brittany lay horizontal on the sofa and stared at the ceiling and at the light fitting with bronze metalwork and three opal glass bowls. Fatigue had crept into her muscles and her bones ached. She wanted to sleep, but her head was thick with the day’s events. Not only were her feelings towards Jason still confused, so were her feelings relating to her mother.
The instant she told Luke and Imogen she would allow them to progress, she regretted it and could not believe she had given them the authority to carry on. Was she any better than her mother, showing so little compassion? A little voice told her she should not be meddling with something she did not understand, and should, in the very least, have contacted her first.
But Brittany had had no address and that hadn’t been her fault. Michelle had disregarded her at every turn and given her no option but to resort to hiring a private investigator. For once, she had been putting herself first, and that had to be positive.
Yet the more she thought about it, the weaker her reasoning appeared. She wriggled, searching for a more comfortable position, and tried to clear the fuzz from her mind. It was no use; no matter where she put herself she could not relax, and her doubts and fears repeated, nagging to be heard.
For years, Brittany had clung to the hope that her mother had been innocent of the crime she had pleaded guilty to. The alternative, the cold-blooded act of murder, had been too difficult to tolerate. It was shameful. It was appalling. Michelle, her mother, the woman who gave birth to her and taught her the difference between right and wrong, had committed the most atrocious act, and, as she had feared at the time, in a simple act of temper.
During Brittany’s teenage years, she had told people her mother had moved away, claiming the stress caused by her ill health had infiltrated her parents’ marriage, so much so that it caused irreparable damage. Even when someone mentioned prison, Brittany denied it and raced away, searching for privacy. She had hid in obscure places and cried endless tears; she had prayed it had been all a bad dream.
The hatred she had carried towards her mother had shadowed her through daily life. One day, after she had been mocked by her school friends and told she was a freak, she locked herself in her bedroom and pushed a chest of drawers in front of the door. She screamed and howled and cried out profanities; she tore up photographs of her mother and broke toys and dolls that acted as reminders. Her father could do nothing; her pain had been her own and could not be shared.