In the Blood

by Ruth Mancini

  Marie sneers, ‘Him and half of the London Borough of bloody Southwark.’

  ‘Exactly. So, he cheated because he’s Darren. She slept with him because she’s Tanya. And my boyfriend did it because he could. Life goes on. I got a better one.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘I’m not with him any more. But he was much, much nicer.’

  ‘So why did you break up with him?’

  ‘Long story,’ I say. ‘But nothing to do with anyone else coming along.’ I think about this for a moment. I think about Ben, who of course did come along and blow our world apart. ‘Well, at least, not another woman,’ I add.

  ‘He was gay?’ Marie’s eyes widen.

  ‘He was Australian...’

  ‘Ah,’ Marie says. ‘I get it: Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.’

  I smile. This conversation has somehow turned Andy into a drag queen, but I decide it’s simpler to leave it at that, rather than trying to explain about Ben.

  We skirt round the edge of the play area, which is set back from the road in front of us. A group of kids on bikes are riding around on the grass outside the perimeter.

  ‘Well, at least he didn’t hit you,’ says Marie.

  ‘No,’ I agree. ‘That’s true. Darren hit you though, right? I saw what he did to you, when I came round last time.’

  Marie shrugs. ‘He’s got a temper. Don’t get me wrong, I give as good as I get. I’m mouthy, I know that. But he’s a bloke at the end of the day. Men shouldn’t hit women, should they?’

  I glance at her. ‘No one should hit anyone,’ I say.

  We cross the road and turn the corner into a side street, with a newsagent on the corner. I stop, open my purse and hand Marie a ten-pound note. ‘Keep the change,’ I tell her.

  ‘Thanks.’ Marie goes into the shop.

  I stand outside, shading my eyes from the bright glare of the sun, and watch the group of kids on bikes, who are now circling the play area and shouting at some smaller kids inside. I strain my ears to listen to what’s being said, worried for a moment that the smaller kids are being bullied.

  ‘Go fuck your mother,’ shouts a seven-year-old, who is sitting on top of the slide.

  The kids on the bikes laugh and ride off.

  Marie comes out of the shop, unwrapping the cellophane from a silver-papered pack of Royals. She wrestles a lighter from her jeans pocket and lights up a cigarette, inhaling deeply and looking over the road at the kids, who are trying to climb the wrong way up the slide to reach their friend at the top.

  ‘So,’ she says, her tone of voice less friendly now that she’s got her cigarettes. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I just want to ask you about Finn. I understand you were a bit like a second mum to him?’

  Marie gives me a sideways glance. ‘I know what they’re accusing El of. It weren’t me, if that’s what you want to know.’

  ‘I know,’ I agree, although I don’t really know this at all.

  Marie gives me another sideways glance and says nothing. She walks forward and crosses the road over to the park, so I follow her. When the kid on the slide sees her coming, he shouts, ‘Marie! I just seen Darren down the Camby Arms with Tanya Small. They were k-i-s-s-i-n-g!’ The kid wraps his arms round himself and makes a smooching action.

  Marie flicks her cigarette into the road, launches forward suddenly and runs towards the park, her muffin-top waistline wobbling around through her T-shirt and spilling over the edges of her jeans. The kids all scream and jump from the slide, exiting the park and running back in the direction of the estate. ‘Yeah, and you know what, you little bastard?’ Marie screams after him. ‘I saw your dad with her on Sunday in the Camby Arms car park, on the back seat of his car. They were f-u-c-k-i-n-g!’

  The kid just laughs and follows his friends, their attention now diverted towards a car near the entrance to the estate. I watch for a moment as they circle it, kicking its tyres. The boys on the bikes reappear and they all run off again.

  Marie sits down on a big tyre swing and lights another cigarette. I sit down on the swing next to her.

  ‘Sounds as though you’re better off without him,’ I venture.

  ‘You reckon?’

  I hesitate a moment before asking, ‘So, did he hit you often?’

  ‘When he’d been drinking,’ she says.

  ‘How often was that?’

  ‘Most days, as it happens.’

  ‘So, what did he think about having a baby around? I mean, you looked after Finn a lot, right?’

  ‘He liked the money,’ she says.

  ‘Did he ever get angry with him?’

  Marie purses her lips and blows out a smoke ring. She pulls a face. ‘Why would he get angry with a baby?’

  ‘Well, they cry, don’t they? They need things. He doesn’t seem to me as though he’s a very patient kind of man.’

  Marie’s lip curls slightly and the look in her eyes tells me quite plainly that I’m barking up the wrong tree. She takes a long puff of her cigarette and flicks the end towards the roundabout. ‘He didn’t have anything to do with the baby,’ she says. ‘He left him to me. He went down the pub and didn’t come back till closing. The baby was mostly asleep by then.’

  ‘And yet, he liked the money, you said? You still gave him some of the money you got for babysitting?’

  Marie gives me another one of her sideways looks. ‘He took it.’

  I nod. ‘As in... what he did to get the money from you that time I came round?’

  ‘Yep.’ Marie’s voice is terse and indignant. ‘If I didn’t give it to him.’

  ‘So, what if he came home from the pub, drunk, and started a fight with you over the money...?’

  ‘He never touched the baby.’

  ‘Ever?’

  ‘No. Only me. Like I said, the baby was usually asleep.’

  ‘And if he woke in the night?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Finn?’

  ‘Then I got him up and fed him.’

  ‘And Darren?’

  ‘He never woke, not once he was asleep.’

  ‘OK. Fine.’ I can see that this line of questioning will take me no further, so I try a different angle. ‘Where did the baby sleep?’ I ask.

  ‘In my room. He had a basket.’

  ‘Always?’

  ‘Mostly. Until he was around six or seven months. Then he had like a pram thing, one you could carry around.’

  ‘Could he have fallen out, ever?’

  Marie looks at me as if I’m stupid. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘And Darren never picked him up? He never held him?’

  ‘Now and again, when it suited him to play with him. But I looked after him, the nappies, the feeding...’

  ‘He never fed him?’

  ‘He might have given him a bottle now and again.’

  ‘Did he ever make up his feed?’

  Marie lets out a snort of hollow laughter. ‘You’ve got to be joking. If it don’t come with a ring pull or a bottle top, or from the pizza place or the Akash Tandoori up the road, he doesn’t want to know.’

  ‘So he never fed him solid food then?’

  Marie shakes her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Well, yeah, obviously. Once he was old enough, he had the odd thing.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Whatever she brought round.’ As Marie says this, she glances up at me.

  ‘Ellie?’

  ‘Yeah. Of course. Ellie.’

  ‘And what sort of thing did she bring round?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was in jars. Containers,’ she adds, impatiently. ‘I just used to give it to him.’

  ‘So you didn’t ever give him anything you made yourself? Like a ready meal or... packet mash?’

  Marie looks at me. ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember now. Jesus, it’s not an offence to feed a baby, is it?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s not. But, as you know, Finn is in hospital. He’s been seriously ill
. He’s still in a critical condition; and he was barely conscious when they took him in.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘Ellie says he was with you when he became ill. Is that true?’

  Marie turns and looks at me for a moment as if she doesn’t understand the question, but I can see that her face is flushed and she is breathing rapidly, her ample bosom rising and falling steadily against her chest. ‘He was ill. Yes,’ she says, finally, her voice clipped and condescending in tone. ‘That’s why I rang El as soon as I got home. He had a virus, didn’t he?’ She says this aggressively, not as a question, but as a fact that I should know.

  ‘Possibly. Possibly not. The prosecution are saying someone had poisoned him. With salt.’

  ‘Well it weren’t me,’ Marie says, defiantly.

  ‘No. No, of course not.’ I nod my agreement, aware that I’m about to blow this.

  She takes a deep breath and looks away across the playing field.

  ‘You said, “when you got home”. What did you mean?’

  ‘What?’ Marie turns round and faces me. Her face is flushed and her neck is pink.

  ‘You just said, “That’s why I rang El as soon as I got home.” What did you mean? How did he fall ill, Marie? What happened? Where were you?’

  Marie hesitates a moment. ‘I told you. He had a virus. He was hot. I called El as soon as I... as soon as I realised. That’s what I meant.’

  She begins to wriggle and heave herself out of the tyre seat. The swing begins to creak and rattle noisily; I reach across and grab the chain. ‘Marie, did you go out and leave Finn with anyone else? With Darren?’

  She pushes herself up and off the swing. ‘No. I told you.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘No.’ She starts to walk off out of the park.

  I get up and run after her, but she stops at the gate and holds up her hand. ‘That’s it. I’ve had enough,’ she says. ‘No more questions. I’ve told you what I know and I ain’t done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Sure,’ I agree. ‘I’m sorry. No more questions.’

  She turns and semi-trots across the grass away from me in the direction of the estate. In spite of her weight, I have to run a little to keep up. I trail a few steps behind her through the alleys. When we get near to the flats, she strides off ahead of me and up the steps.

  ‘Marie. Wait,’ I call. ‘Just one more thing. Please.’

  She turns on the steps and looks at me. ‘What?’

  I run to catch her up. ‘Why did Darren take your money?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘I know, but... why would he think he had a right to your babysitting money, if he did nothing to help with the baby?’

  Marie doesn’t answer. She turns and walks on up the steps.

  ‘Marie, wait,’ I call after her.

  ‘What for? I ain’t got nothing more to say.’

  ‘But...’

  She continues walking, holding her palm up behind her as she goes. ‘Talk to the hand,’ she yells over her shoulder, and disappears into the stairwell.

  My phone rings. It’s Ellie. ‘Where are you?’ she asks.

  ‘Outside your flat.’

  ‘Did she talk to you?’

  ‘Yes, a little.’

  ‘OK, wait there. I’m coming back.’

  I walk up the steps and along the balcony. As I pass the flat next to Marie’s, the other side to Ellie’s, the net curtain in the kitchen is pulled back and an elderly woman’s face appears. She watches me for a moment, impassively, and then drops the curtain back down.

  I peer over the edge of the balcony, looking out for Ellie. As I do so, a red Mondeo pulls up sharply at the edge of the estate and two men jump out. The passenger leans up against the car and lights a cigarette, while the driver slams his door shut and marches purposefully towards the flats. As he approaches I can see that it’s Darren. I jump back and turn around, looking for somewhere to hide, but there isn’t anywhere, just a long row of flats. I race to the stairwell and up the steps to the floor above. In less than a minute I can hear loud footsteps clattering up the steps beneath me and then Darren’s head appears. I quickly duck back and tiptoe along the balcony until I’m level with Marie’s flat on the floor below. A second later, I can hear a loud banging followed by Darren’s voice shouting, ‘Marie! Open this fucking door.’

  The door opens and I hear Marie say something and Darren yell back, ‘What the fuck have you said, you stupid cow? I thought I told you to keep your trap shut.’

  I hear Marie cry out, ‘I didn’t tell her anything. Get off me!’ and then it all goes quiet and I hear the door slam shut. I run back down the steps and along the balcony to Marie’s flat. I can hear loud voices inside and the sound of Marie crying out. I hammer on the door with my fists, but the shouting continues. I bend down and shout through the letter box, ‘You’ve got two seconds to open this door and then I’m calling the police!’

  A moment later, the front door opens and Marie comes stumbling out. Her cheek is red and swollen and her lip is bleeding. Darren steps out behind her. He glares hard at me for a moment, then pushes past Marie and walks off along the balcony.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask Marie. I pull a tissue from my handbag and hold it out towards her.

  She bats my hand away and wipes her mouth on the back of her sleeve. ‘Just leave me alone,’ she snarls. ‘This is all your fault.’ She stares after Darren as he strides along the balcony and disappears into the stairwell. When he’s gone, she turns and goes back inside her flat.

  ‘Marie, wait—’ I take a step towards her.

  ‘Stay the fuck away from me,’ she hisses, lifting a finger and pointing it into my face as she speaks. ‘I mean it. Come near me again and you’re dead.’

  She pushes the door shut in my face.

  11

  As I walk through the entrance of Southwark St Martin’s, a strange sensation creeps over me. Nothing has changed; there’s the same multicoloured seating and soft play area off to my right, the League of Friends’ coffee shop to my left. It’s as though time has stood still since I was last here, walking these corridors, fear and tension eating me up inside. First Ben, and now Finn. He’s not my child, of course; it’s not the same. But there’s a familiar knot in my stomach, regardless, the relic of an emotion that has lain dormant within me, waiting for the next emergency to strike.

  I turn the corner to the ICU and press the buzzer. A voice sounds over the intercom.

  ‘I’m here about Finn Stephens,’ I say.

  There’s a palpable silence before the voice asks, ‘Are you a relative?’

  ‘No,’ I admit. ‘I’m a solicitor. I’d like to talk to someone about him.’

  There’s a muffled sound and the intercom goes dead. A moment later the voice says, ‘I’m sorry, but he’s no longer with us.’

  My heart stops. ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘I... I can’t tell you anything,’ the voice says. ‘Unless you’re a relative, I’m afraid I really can’t talk to you.’

  The knot in my gut tightens as I walk back down the corridor to the main foyer and follow the signs to the hospital administration department. A receptionist tells me that someone will be out to speak to me shortly and asks me to take a seat. I sit in the waiting area for the best part of an hour, turning everything over in my mind. Has the worst happened? Has Finn finally lost his battle for life – has the damage to his little heart and kidneys proved too much, were they no longer able to keep him alive?

  A door opens and a plump, green-eyed woman in her late fifties walks over to sit down beside me. ‘I’m Marion Southgate, head of administration,’ she says. Her voice is cool and officious. She’s been told there’s a solicitor waiting to see her and is on the defensive already, I can tell. A solicitor in a hospital; someone’s looking to sue. That’s what she’s thinking, no doubt.

  I pull out my identity card and hand it to her. She glances at it briefly, turning it over in her hand.


  ‘My secretary has explained why you’re here,’ she says. ‘But I don’t know if I’m going to be able to help you. Data protection, you see. We can’t reveal information about minors.’

  I look up at her and frown. ‘Not even to tell me if they’re dead or alive?’

  ‘Unfortunately, no, not unless you’re a relative of the patient.’

  I sigh, feeling my shoulders sag.

  ‘Is there anything else?’ she asks. She shifts in her seat, looking as though she’s about to get up.

  ‘Yes.’ I nod, quickly. ‘I’m investigating the events that led to Finn being taken back to the ICU on the twenty-fifth of July. I need to talk to any members of staff who were working on Peregrine Ward that night, the night that his dialysis line was tampered with. One of the key witnesses for the prosecution – a nurse named Mary Ngombe – has disappeared. I’m hoping someone might be able to tell me how I can track her down.’

  The woman hands my ID card back to me and shakes her head.

  ‘She’s not a staff member. We wouldn’t keep a record. I’ve already told the police that.’

  ‘OK. But one of your staff members might know where she is. Your website says that you have at least six to seven nurses plus a number of doctors working each shift. There was a change of shift from “lates” to “nights” at the time it happened, which means that there are potentially some twelve or more witnesses who might have seen something. The police have taken statements from four of them, but that’s all. I need to speak to the rest. I’d like to go onto the ward.’

  She shakes her head. ‘I can’t allow you to do that, I’m afraid. We can’t have random strangers walking round our hospital wards.’

  I frown and look up at her. ‘I’m not a stranger. I’ve just told you who I am. You’ve seen my ID.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s against hospital policy.’

  ‘Then can you get me a list?’ I say. ‘Of all the staff members who were working on Peregrine Ward that night, on the twenty-fifth of July.’

  ‘Again, data protection,’ she says.

  ‘What?’ I peer into her face. ‘What data are you protecting?’

  ‘I can’t give out confidential information about staff.’

  ‘How is it confidential?’ I say, annoyed. ‘I just want you to tell me who was working that night.’