by Mairi Chong
Cathy told herself that any non-addict would not have noticed. But she knew that she was one, and always would be, even if another pill never touched her lips. She would forever be tempted. She was surprised though, that Fraser hadn’t spotted this flaw in the procedures yet and changed it. He had been so rigorous in so many other areas. It was his remit after all as their pharmacist, to oversee the practice drug sourcing and storage. Had Cathy been more virtuous, she might have pointed out his error, but something stopped her from alerting her colleagues; the part of her that had already stolen from the practice in the past when she was ill, and that could potentially fall into the same trap again.
Cathy took a swig of wine, barely tasting it now, and remembered sitting in her consulting room all those months ago. The illness had been exhausting. She had struggled to sleep at night because of the racing thoughts. So many ideas, and all of them terrifying. She had eaten less. Food had become of secondary importance. Her boyfriend at the time had been frustrated by her outbursts; her swings in mood, from euphoria to crashing despair and fear. Cathy had become unpredictable. Having managed to conceal her fluctuant moods at work all day, she had come home and, she supposed, her then-boyfriend, had borne the brunt of her temper. Once, she had slapped him and she still remembered the sting as her palm had struck his cheek. Pleading for his forgiveness had done little to repair the damage though. They had drifted apart. Cathy laughed to herself thinking of this now. Such a euphemism if ever there was one. Drifted apart. It had hardly been that. He couldn’t stand the sight of her in the end. She had pushed things too far. In many ways, it was a relief not to have to pretend anymore. Cathy could come home and be herself, her true self, without having to hide and pretend anymore. She had felt the bitterness inside her grow.
Her perception of the world had changed though, and she saw things differently now. She had been so happy to be allowed to return to work following her illness, but now this. Mark had died and in such hideous circumstances too. What the hell were they all playing at, getting on with things as if it hadn’t happened?
Cathy knew that she was no longer the young, hopeful general practitioner she had once been. She had been full to the brim with idealism. She smiled at the blank television screen. Oh, how things had changed. Years of relentless work. Most of which had been mediocre. The worried-well wanting advice and support. Sometimes Cathy wondered why she had spent five long years obtaining her medical degree, as most of her day was spent doling out sick-lines and cheap bits of motherly advice. What a bloody joke it all was. And the real stuff, the real reason for becoming a doctor and making a difference? Well, that too disheartened her now. She had seen too many generous, kind, honourable people die lonely, ugly deaths. They had told them at medical-school that they could ease people’s suffering and really make a difference, but it had been a lie. Everyone faced the same end. Some, she couldn’t forget. Their pleading eyes. She had shut thoughts such as this away for years and years. Why did she torment herself now? And of what help had her training been when her partner had needed her?
Cathy again saw the gaping hole of a mouth, the blistered lips and the beseeching eyes. Oh God Mark, why that way?
When sleep finally came that night, it was not tender and welcoming. Instead, Cathy lay spent on the living room floor, her head at an awkward angle and her body growing cold. In the early hours, she wakened and crept up the stairs to bed, her head throbbing mercilessly. She felt more alone that night than ever.
20
They all made a real effort to get on with work in a positive manner now that the practice was open to patients. It was difficult. The atmosphere was very strange. It felt like picking through the wreckage after an enormous hurricane had blown through. A natural disaster, although of course, it was anything but natural. Cathy knew that Brenda was trying her best to be as visible as possible. It seemed that the practice manager had spent much of her morning out at the reception desk helping the girls. They were on the front-line really and needed her. In truth, Cathy surmised that poor Brenda would have liked nothing more than to stay in her own room and hide.
The practice manager, seeing that Cathy had a gap between patients, had come through to vent. Apparently, the police had called her late the night before, saying that they were locking up the building having been back with forensics again. Brenda had told them that she couldn’t imagine what was taking them so long, or indeed what they were doing. Cathy had smiled when she had said this.
‘Brenda, they need to investigate thoroughly,’ she had said, but the woman was having none of it. It seemed clear to her that it had been a suicide and of course that required some sort of an investigation, but it wasn’t as if anything could be done now. Cathy didn’t disagree, although of course, she suspected that something more sinister might well have occurred. Brenda admitted that she wished, more than anything, that the police would go away and allow her to get her practice back on track. She confessed to Cathy that she had already begun to worry about how they might replace Dr Hope. Cathy told her it was too soon.
‘Anyway, I’ve told that Jackson boy not to come in this next week,’ Brenda said. ‘God knows what he must be thinking, and having come here to see how a career in general practice might be.’
‘What about the room?’ Cathy had asked.
‘Mark’s room? Oh, that’s to stay locked. Not that any of us would want to go in. They’ve taken the keys and they’re welcome to them. Took them off me as soon as they arrived that dreadful day,’ Brenda said. ‘There’s no way any of us could think of using the room for a long time now. Every time I walk past it …’
Cathy nodded.
‘I’ll let you get on,’ Brenda said. ‘I don’t suppose you’d take some flowers home tonight? God knows how many bunches have been sent in. I’ve got them dotted around reception, but it’s beginning to look like a shrine.’
Cathy laughed. It was rare to see Brenda so flustered, but then they all were. The receptionists had been so busy and the phones hadn’t stopped ringing. Leaving her room mid-morning, Cathy had gone through to get a form and had seen how hectic the place was. It seemed that Brenda had felt compelled to offer further support and was now answering calls, so great was the volume. It was partly because people were keen to get an appointment just to pry, Cathy thought. It was also the logistical nightmare of managing patients who had called before when the practice had been closed and rather than going elsewhere, they had waited to be seen by their regular doctor.
When the surgeries finished and they put the phones over to emergencies only, the girls on the desk were allowed some respite at least. At the usual time, the team found itself filtering upstairs to the coffee room, keen Cathy assumed, to stick to a routine.
‘Did you sleep last night?’ asked Michelle, turning to her workmate. Usually, there was an opportunity to gossip at the front desk, but what with the place being so busy, and Brenda hanging around, they hadn’t yet had a chance.
‘No,’ replied Julie. ‘I kept going through it again and again and was trying to think if we could have done anything else to help. The police made me feel dreadful with all of their questions.’
‘What did David have to say about it all?’ David was Julie’s other half. He was four years her senior, and almost always had an opinion.
‘He’s the same as the rest of the town, I suppose,’ said Julie, biting into a slice of cake that Irene had apparently brought in that day. ‘He can’t believe it happened, and here too. Didn’t want me coming to work this morning though.’
‘Why?’ asked Michelle, also helping herself to a large slice of cake. She, having been exposed to David’s sentiments in the past, held him in high regard. If David said the practice wasn’t safe, then perhaps they should listen. ‘We can’t leave Brenda in the lurch, though,’ Michelle went on, ‘and anyway, the patients won’t stop coming, I suppose.’
Cathy tried hard to look as if she was doing something busily in the kitchenette that jutted out into the coffee
room. It wasn’t unusual to overhear the staff talking, and a good deal might be gleaned from what they had to say. Julie’s voice dropped to almost a whisper, so that Cathy had to stop clattering the mugs, as she removed them from the dishwasher, to hear.
‘Haven’t you heard what they’re saying about Dr Hope? It’s all over town. David was full of it.’ The girl asked, and then turning, Cathy was just in time to see the girl mouth the word ‘murder’.
Just then, Linda walked in, closely followed by Brenda.
‘Morning ladies,’ Linda said. ‘I hear it’s been tough out there.’
‘Oh, morning Linda,’ said Michelle. ‘Been going non-stop. Cake?’ she asked, and Julie handed across a plate. ‘Irene brought it in,’ Michelle explained. ‘Julie and I were just saying, weren’t we Julie? You were very quiet the other day. We were just saying exactly that, weren’t we, Julie?’
Julie shifted uncomfortably but didn’t speak.
‘I’ll bet you were glad to be out of the building when all of the commotion with Dr Hope was going on,’ Michelle continued cheekily. ‘Away at your asthma conference.’
Cathy watched Linda’s expression and saw that her colleague looked acutely uncomfortable. ‘Yes,’ said Linda, her tone flat and serious. ‘It was bad enough arriving back when all of the patients were leaving. And then the ambulance arrived.’ Linda wiped a stray crumb that had fallen into her lap.
‘When did you get back, Linda?’ asked Michelle, and Brenda took a step forward, perhaps to prevent the conversation from going any further. But before she could interrupt, Michelle continued. ‘Didn’t you get back with Brenda and Irene? They were right in there helping, weren’t they?’
‘Yes, I drove back with them. I just didn’t want to get in the way,’ Linda said and Cathy, although she had in the past struggled to warm to the woman, saw that she was blushing and felt sorry for her.
Michelle and Julie looked at one another.
‘But you’re a doctor,’ Julie laughed, clearly buoyed by her friend’s confidence. ‘You’d have been more help to them maybe. I heard that Dr Moreland was calling out for folk to help her, weren’t you Dr Moreland?’
Before Cathy spoke though, Linda got up.
‘Yes,’ said Linda, frostily. ‘We all have our skillsets ladies, and cardiac arrests aren’t mine, I’m afraid.’ Putting down her plate, she smiled acidly at Brenda who was still standing frozen beside them, holding a limp tea-towel in her clenched hand. The young doctor stalked from the room.
‘Hiding in her room I reckon. She should’ve been getting stuck in like the rest of them, and she knows it,’ Michelle said.
‘Ladies. I think we should have a word,’ Brenda said with finality.
21
Fraser sat in his office alone and fretted. It had been four days. Four days since Dr Hope’s death. Dear God, what a mess it all was. Fraser got up from his seat and crossed to the window. He looked out blindly. He could barely remember what he had done, or how he had got through the hours. Sleep had been elusive these past few nights and it was little wonder after what had occurred.
After he had made his dreadful decision, he had been seized by such an overwhelming feeling of revulsion and self-loathing, that at times he felt that he might physically disgrace himself by vomiting in public. Waves of nausea lapped at him now. It was ghastly, even to contemplate.
And now it had gone so horribly, horribly wrong. Oh God, what a mess. That vindictive animal Jackson would live to see another day. Thank God though, he had been absent since the debacle. Thank God Fraser hadn’t had to look into his hateful eyes. Brenda said that she had told the trainee GP not to return to the practice for the time being. It gave Fraser some respite at least.
Fraser had been questioned by the police. He had tried to stay calm, for he knew that his freedom depended upon it. They had thankfully dismissed him. He had been away all morning with Brenda and Irene at the asthma conference. That at least was a small mercy, for it gave him an alibi of sorts. They would find out of course, though. It was just a matter of time.
The actual endeavour had been dreadful enough, but the aftermath following the mix-up had been far worse. Fraser envisaged his life being like this forever. The slightest oversight, a relaxation of watchfulness, a slip-up of words, and he was done for. If they suspected him in the least, they wouldn’t let it drop. Already, having thought that they might assume it was suicide, Fraser had heard the word ‘murder’ mentioned. It was all around the town. He would spend the rest of his days looking over his shoulder now. This he had done since Jackson had ensnared him, but the rat had done far worse to him now. In calling in sick that morning, Jackson had dodged a bullet and had turned Fraser into the reluctant killer of an innocent man.
Fraser knew that forever his peace of mind was gone. In truth, it had left him the day he encountered Jackson all those years ago in the hospital. From now on, in the background, fear would crouch huddled, waiting to emerge from the shadows at the corner of every room. Fraser knew that in doing what he had done, he had sacrificed his own happiness. He thought of sweet, innocent Sarah, of her look of shock on seeing him that evening. He had returned from work much later than he should have of course, as the police had kept them all back for questioning.
Word had not got out by then and the shock was almost as great to the girl as it was to him.
‘Oh Fraser, how awful. But what had happened do you think? An accident? Had he drunk something he shouldn’t?’
Fraser had sat with his head in his hands. Finally, he had uncovered his face. ‘I don’t know,’ he said again and again, until Sarah had gone to him and cradled his head in her arms and sat like that, rocking him for God knows how long.
Sarah assumed that he was susceptible, being a sensitive person, but this, of course, was not the truth. He was a monster. If Sarah found out, she would spurn him, and rightly so.
Even now, four days on, Fraser could not fathom how it had happened. He had had the whole thing planned so meticulously. It had taken some nerve and he had backed out of it a dozen times, but then he saw how it might be done and while he was away also. This gave him some courage at least.
He knew that Dr Hope and Jackson would be consulting together, as they had done all week. Fraser had even gone to the trouble of double-checking that it would be so on the morning in question. He had no access to such information on his own computer, but he had gone behind the front desk surreptitiously the day before and had seen that Dr Hope’s surgery was blocked out with longer appointments. Fraser had noted the previous few days in fact that Dr Hope, trusting the odious devil, Jackson’s clinical skills more and more apparently, often took the time to get on with paperwork. The previous day, in fact, Dr Hope had come through to talk to Fraser himself, leaving Jackson to see his patients, and he had then gone back later probably to check that Jackson had made the correct diagnosis and treatment plan.
Come coffee time, for the past few days, Jackson had left Dr Hope in his room and had gone upstairs to get his own, which he took to the back door with him to have a cigarette. Fraser had passed him the day before and the vindictive beast had tried to engage him in conversation. He had continued upstairs seething as he listened to Jackson’s laughter following him up the echoing stairwell.
Fraser knew that Jackson was the only one in the practice who smoked. He did this alone, taking with him one of those large, thermal mugs, to keep his coffee warm. The mug was, of course, the key to Fraser’s plan, for it was only Jackson who used the damn thing. Fraser had never seen it before the man arrived, so he assumed it actually belonged to Jackson, but Fraser had noted that he chose to leave it at the practice overnight to go in the dishwasher along with the rest of the mugs and plates.
The night before, Fraser had waited until he thought most of the practice had gone home. Creeping upstairs, he had finally found the mug at the back of the dishwasher. He had cleaned and dried it as efficiently as he dared. If anyone had walked in, the entire thing would have to be a
bandoned.
Fraser had been carrying the universal container in his pocket all day. As he had gone about his business, he imagined all those he spoke to must know he concealed a fatal concoction, just waiting for his chance to deploy it. He was tense and on edge as he spoke to Dr Hope about the diabetic register. When he saw Brenda later, he imagined that she looked at him in a suspicious manner too. Goodness knows how he had made it through that day without spilling the damn stuff all over himself. As he sat waiting for the rest of the practice to go home so that he could tip the contents into Jackson’s mug, swilling the oily liquid around the sides to avoid easy detection, he had momentarily considered downing the lot himself.
Suicide had most certainly been on Fraser’s mind that day. Even as he replaced Jackson’s mug by the kettle, knowing that the following day, diluted with coffee, it might end his enemy’s life, he still considered taking the other choice. Death might come painfully, Fraser knew. He had looked up the symptoms of hydrocarbon poisoning and they weren’t pleasant. Contact burns, eventual coma and respiratory arrest. Fraser held the cup to his own lips for only a second, and then replaced it hurriedly on the kitchen counter. What was he thinking? He had made his choice and he would stick to it now.