Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  ‘Was it successful?’ she asked, turning around.

  He flung the envelope onto her desk. ‘Look at these. I got them from one of Tim’s colleagues.’

  She pulled out the photographs and laid them out. He stood alongside and searched for her excited expression.

  ‘So, Doctor Jerry is being paid,’ she said.

  ‘Looks like it.’ He pointed to a photo of a woman. ‘See this one. She looks to be giving him a pile of twenty pound notes.’

  Imogen squeezed free of the table and chair, and headed to the window with the glossy image between her fingers. Having adjusted the blind, she held it to the light. ‘This is so cool.’

  ‘We need a contact in renal,’ Luke said.

  ‘Who are you thinking of?’

  ‘How about Jason Tomkins?’

  ‘He’s going through enough.’

  ‘Then he won’t be on his guard.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh.’

  Luke scowled. ‘We have a job to do. We’ve no time for sentimentality.’

  Imogen returned to her desk, remained standing, and bent over, looking to the photos. A pendant swayed forward. She held it in her palm in front of her cleavage as if tempting him to look. He obliged and traced her curvaceous flesh with his eyes.

  She glanced up, passed him a smug look, and raised herself upright. ‘Crystal dropped in . . . said she’d ring you later.’

  His heart flip-flopped. ‘She came here?’

  Imogen grinned. ‘You are a sly one. I would never have thought you had it in you.’

  His cheeks coloured. He looked away.

  ‘I can see why you like her, and she’s into you. We had quite a chat.’

  ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘I told her all about you.’

  He stared, waiting.

  ‘Okay. I said that when you’re not grumpy you can be quite funny.’

  ‘I’m not grumpy . . . or funny. I’ve had a lot on my mind.’ He picked up loose papers and shoved them into a pile.

  ‘You’re so gullible.’

  ‘So you didn’t talk about me?’

  ‘No, we had better things to talk about. But I did say you were still getting over your ex-girlfriend and kept her photograph in your drawer.’

  Then she winked, donned her jacket and slung her handbag over her shoulder. As soon as she had disappeared from the building, he opened the drawer. The photo of Sarah was just where he had left it, and her eyes glistened.

  Chapter 15

  Drawn to the sounds of children’s voices, and needing to rest her sore foot, Michelle stopped and gazed into the playground. It seemed only moments ago that Brittany was there, chatting with friends in their favourite spot, midway along the length of the building. She had pigtails back then, and a straight fridge that always seemed to need cutting. Michelle had considered a sign of good health. She had hoped.

  She had known about the potential problems with Brittany’s kidney from birth, and was always watching and waiting for the inevitable to happen. She prayed that there had been a mistake, a misdiagnosis. Errors happened. Maybe the tests had been swapped, or maybe she would be the miracle child, the one that defied science, the one that healed spontaneously.

  As hard as it was, Michelle tried not to pass on her paranoia to Brittany and worked at developing an impassive expression as she scanned for symptoms. Frequently, she had asked herself a multitude of questions. Was her daughter visiting the toilet too frequently? Could her fatigue be explained by normal childhood exuberance? Was she eating enough and growing sufficiently? The questions had been endless, the answers elusive.

  A whistle sounded. The children raced to the school entrance, and then slowed to an eager walk as they entered the building. Brittany had been one of the first to return to class, always the conscientious type, always keen to be seen to be dutiful. She had shown potential, was studious, bright, organised, and meticulous, and given the right education and opportunities, she would have amounted to great things. It had been easy to see her succeeding, whether it had been in an office environment or with the arts, as no matter what she had decided to do, her persistent would have shone through.

  Michelle bent over, placed her tender foot into her shoe, and hobbled along the road. Cars raced by, the engines roaring. With a twinge of envy she looked to the people in the vehicles, their expressions blank and their bodies relaxed. Unlike them, she would be going no way fast, not today, not with a painful foot.

  Her bunion had been there for as long as she could remember, but just recently it had gotten worse, and as well as the pain driving into the base of her big toe, it continued up her leg and into her knee. Undoubtedly, her shoes were to blame, but having spent years wearing easy-fitting shoes, she needed a change.

  Michelle grimaced. The pressure was unbearable and she gritted her teeth, enduring the pain. What had she been thinking deciding to walk? It may be a beautiful day, and she still enjoyed the novelty of the warmth of the sun kissing her skin, but her common sense had been lacking. Her foot would be bleeding by the time she arrived at the hospital, and she would be in no state to quiz Jason.

  Apart from being a valuable link to Brittany, he was also her only link to Dr O’Riordan, and could pry without it being obvious to anyone within renal. She may not have the confidence to expose him, but there was nothing stopping her from snooping.

  Up ahead was a taxi office. It was in a detached building the size of a large shed, and was situated between a row of town houses and a restaurant. Outside, crammed together were three vehicles ready for hire. She could see the drivers, all men, sitting inside the building. Two were chatting and the third was reading a newspaper. She opened the door, told a chunky woman operating the telephone of her destination, and followed a scrawny man with an angular facial structure to the vehicle. The pleasure received from sitting down was immediate, and she breathed a huge sigh and released her foot from the constriction of her shoe.

  The deformed joint was red and swollen, and the skin and tissues had thickened. It was a horrendous sight, and she reached down and attempted to soothe the surrounding area with her fingers. Gradually, as she progressed up her leg and along her calf, the searing agony left her and her breathing regulated.

  Within minutes, she had arrived at the hospital grounds. She leaned to the front to pay the taxi driver, and forced her foot back into her black leather shoe. Straight away, the pain returned. Grimacing, she yearned for the comfort of her trainers, but her desire to be practical did not last as the associations she made with prison life overwhelmed; the endless hours and days of loneliness, the restrictions, the lack of liberties.

  During the first weeks of her imprisonment, Michelle had stayed in her cell and mulled over what had happened. She ate little, rarely communicated, and slept endlessly. It provided little respite, and the agony of the separation from her daily life continued to haunt. She could cope without her freedom, she could cope without her husband, but she could not tolerate being parted from her daughter.

  Bitter tears had stung her eyes, and the hollowness had swelled within as recollections gathered. Even though Gavin had told her that the transplant had been successful, it had been difficult to accept. She had needed to see the improvements for herself, the colour in her daughter’s cheeks, the exuberance in her eyes, the desire for life in her demeanour. However, in spite of her intense yearning, she could not return the favour and could not allow Brittany to see her.

  How could she be a mother from within a prison cell? Others may succeed, but she could not. For her, it was all or nothing, so it had to be nothing. It was better that way. Being parted was her punishment, and she had to swallow the medicine, clean herself from the inside out. Only then could she attempt to repair the hurt.

  Michelle had thought that time would allow the death of Scott Cole to fade into insignificance in everyone’s mind. But even now, as she stared at the hospital building, her memories were as vivid as ever. It must be the same for Brittany, and M
ichelle longed to relieve her agony. But there was no way she could offer an explanation, non that would be satisfactory, and so if that meant she could never have a proper relationship with her daughter, so be it. Brittany would never understand her motives, no one could.

  The cafeteria was visible, only metres away, yet it seemed like a monumental distance. Taking a moments respite, she lifted her sore foot into the air. The excruciating pain did not lesson, and so she decided the quicker she reached the building, the quicker she could sit down. She gritted her teeth and hobbled through the doors.

  It was quiet inside and most of the tables were empty. She limped to the counter, using the tables for support, and ordered a coffee. It hadn’t changed much in the intervening years, and she couldn’t tell if the tables had been replaced or if the walls had been repainted. It was bland and unwelcoming.

  A voice broke her from her thoughts. She spun around. It was Jason.

  ‘What have you done with your foot?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s these damned shoes.’

  ‘Here, let me carry your coffee.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She followed him to a table along the edge. It was the same aisle she would often walk along, sometimes with Gavin, but more often than not, she would be alone. She would sit at the table at the end, in the corner. She would stare at the wall. She would search for solutions.

  She kicked off her shoes and rubbed her swollen foot. Jason peered under the table and made an exclamation.

  ‘It’s just a bunion,’ she said, ‘I’ve had it for years.’

  ‘You should do something about it.’

  ‘It’s fine if I wear sensible shoes.’

  Jason frowned.

  ‘I didn’t come here to moan about my feet. Tell me about Brittany.’

  He looked away, his face creasing with anxiety. ‘There’s not a lot to tell.’

  Her pulse quickened, her heat rising. ‘Is she well?’

  ‘She’s okay.’ He fiddled with the strap of his watch. ‘I’m not sure I should be talking to you. It feels wrong.’

  ‘I’ve only asked you how my daughter is, I’ve not asked you for world secrets.’

  ‘You should speak to her yourself.’

  She crossed her arms and frowned. Talking was out of the question. If she had lied to her when questioned in prison, they would be on speaking terms. It had been a bad move, but in her defence, she wasn’t to know that Brittany was going to be so persistent. In fact, she knew so little about her, and the reality choked.

  When Brittany had been a child Michelle could silently voice her responses and mannerisms before they had happened. She would predict her moods, her mumbles and grumbles, her tantrums; she would await the joy as she offered her a new toy or experience. Every character trait could be foreseen; she knew her as intimately as she knew herself.

  ‘Is she ready to speak to me?’ Michelle asked Jason.

  ‘I can’t tell. It won’t get any easier if you leave it. She knows where you live.’

  ‘Does she? How?’

  ‘Her flatmate saw you.’

  She visualised Erin and her skinny body and aloof manner, jogging along effortlessly and carefree.

  ‘It’ll look much better if you just visit. She wants answers, that’s all.’

  Michelle held the mug to her face, disguising her agony. The truth could not slip out, for everyone’s sake.

  ‘Do you ever intend to speak to her?’ Jason asked.

  ‘I . . . I do.’

  ‘Then just do it.’

  Her colour faded and her skin turned cold. She rubbed her hands along her arms and stared wide-eyed, first to a man pushing a young woman in a wheelchair, and then to Jason.

  He was scrutinising her. He was puzzled. He had no idea of the anguish the truth would cause.

  ‘Tell me about her,’ Michelle said, ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s determined . . . copes well.’

  ‘Independent?’

  Jason nodded.

  ‘What does she like to do?’

  ‘She reads a lot. She’s very sociable, but I don’t think she goes out much. I don’t even think she drinks alcohol.’

  Michelle smiled. ‘She’ll be thinking of her health . . . always was the conscientious type. Even when she was quite young, she took an interest in nutrition. She used to tell me off for eating a burger and would say salad was healthier. I always tried to keep her as well as possible. Not that it did any good.’

  ‘Ethan doesn’t like salad. I doubt he’d eat anything at all if that’s all that was on offer.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘He has his good days.’

  ‘I could get quite depressed at the end of those days . . . when Brittany was at her best. All my doubts would temporarily vanish, and for the first time in ages, I would see a future. She’d get married, have children, carve out a career; she’d go to concerts and shows; she’d travel the world. But then I’d realise that even though today was a good day, her life expectancy had not changed and her illness was as rampant as ever. It hit me harder then, more so than when I muddled along in a daze.’

  Jason held his head in his hands and his eyes were downcast.

  ‘Of course this was before she had a transplant.’

  ‘It’s rotten seeing them so ill.’

  ‘You just have to find a way of coping, and try not to think beyond the moment.’

  ‘He doesn’t deserve it. He’s such a good little boy.’

  Michelle smiled.

  ‘Everywhere I go I’m looking at people and wondering if they are compatible. I even dream about being able to get a device to scan them at a distance. You know, like something you’d find in Star Trek.’ His eyes drifted, his focus lost.

  ‘Then what happens?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘If they are a match they keel over. Sometimes, they realise what I’ve done and offer an organ.’

  ‘If only life was so simple.’

  ‘I even get excited when I hear of a death. Isn’t that horrible?’

  ‘No. I used to do the same.’

  ‘Really? I don’t wish people dead, I . . . I just fantasise about it. If there was a huge disaster, we could strip the bodies of organs and there would be enough for everyone. There would be no children needing transplants anymore.’

  ‘That’s assuming they’re on the organ register.’

  ‘They would be in my world!’

  ‘I agree there.’

  ‘Have you seen that poster over there?’ He pointed along the wall. ‘There’s an event in town to promote organ donation.’

  The poster had an image of a black man and girl on the front. He was kissing her on the cheek, and just beneath was to message to give the gift of life. It was eye catching. She made a mental note of the date.

  ‘I can’t really see it making much difference,’ Jason said. ‘No matter how much you persuade people to be living donors, not many people are that altruistic. Only family can do that.’

  ‘Maybe some can be persuaded.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  She looked away. ‘Nothing. Forget it.’

  ‘Michelle?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Are people being bribed . . . or being forced to donate a kidney?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant at all. I was thinking aloud. Forget I said anything.’

  For a moment, he looked perplexed, and he held an intrusive gaze. Fearing he would question her further, she turned away, feigning interest in a passing waitress, and blanked out her guilt, her secret.

  After a few moments, he grew disinterested. ‘If Holly hadn’t have died, we could have had more children. Maybe one of them would have been a match for him.’

  ‘Would you be able to take an organ from one child and give it to another?’

  ‘We would have had to. It’s not as if we would have been killing anyone.’

  Michelle held her hand to a weight forming in her middle. He was gazing across
the café, his eyes glassy. He seemed unconcerned by the harshness of his comment. It was better that way; she didn’t want special treatment.

  ‘You should tell Brittany why you did what you did,’ he continued, ‘she deserves that.’

  Michelle placed her quivering hands under the table and bit her lip. She deserved more than that. ‘I’m glad you like her.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m right for her.’

  ‘I thought you got on.’

  ‘It’s just . . . it’s complicated.’

  ‘It always is. Nothing good ever comes easy . . . take it from me.’

  ‘It does for some people.’

  ‘Not for everyone.’

  His torment hung in the air.

  ‘Ethan will be okay. You have to believe.’

  She reached for her mug and sipped her drink, and pondered Jason’s anxious expression. She had been just like him, permanently morose and watching on helplessly as her child’s world broke apart. If someone could have taken her to the future and shown Brittany thriving with a new organ, it would have dissolved the agony of the unknown and made the pain much easier to deal with. She wished for the same for Jason.

  ‘Look at Brittany. Miracles do happen.’

  ‘Brittany’s not doing so well.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s struggling. She tries to hide it, but I can tell. I am only too familiar with end-stage kidney failure and the disastrous way it takes over everything.’

  Her heart pounded. ‘I thought you said she was okay.’

  ‘Did I? She’s tired all the time and can go to the toilet several times an hour.’

  Inside, Michelle screamed. She stuffed her hands under her thighs, urging her quivers to stop. It could not be true, not yet. O’Riordan was wrong; Brittany was wrong. She was a little off colour, that’s all.

  ‘Please don’t desert her,’ she said.

  ‘She doesn’t need me.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong. She needs you now more than ever.’

  ‘No,’ he said, firmly, ‘she needs you. You’re her mother.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘And I can’t either. My son is sick. He needs me more and he comes first.’