by Dawson, H A
Imogen prodded him in the ribs. ‘Look.’
Her turned his head and glanced along a quiet street to a couple hugging.
‘That’s Doctor Jerry,’ she hissed.
‘Who’s he with?’
‘I don’t know.’
The woman’s figure-hugging suit was adorable, perfect for her slender figure, and her heels, about two inches high, accentuated her shapely calves. Taking care not to be seen spying, he averted his gaze and stepped to the next shop window. It was a jewellery shop.
‘Can you take a picture?’ he asked.
‘I’ll try. Hang on, I’ll get my phone from my bag.’
She retrieved it, and dragged him back a few steps. ‘Try to look like we’re a couple. Hold me or something.’
Nervously, he placed one hand upon her arm and, the other on her back and watched as she positioned the phone in a gap under his arm and clicked.
Imogen grinned. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
‘Did you get her?’
‘Oh yes.’
They moved back to the jewellery shop, and feigned interest in the rings.
‘Look,’ she said, presenting the photo.
Doctor Jerry and the woman were kissing, and Luke nodded his approval.
‘His wife?’ he asked.
‘She didn’t have a ring on. I wonder if Angela Canning knows.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘This is so cool. Come on, let’s go.’
He moved away, but Imogen didn’t. She was staring at something up the hill. He followed her gaze and his heartbeat quickened. Sarah was trudging away from them, carrying a light bag. Even after months apart, he knew her gait as intimately as ever.
He wanted to run to greet her, but the thought of Imogen’s condemnation held him back. With his pounding pulse drying his throat, he started down the hill, striding with deliberate intent and forcing his mind away from his burning pain. Imogen would be still staring, wondering. He prayed she would not say anything.
When he arrived at the living donor stall, he slipped into work mode. A plump woman with laughing eyes was chatting to an interested passer by.
She caught his eye and smiled. ‘Feel free to take a leaflet.’
‘Thanks.’
Luke selected one and pretended to read it.
Imogen emerged by his side. ‘Was that Sarah?’
‘Just leave it.’
She glanced back up the hill, her expression puzzled. ‘You still love her.’
‘I’m dealing with it, okay?’
‘Are you?’
He hated that pitiful look, and wanted to vanish. She would be pondering his recent moods, his dates with Crystal and the photograph. She would be reliving his past heartache and remembering his pathetic lack of resistance.
‘Don’t say anything,’ Luke said, ‘I don’t want to hear it.’
After a few moments hesitation, she broke the silence. ‘When did you last see her?’
‘A couple of weeks ago. I heard her telling someone she missed me and wanted me back.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So you’ve not spoken to her.’
‘No.’
His heart pounded and the repercussions vibrated across his body, causing him to shudder as he stared vacantly at the leaflet and waited for Imogen to either ask more questions or walk away. He didn’t want to be forced to answer a multitude of questions, but he sensed it was inevitable. She had ways of extracting his inner most thoughts, ways that he had never managed to fathom.
Then, after her probing, Imogen would tell him to give up on Sarah. She had never approved of their relationship; she had always said he deserved better. His body tensed as his anger increased. Mostly he liked that fact she spoke her mind. Mostly.
So what was actually wrong with Sarah? She was a successful lawyer and a great conversationalist, and despite what Imogen may think, she did have a kind side and could be incredibly thoughtful. He glanced back up the hill, fighting another urge to run and find her. Work could wait.
‘Anything I can help you with?’
The question posed by the woman with laughing eyes broke his thoughts.
‘You look a bit perplexed,’ she said.
‘I was thinking of something else. Have you had many takers to be living donors?’
‘It’s a long and difficult process and not something that can be decided overnight. Are you considering it?’
‘I . . . I don’t think so. I support the cause though. I know someone who has had a transplant, so I appreciate the value of such an organisation.’
‘Was she treated at the local hospital?’
‘Yes, although it’s a while ago now. Brittany Handley.’
‘Oh yes. Lovely girl. She was one of my favourites.
Luke glanced to her uniform, just visible beneath her jacket. ‘Do you work in the renal department?’
‘Yes. I have done for the best part of twenty years. I’m Jenny Roberts.’
‘You must have lots of stories to tell.’
‘I suppose I have. Some are desperately sad, others such joyous occasions, and I certainly remember little Brittany. She was a very determined child, a real fighter. For a while it was touch and go as to whether she’d survive the operation.’
‘It must be difficult trying to keep your distance from the patients.’
‘It is . . . very. You try not to get attached, but if you’re a caring person, I think it’s inevitable.’
‘It was a bit of a puzzle about her mother.’
‘We were all so shocked. She seemed such a nice woman.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘She was friends with Scott Cole too. It was horrid, just horrid.’
Jenny heaved a heavy sigh and continued to tell him about Michelle and Scott’s friendship. She didn’t think that they were having an affair, but said that the two couples had grown very close very quickly so it was entirely possible. She also commented on the timing of the friendship, and wondered if it could have been all part of Michelle’s bigger plan.
‘Was Scott a regular at the hospital?’ Luke asked.
‘He came to visit Brittany a couple of times, but that was all. We didn’t know him as such.’
‘Did he know any of the staff?’
‘No, not that I’m aware of. He kept himself to himself.’
A man and his daughter approached the table. Luke folded his arms and turned away from Jenny, facing passers by and allowing her to continue with her promotion. A few metres away Imogen was chatting to a young man. She laughed and flicked back her hair. His stomach knotted; she reminded him of Sarah. As a distraction, he picked up a different leaflet from the table and scanned the contents. It was a question and answer sheet explaining the minimal risk to the donors. He stuffed it in his pocket and was drawn to a conversation.
‘We do have a very successful department,’ Jenny said, ‘one of the best in the country. We have the best surgeons, but I also think there’s a certain amount of luck. Take last week for instance, a young man died in a collision just outside the city, and his organ matched one of our patients. What’s the chance of that happening?’
‘Does that happen a lot?’ The man asked.
‘No, but it’s not the first time. It’s hardly surprising considering we are a large hospital and have a big local population density.’
‘Daddy,’ his daughter said, ‘you should do it. Think of Emma. You don’t need two kidneys, and she hasn’t got any . . . none that work anyway.’
‘I can’t sweetie. I’m sorry.’
‘But Daddy.’
The man glanced at Jenny. ‘Just the thought makes me hot under the collar.’ He lifted his head. ‘See, I’m shaking.’
Luke could see sweat dripping from the man’s face, and the quiver in his limbs. He wasn’t putting it on.
‘I’d do it,’ the girl said, ‘if I was old enough.’
‘Then you’re braver than me.’
‘I can
let you talk it through with someone, if you interested,’ Jenny said.
‘I even struggle to go the dentist. Operations terrify me . . . ever since I witnessed my twin brother being cut open.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’ The man turned to his daughter. ‘I’m sorry sweetie. Can we go now?’
‘I suppose.’
They trundled away.
‘He was petrified,’ Luke said.
‘It’s tomophobia, a fear of operations,’ Jenny replied. ‘I’ve come across a couple of cases in my time.’
‘I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Like all phobias, it’s crippling. There’s no way we’d ever get as far as the operation, we’d be wasting our time.’
‘Isn’t it treatable?’
‘It might be, with mental techniques.’
Luke’s gaze wandered. Across the square was a takeaway van selling drinks, and just leaving and carrying two plastic cups was a fat man with a moustache and a haggard complexion. Having thanked Jenny for her time, he meandered across and joined the queue. Imogen appeared at his rear. Her essence was alluring.
‘Found anything out?’ he asked, inhaling her beauty.
Imogen nodded eagerly. ‘Not here.’
After a few moments of queuing, they purchased their drinks and moved away from the crowds. As soon as the immediate vicinity cleared, Luke looked to Imogen and encouraged her to speak.
‘That woman who was with Doctor Jerry is Diane Patrick. She’s the transplant coordinator.’
‘For how long?’
‘About fifteen years.’
‘Interesting. Are they a couple?’
‘Andy, the man who I was speaking to, said not. She’s married.’
Luke rubbed free a dribble of tea from his chin. ‘No wonder they were kissing out of view.’
A couple stopped close by. Uncomfortable with his loss of privacy, Luke suggested they headed to a bench across the market square. Imogen agreed and they sauntered across. She smoothed out her skirt and perched beside him.
There were sitting amidst a cacophony of sound, and his eyes wandered. Across the precinct was a woman with long brown hair and a slender figure, and his heart skipped a beat. But it wasn’t Sarah. He scanned the growing crowds, searching for sighting, and wondered if she had seen him and chosen to avoid him. He wanted to believe she wouldn’t do such a thing, but it was difficult to believe it not to be true, and his insides twisted with her decision.
‘Are you listening?’ Imogen asked.
‘What?’
‘I was speaking to you.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘I asked you if you found anything out.’
Luke shuffled, raising himself upright, and told her about the conversation with Jenny, and Scott’s lack of apparent connection with the hospital.
‘I think we should contact Lisa . . . see what she has to say.’
‘Could do.’
Imogen passed him a hardened stare. ‘You could show a bit of enthusiasm.’
He gave her a blank look.
‘I’ll give her a quick call.’
Imogen extracted her phone and a moment later was speaking to Lisa. He started to listen, but was drawn to the not-so-covert stares of a suited man. He was standing next to Jenny Roberts and they shared the occasional comment. She could just be telling him about their conversation but it seemed a little unlikely. The man looked a little anxious to be involved in a light-hearted exchange.
His cover had been blown. Had Michelle told them he was coming to this event? Had it been a deliberate plan to get them there? His eyes flitted. Across the market square, Doctor Jerry was sauntering towards the group. Feeling an urgency to leave, he stood up and glanced to Imogen who was leaning back with her legs crossed. He mouthed for her to finish.
Imogen ended the call and frowned.
‘I think we’re being watched,’ Luke said.
‘Who . . . where?’
‘There’s a man by the living donor stall chatting to Jenny Roberts, a nurse. He keeps looking this way. And Doctor Jerry is returning.’
She replaced her phone into her bag and fastened the clasp. ‘Lisa has just told me Scott and Tim had known each other, and that Michelle-’
‘Tell me later. Jerry is on the phone and he’s looking directly at us.’
‘You’re being paranoid . . . watched too many movies.’
He flung her a grave stare. ‘I’m not taking any chances. Try to look casual.’
Imogen laughed. ‘You’re telling me to look casual!’
Chapter 19
Angela pressed her arms tight to her abdomen and watched the news programme. There had been an earthquake and there was widespread devastation. Many had died and thousands more were missing. It was a distressing scene; buildings had been rocked to the ground, dust coated the vicinity, and people meandered, forlorn and sobbing.
Alex appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s going on?’
‘There’s been an earthquake in Turkey.’
‘Oh.’
‘Those poor people.’ She looked towards her. ‘What do you want?’
‘Nothing’
Alex scurried out of the room. A cupboard door shut, the fridge squeaked open then padded shut, and glasses chinked. She reappeared moments later sipping an orange juice.
‘You should pay attention to the news,’ Angela said. ‘It’s important to be aware of things.’
‘It’s boring. Dad said it made him miserable.’
‘Your father had a short attention span. It would have done him good to sit still for a while.’
Alex held her gaze. ‘Do you still miss him?’
‘Of course I do. It’ll take a while.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget him.’
She took a swig of orange juice, placed the glass on the table and perched on the arm of the chair next to Angela. Her daughter’s presence was warm and reassuring. Angela rested her arm around her back.
‘We’ll get there,’ Angela said, ‘so long as we support each other.’
The news bulletin changed. Angela stiffened and stared at the television. There was a reporter outside a courtroom and crowds gathered. She pulled free her arm and placed her hand across her mouth.
A man had been charged with conspiring to murder his wife. He was facing a prison sentence, and appeared from the building and was ushered into a van. The crowds cheered. The murder had been particular gory and the trial had been ongoing for a couple of weeks, and whilst he had not been involved in the act itself, he had played a part. Angela shuddered. His life had changed so entirely because of one careless decision.
‘He shouldn’t have got ten years,’ she said.
‘No,’ Alex said, ‘he should have gotten far more.’
Angela spun to face her. ‘But he wasn’t involved.’
‘Of course he was. They had a recording of him wishing her dead. He’d been plotting it for weeks.’
‘We all say things in the heat of the moment. It’s not evidence.’
Alex stood up and slurped the remainder of her drink. ‘No, but what he did afterwards was.’
Then she was gone.
Angela stared at the doorway, holding her gaze long after Alex’s disappearance up the stairs, and contemplated her daughter’s words. If Tim had been there he would have sided with Alex, and together, they would have told her she was in the wrong, naïve even. In her defence, she would have said motives could be blurred and consequences could be ill thought out, if considered at all. Perhaps the offender had had a tough day at work, a sleepless night, or a fracas with a loved one, causing his decision-making abilities to be impaired. Just because a malicious act had taken place, it did not mean that a feeling of malice or deliberate intent had been foremost in the offenders mind. Accidents happened.
The telephone sounded. She scurried across the room to pick up her mobile telephone. It was Jerry O’Riordan.
‘We need to move things
on a bit quicker,’ he said. ‘They’re prowling around.’
‘Who.’
‘That investigator you were telling me about, Luke Adams. We’ve keeping a firm eye on them. Have you been to see Brittany yet?’
‘No, later this week.’
‘Make it happen. Go around there tonight. Force the issue. I need to know what they’ve found out.’
‘I can’t just drop in. It’ll look suspicious.’
‘Then make sure it doesn’t.’
Angela held the phone tight in her palm, her eyes wild and wandering.
‘We need the investigation called off, before it’s too late.’
‘What if it’s not Michelle’s doing?’
‘Who else could it be? No . . . she said as much. One way or another, I’ll see she stops. I have plans.’
The situation was grave, far more than she had ever predicted and her insides tumbled. ‘What about that little boy you were telling me about. Surely that’s been stopped too.’
‘We’ve discussed this.’
She did not respond.
‘Should I let him die?’ he asked.
Angela pressed her fist to her breastbone. Maybe he should. But she was voiceless and couldn’t even manage a squeak.
‘No, I didn’t think so,’ Jerry continued. You’re as kind-hearted as me.’
‘It’s not up to you to be making these decisions.’
‘It’s part of my job. Ultimately, I decide who lives and who dies.’
‘There’s a system in place for that. You shouldn’t have preferences . . . or be interfering.’
‘Now come on,’ Jerry said, ‘you know me better than that. I try to help everyone, you know I do.’
Her quickening pulse echoed inside her head and her clarity of vision faded. How had she managed to get involved in this? Where had it all started to go so wrong? They were meant to be helping people not playing God.
‘I don’t like it,’ she said.
‘It’ll be over soon enough and we can go back to the way we were.’
‘I don’t know Jerry.’
‘How about I come around in a couple of hours for a nightcap? I have the evening off.’
‘Okay.’
‘And you can tell me all about Brittany.’
His voice faded and her stomach swelled.