But Lindsey had been suspended. Suspended, he was absolutely convinced, for talking to him. And that was bizarre.
He heard footsteps in the corridor. He was Jamie Williams. He was researching a PhD. Hugo stood up. The door opened.
“Hello,” he said.
A pause.
“Niall Burnet. How extraordinary. I was expecting Jamie Williams.”
Susannah lay in bed after one of the most difficult mornings of her life. She was alone, and she was in tears. Because everybody had expected so much, looked to her for so much, and maybe she had too, and their disappointment at her failure to deliver had rolled over her like a tsunami. She had seen, but not clearly, and nobody seemed to understand why she found it easier to do things with her eyes shut, obey the instincts of a lifetime. Her mother’s euphoria had turned to painful despair, her father had been brisk and frustrated; Amelia silently disappointed. Only Mr. Daghash and Dr. Clarke seemed to have any hope left that her sight would improve. They said what was going on would be like an earthquake inside her head, that it would be stressful for her brain and it would take time for the dust to settle. It would take time for her to learn the habits of looking and seeing and living in a sighted world. She thought how much better it would have been if they had given the eyes to someone like Niall, someone who knew how to see.
Then Matthew the journalist had come in, hungry for a story of triumph and new worlds to go with a picture of her smiling sighted face. His photographer had stood in front of her and there had been a blinding flash which made her wince. Mr. Daghash had got cross, saying that he had specifically stipulated no flash photography. Everybody had gone away miserable and deflated, sent away by Mr. Daghash so that she could rest.
For months, this day had been the focus of her family’s attention, the focus of her own fears and anxieties. Now it had come. The operation was over. How successfully, it was too early to say, but she could certainly see, and that meant her life would change. She had to plan a future, think about maybe getting a job. What, though? She thought perhaps she’d like to work with children. Disabled children, because she knew what it was like. So how did you go about it? She would have to get qualifications, prove herself. She’d never found anything like that easy, and she didn’t think being able to see was going to make much of a difference. Presumably she’d stop getting her disability allowance because she wouldn’t be disabled any more. What would she live on? Her parents would expect her to go out into the world as Amelia had done. She couldn’t see what she had to look forward to. She picked her mobile phone off the bedside cabinet. With her heart pumping she rang Niall Burnet. He didn’t answer, and she was too scared to leave a message.
“I don’t understand the need for deception.”
Niall was thinking furiously. Vivien Loosemore. The former principal of his old school. They had cordially detested each other for the best part of seven years, and now she was at BAB. The Blind World was even smaller than he thought.
“You left school then,” he said.
“They asked me to head up the Education Division,” she said. “That’s why I agreed to take time out to see Jamie. As a research degree is an educational matter.”
“And you always thought the sun shone out of Jamie’s arse,” Niall said.
“So, Niall, what’s going on? What is it you want?”
“I want to know why Lindsey’s been suspended,” he said. It came to him in a flash as the only possible camouflage.
“And why not come openly, as yourself?”
“I don’t know. Call it a whim.”
He remembered the ill-disguised hostility of their battles when he was a sixth-former using every ounce of his intelligence to challenge the system, and she was – as they had all thought – an inept principal trying to assert her authority.
“I can’t talk to you about Lindsey,” she said in her irritatingly superior way.
“You know about it then,” he said.
“Yes,” Vivien Loosemore conceded, “and it shocks and saddens me.”
“Except that you know it’s impossible,” Niall said.
“I know that a complaint has been made.”
“So why not defend her? You know what she’s like.”
“If Lindsey wants to call me as a character witness, I shall be happy to speak of what I knew of her when she was at school,” Loosemore said.
“You’re thinking there’s going to be a disciplinary then?” Niall said.
“Lindsey could spare herself any unpleasantness if she chose to resign. HR would give her an excellent reference, I’m sure.”
“So one minute they want to take her to a disciplinary, and the next they’ll give her a glowing reference. Come on, Vivien.”
He sensed her stiffen at the use of her Christian name, enjoyed the moment. They weren’t principal and student any more.
“I didn’t realise you were still so close to Lindsey,” she said.
“She rang me sobbing in the middle of the night.”
“After you’d been to see her the day before.”
“How did you know about that?”
Silence. Vivien had blundered. He knew it, she knew it. He also knew from experience that once she was flustered she could dig a deeper and deeper pit for herself.
“Juliette Warwick mentioned that she’d shown you up.”
“I bet you enjoyed her description of me.”
“She described a man I recognised immediately.”
“And then Lindsey was suspended,” Niall said.
“Lindsey was suspended because of a very serious complaint,” Loosemore said.
“And no-one will even tell her what it is.”
“That’s standard procedure.”
“It’s ridiculous, and the whole thing is a fraud. As you well know,” Niall said.
“Niall, I strongly recommend you to leave this alone,” Vivien said.
“You know that saying that will make me do just the opposite.”
“You won’t help Lindsey. You can’t help Lindsey.”
“Tell me what she’s been accused of.”
“I can’t.”
“Intimidating one of her ‘clients’.”
“She has a very sensitive job.”
“And she was doing it to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“Niall!”
“What?” He heard her sigh. “Who are you going to report this conversation back to?” he asked.
“I shall say nothing about it.”
“Lindsey’s going to fight all the way,” Niall said. “I’m going to defend her.”
“That is both sad and foolish,” Vivien said. “She could have done with some better advice around her at this time.”
“And all because I happened to ask her about the eye transplant.”
“What?” Vivien sounded genuinely astonished.
“Susannah Leman’s new eyes. She must be looking out of them now.”
“What on Earth has that got to do with anything?”
“Big business at BAB.”
“You’ve lost me completely, Niall. As always, you appear to inhabit a totally different world to the rest of us.”
“I wonder,” Niall said.
SIX
Daniel Sullivan lay in a deep bath, watching his nipple hair rise and fall like seaweed at the mercy of the tide. The Fourth Mrs. Sullivan was slaving over a hot stove preparing dinner; where women, in Daniel’s opinion, really wanted to be. He didn’t consider himself a misogynist – anything but. Women had been placed on Earth according to the book of Genesis to be man’s helpmeet and companion, to meet his needs. Deep down, it was what they wanted. Daniel’s needs were crystal clear: domesticity and sex. During his naive twenties, he had believed he could find both in one woman. Now he didn’t even try. When he got out of the bath he would tell her that he was going out. It was a Number Seventeen night.
He soaped his penis and thought about Susannah Leman. He wondered how easy it would be to seduce her. S
he was presumably totally inexperienced, sexually. He had found over the years that being a significant figure in a major charity intrigued and attracted the vast majority of women. A bit of judicious name-dropping usually did the rest. Encounters with the Prince of Wales (‘HRH’ in Daniel’s parlance) and both of his sons went down well, and the beauty of it was that he really did meet them, and he was able to turn those meetings into sexual capital.
The young Miss Leman would certainly be a project, and he liked to have a project on the go. He would have to make it look as though his interest in the outcome of the operation was what kept bringing him to her bedside. Then he could offer her a guided tour of BAB, and maybe follow it with a tour of London sights. Bowl her over by making time for her in his exceptionally busy schedule. Then gently introduce her to the mysteries of the flesh. He would open her book of sex and write a first chapter that would be a hard act to follow.
He smiled at the thought and wondered what life would consist of without these diversions. If he spent his working days thinking of nothing but work and his evenings passively soaking up television and good dinners with the Fourth Mrs. Sullivan. He remembered a Dylan Thomas poem from his distant schooldays – “Rage, rage against the dying of the light”: he was raging already and his light was a long way from dying.
In the Intensive Care Unit at Moorfields Eye Hospital, the only place on Earth she had ever seen, Susannah lay in bed talking to Mr. Daghash and Dr. Clarke. Talking to them was better than talking to her family. Not so emotional. They were talking about her eyesight, asking her what she saw and how it felt. Nothing she said seemed to surprise them. She described shapes and light and shade and – to their great delight – colour. Colour seemed to be a big thing to them. Her head wasn’t hurting as much as it had done, but the fuzziness – which Mr. Daghash explained was caused by the pain-killing medication – was the same. She was trying to get used to living with it.
“Put your hand up in front of your face,” Mr. Daghash said. “Your right hand – not the one with the tubes.” She did. “Now open your eyes and take a look.”
She opened them. She found that they closed of their own accord. She was going to have to get into the habit of keeping them open. Before her was a shape, a pale shape.
“What do you see?” Dr. Clarke asked.
“I can see that something’s there in front of my face,” Susannah said.
“That’s great,” Mr. Daghash said. “Now, will yourself to see it. Imagine that you’re a baby and you’re trying really hard to see the detail on it.”
She tried, and suddenly the fog cleared and there was her hand – five pale, bony fingers and a hand.
“I see it!” she said excitedly. “I see it!”
“Bravo!” said Dr. Clarke.
She turned to look at the two men but as she did so it was as if a switch had been thrown and the fog returned.
“Oh,” she said, disappointed.
“Little steps,” Mr. Daghash said. “One little step at a time. You focused. You managed to focus your new eyes and the brain decoded the messages. This is fantastic Susie. Truly fantastic.”
She turned back to her hand. Yes, there it was again. And there were the nails her mother had stopped her from biting when she was thirteen.
“If you never see any more than just in front of your face you could get a job at a fair reading palms,” Dr. Clarke said.
“I’d have to learn how,” Susannah said.
“He’s joking Susie,” Mr. Daghash said. “We both know you’re going to see a lot more than that. When we’ve gone just keep practising. Keep looking at things. Look at your hand close up. Practise focusing. Look around the room, try to see things a bit further away.”
“Would you think it was pathetic of me if I asked for a mirror?” Susannah asked. “I really want to see what I look like.”
“It’s only natural,” Mr. Daghash said. “Of course. We’ll get a nurse to see if she can find one.” She heard Dr. Clarke get up and go out.
“But I should warn you,” Mr. Daghash went on, “you’re not looking your absolute best. Anyone who didn’t know better would think I’d been punching you in the face.”
“That’s OK,” Susannah said. “The nurses say I look like I’ve gone ten rounds with Frank Bruno. Whoever he is.”
“Tomorrow, Susie, we’re going to move you back to your room. You’re doing really well and so long as we manage the environment in the room properly it’ll be better for you than being in here. You’ll be able to have fruit and flowers. Things to look at.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Susannah didn’t really know what to say. At the moment, one room was much the same as another. And she was less available to visitors in the ICU and being alone was less stressful than being in company.
“Then I want you to meet with one of our counsellors,” Mr. Daghash was saying. “Faith Hodgkiss. She’s absolutely lovely and has worked here for ever. I’m hoping she’s going to be a key point of contact for you when you go home and start putting your life back together. You’ll be able to tell her everything.”
Not if I don’t want to, Susannah thought. She thought about the life she had to put back together and realised that it really amounted to nothing. In any case, that life was over now. It was a case of starting from scratch.
“Then I’ve arranged with your family for a kind of general council around your bed at ten o’clock. If you don’t feel up to it when the time comes then that’s fine. We’ll go somewhere else and leave you in peace. But I want Dr. Clarke to explain to you and your parents what life is going to be like for you and them following the transplant. He needs to explain the medication, you need to decide who is responsible for it – ultimately, of course, Susie, it has to be you, if you want an independent life.”
“Will I always have to take medication?” Susannah asked.
“Yes, almost certainly,” Mr. Daghash replied. “You will have to maintain some anti-rejection medication, but hopefully the dosage in the end will be quite small. You certainly won’t always be as vulnerable and susceptible to infection as you are now.”
Susannah smiled. She didn’t know why.
“Now is there anybody else,” Mr. Daghash went on, “apart from your family, that you would like to have at that meeting tomorrow? Any special friend that you’d like to hear about your medication and how life’s going to be for you?”
Susannah pretended to think. The truth was, she didn’t really have any friends. Not ones who would help her lead a full and independent life by taking responsibility for her own medication. And then it came to her, as a way of seeing him again. He should be interested – he was supposedly writing something about her case.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve got a friend called Niall. Niall Burnet. I’d really like him to be there.”
“That’s fine,” said Mr. Daghash, not showing the surprise that he felt. Susannah Leman was a darker horse than he had thought. “The meeting will be at ten o’clock. You can call him and tell him.”
“Actually do you think you could call him?” Susannah asked. “I’ve got the number in my phone. You could explain what it’s all about much better than I could.”
Surely Niall wouldn’t refuse a call from the surgeon who had performed her operation?
The door opened. She assumed it was Dr. Clarke returning with the mirror and turned expectantly in his direction.
“Jamal,” a very different voice said.
“Duncan,” Mr. Daghash replied. “Susie, this is Mr. Clark. One of the senior consultants here. Not to be confused with our Dr. Clarke. Duncan Clark, Susannah Leman.”
“How do you do, Miss Leman?” Duncan Clark said. His voice was quite a sharp fruit – redcurrants or the wrong sort of strawberries. His greeting felt as if he had added a spoon of sugar to mask the sharpness. “Is Mr. Daghash busily describing what you can see to you?”
Susannah looked puzzled.
“Mr. Clark doesn’t believe what we have done is possible, Susie,�
� Mr. Daghash said. “He has written a very learned article about it. But luckily the field of medical science is a broad church, or you might not be here today, seeing even as much as you are seeing.”
“And what have we seen?” Mr. Clark asked.
“My hand,” Susannah tried to say, but her voice gave up on her.
“I wonder,” Mr. Clark said.
“One day soon, Duncan,” Mr. Daghash said, “you will have to accept the truth of what we have accomplished.”
“I’ve never had a problem with truth, Jamal,” Mr. Clark said. “Miss Leman, I wish you joy of your contract with a tabloid newspaper, and the life of a celebrity upon which you are undoubtedly now embarked. Good evening.” And with that he was gone. Susannah found she was shaking. Mr. Daghash took her hand.
“I’m sorry about that, Susie,” he said. “I don’t know why he came in. Duncan Clark has been against us from the start. He didn’t believe the operation was possible, he thinks it’s a scam and a publicity stunt, and he didn’t want Moorfields to have any part in it. He was voted down by the trustees and has been rude to me ever since. But I didn’t think he’d stoop so far as to confront you. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s OK,” she said. “I suppose I need to get used to people being negative.”
At that moment Dr. Clarke returned with a nurse.
“It’s only one out of my handbag, love,” the nurse said. “But you’re more than welcome.”
She put a small circular object into Susannah’s hand.
“Thanks,” Susannah said.
“And on that, Susie,” Mr. Daghash said, “we will leave you. We will leave you alone with your face. But remember – it will get better.”
Eyes of the Blind Page 5