In the Blood

by Ruth Mancini

  Without waiting for his reply, I grab my coat and bag and run down the stairs and out of the office into the street. I run across the road to the side road where I last left Ben and Alex and then jog up the Holloway Road. Calm down, Sarah, I tell myself, reminding myself of Jennie’s words. There’s bound to be a logical explanation. But if they’d had an accident it would be along this stretch of the road, between here and the school, so if I just keep walking... and phoning... and walking some more...

  I mentally tick off the side roads as I pass them. Liverpool Road, George’s Road, Eden Grove. I’m nearly halfway there now. I tap on Alex’s number again. It goes straight to voicemail for a second time. Is that a good sign? I wonder. Doesn’t that mean he has no signal or is on another call? If he’d been hurt, if he couldn’t answer, surely it would ring out? And come to think of it, if there’d been a serious accident between here and the school there’d be a tailback of traffic still, emergency vehicles... wouldn’t there? I slow back down to a walking pace and catch my breath. But where can they be? And why hasn’t Alex called me?

  I cross the road just before Biddestone Park and head down Jackson Road in the direction of the school. Then I wonder if Alex has perhaps driven the other way, down Hornsey Road or maybe even further back at Drayton Park. I stop in my tracks and heave out a sigh. Maybe I should just head home. Perhaps they’re there? Maybe there’s a really simple explanation for this – one that I just haven’t thought of yet.

  My heart sinks as I turn the corner into my street and see that there’s no sign of Alex’s car outside my house. I let myself in and call out for him, but there’s clearly nobody there. I ring the school again and am told that they still haven’t arrived. I call Alex, twice. It’s now approaching eleven o’clock. It’s two hours since I left them.

  I walk into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I pull a clean cup out of the dishwasher and drop a chamomile teabag into it. I need to calm down, I keep telling myself. Everything is going to be OK. While I wait for the kettle to boil, I stand at the window in the living room, looking out, trying to work out what to do next. Is it too early to call the police?

  Suddenly, I hear the noise of a car engine outside and Alex’s car pulls up. I almost faint with relief when I see him get out, go to the back door and open it. I race to the front door and run down the path. Alex is lifting Ben out of his car seat and holding him against his shoulder. I can see instantly that Ben is floppy, asleep or... worse?

  ‘Alex?’ I scream out. I run over and tug at his arm, trying to get a look at Ben’s face. ‘What’s happened? What’s happened to Ben?’

  Alex looks up, clearly – from the look on his face – completely surprised to see me. ‘Sarah. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Me? Never mind what I’m doing. What’s happened to Ben?’

  Alex heaves Ben up onto his shoulder. He touches my arm. ‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘Ben’s fine. He’s just a bit sleepy...’

  ‘What the hell’s happened? Where on earth have you been? I’ve been going out of my mind!’ I shout at him. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’

  Alex presses his key fob to lock the car. ‘Shall we...’ He nods towards my front door. I shake my head, infuriated that he’s concerned with what the neighbours think when he still hasn’t told me what’s wrong with Ben. He carries Ben inside. I follow him up the path. ‘Give him to me,’ I insist, as soon as we’re inside the hallway. Alex pushes the front door shut. I pull Ben out of his arms and kiss his face. He opens his eyes, sleepily, and gives me a faint smile.

  Alex runs his hand through his hair, pushing his fringe back. He looks mortified. ‘I’m so sorry, Sarah. Ben was sick, he threw up in the car right after you left. I took him straight to A&E. I knew you had your meeting. I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t realise you’d be... that you’d know... how did you...?’

  ‘The school phoned me,’ I say stiffly. ‘Wanting to know where he was.’ I walk into the front room and lay Ben down on the sofa. ‘Didn’t you realise they’d be worried?’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Alex says again. ‘I had no idea I’d worried them... you... anyone. I was trying to do the opposite. You had your meeting and... I was just thinking of Ben. I just thought, straight away... “Get him checked out. That’s the best thing to do.” Knowing his history, you know? I didn’t want to take any chances.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘So what did they say at A&E? It’s just a tummy bug, surely? It’s been all round the nursery.’

  Alex breathes out heavily and bites his lip. ‘Of course. That’s all it will be. They said he’d be fine. They just checked him over. Lots of fluid and rest. You know.’

  I nod and let out a long sigh as I feel my pulse rate return to normal. I lean forward and stroke Ben’s hair back from his head. ‘He seems very sleepy,’ I say.

  Alex nods. ‘Yes. He was very sick. He just needs some rest, to sleep it off.’

  ‘You should have called me,’ I reprimand him. ‘Always call me. I don’t care what I’m doing, where I am. You need to always let me know.’

  Alex scratches his head and looks at his feet. ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

  I take another long breath. ‘I’m sorry he threw up in your car,’ I say. ‘Is it a mess? Do you want me to clean it up?’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Alex shakes his head. ‘I’ll sort it, don’t worry. You stay with Ben.’ He stands up. ‘Do you want me to get a blanket from his room?’

  ‘No. I’ll put him to bed.’

  ‘Let me.’ Alex leans over and tucks his hands under Ben’s body and lifts him gently off the sofa. I watch, my anger melting as he holds Ben’s head against his arm with his spare hand, his long fingers gently stroking my son’s beautiful hair. He loves Ben. He was thinking of Ben, that’s all. And me. He was thinking of me, too. I should be grateful that he cares enough about both of us, enough to risk missing his morning meeting, to make sure I didn’t miss mine, while he got Ben checked out, made sure he was definitely OK. I suddenly remember the way that Alex had reacted when Ben was at the lake in the park, how he’d sprung at Ben and pulled him away from the water. He may have overreacted a little, but isn’t it better to have someone who’s too cautious around Ben than someone who doesn’t care?

  I can hear my phone ringing from the coffee table where I’ve left it.

  Alex nods at me. ‘Get it. I’ll go and put him down.’

  ‘It’s probably the office,’ I sigh. ‘Wondering where I am.’

  I reach over and grab my phone from the table while Alex takes Ben in the direction of the bedroom. The ringing stops as I pick it up. Before I can even check the number and call it back, it rings again. I look at the screen, but it’s a number I don’t recognise. I’ll let it go to voicemail, I decide. But then... 0-1-8-6-5. Where’s that?

  I swipe the slider to the right. A male voice that I don’t recognise says, ‘Hello. Is that Sarah Kellerman?’

  ‘Yes. Who’s calling?’ I ask, a tiny flicker of impatience escaping into my voice. I should have let it go to voicemail. I need to see to Ben.

  ‘My name’s Mark Greenhalgh,’ says the man. ‘You left a message for me.’

  ‘Mark...?’ I stutter in surprise. ‘Mark Greenhalgh? Really?’

  ‘Yes, I know it’s taken me a while to get back to you, and I’m sorry about that,’ his voice continues. ‘I did get your message, but I’ve hardly been in clinic at all since you called.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I say. ‘Thank you for calling. I’m really glad you did.’

  ‘So how can I help?’

  ‘I’m a solicitor... did the message say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK. Well, I’m... I’ve been working on a case. It’s an important case. And there’s an important witness for the prosecution – a nurse. The police took a statement from her, but after that they couldn’t find her. She seems to have gone missing. You sponsored her for a while, I’m told. I wondered if you might know where she’s gone.’

  ‘What’s her na
me?’

  ‘Mary Ngombe. She’s African. From Ghana.’

  Mark Greenhalgh laughs. It’s a deep, throaty laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ I ask.

  ‘She’s not missing,’ he says. ‘I don’t know why the police couldn’t find her.’

  ‘Really? You know where she is?’

  ‘I do indeed,’ says Mark Greenhalgh. ‘She’s here at the John Radcliffe, with me.’

  14

  Rain lashes against the windscreen as we head up the M40 to Oxford. Alex is driving and Ben is strapped into his seat in the back. He loves the rain, and as I glance back over my shoulder I can see that he is being lulled into a meditative state by the rhythm of the windscreen wipers and the swishing of the tyres against the wet surface of the road. Alex, on the other hand, is locked in concentration, as the stretch of motorway ahead becomes less visible, the traffic slows and brake lights start to appear.

  The satnav tells Alex to keep right.

  ‘I am not keeping right, lady,’ he says. ‘I’m staying right where I am.’

  ‘Junction seven,’ I tell him, as we pass. ‘The A329 to Thame. Next junction. Not far now.’

  Half a mile later, Alex indicates left. Junction eight looms up ahead and we turn off onto the A40.

  ‘I really appreciate this,’ I say. ‘It’s not much of a way to spend a Saturday, is it?’

  ‘It will be.’ Alex glances at me. ‘This rain won’t last. And once we’ve been to the hospital, we can do something nice. It’s ages since I’ve been to Oxford.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I put my hand on his thigh. He takes his left hand off the wheel and covers mine. ‘I didn’t want to leave this to Matt,’ I add. ‘He might not even bother. I really want to talk to this nurse today.’ I give him a wry smile. ‘Before she gets away again.’

  Alex gives my hand a squeeze. ‘That’s OK. I understand.’

  The rain does, in fact, ease and it’s now only pattering gently against the roof as we pass the sign that welcomes us to Oxford. We sail through the traffic lights next to the Park & Ride and slow down as we enter a residential area that fringes the outskirts of the city. The satnav tells us that, at the roundabout, we should go straight on.

  ‘I believe this is Headington,’ says Alex, as we pause at the next set of traffic lights. ‘This is where the hospital is.’

  We drive through a busy built-up area full of shops and traffic and then turn right into a residential street. The hospital grounds are behind a wall at the bottom of the road on the left. Alex swings the car through an opening into a car park.

  ‘I don’t think you can drive any further,’ I tell him. I point across a grassed area in the direction of the hospital building. ‘It looks as though the main car park is over there.’

  ‘That’s OK. You jump out here if you like and walk across. You’re going to be a while and it might work best for my buddy here if I drive round the block a few times and meet you round the other side.’

  I look at him gratefully, before glancing round at Ben in the back. He seems happy enough. I’m leaving Alex a case full of nursery rhyme CDs and two portable DVD players, the second for when the first one runs out of charge. But Ben looks really dreamy and settled right now and Alex is right that driving him around for a while before he stops is likely to prove a good initial distraction. A bit of driving, a bit of Teletubbies, a CD. He should be OK for the hour, or more, that this might take. I don’t know what I’d have done without Alex today.

  We say goodbye and I zip up my waterproof coat and step out of the warm car into the cold wetness of the light rain. I pull my hood up and cross the grassed area towards the hospital and cut through the women’s centre and maternity unit. I’m able to find a way through to the main hospital and then on through corridor after corridor to the children’s centre, where the PICU is to be found.

  I look at the clock on my phone. It’s ten past one. I desperately hope Mary’s there. I’ve checked her shifts with the ward matron, as per Mark Greenhalgh’s suggestion, and I’ve been told that she’s on an ‘early long’ – from eight this morning until eight o’clock this evening – and that she usually takes a break around now. I hope that I’ve timed it right. I’ve actually no idea whether I’m going to have to wait around to see her, but I figure that if she’s too busy I can try and pin her down on a time when I could come back. I think of Alex and Ben, waiting for me in the car, and silently pledge that I won’t do this to them again.

  As I approach the PICU ward, the door opens and a senior-looking staff nurse comes out. I seize my opportunity.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I ask her. ‘I’m here to see Mary Ngombe. Is she on the ward?’

  ‘Mary?’ The nurse shakes her head. ‘Mary’s at lunch. Can I help?’

  ‘Maybe. Would you happen to know where she’s gone?’

  ‘To the canteen, I imagine. It’s through there.’ She points in the direction I’ve just come. ‘It’s on the third floor in the main building. Just follow the signs.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  I hurry back through the corridors to the main building and run up the stairs, rather than taking the lift. As I open the door to the third floor, I can smell food and I find the canteen immediately on my right.

  It’s full of people: nurses, doctors, patients and visitors. I scan the room for an African face, but there are several. One by one, I approach them, asking, ‘Are you Mary, by any chance?’ but none of them are.

  I stand near to the tills and scan the room once more, before going up to the tea and coffee aisle and ordering a drink. I figure I might as well wait here for a minute, just in case she’s stopped off somewhere on the way.

  As I’m paying for my coffee, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I spin round to see a plump, black nurse, who appears to be in her late twenties. Her hair is pulled back against her scalp into tight, coiled braids which frame her wide, dimpled face.

  ‘I hear you are looking for me,’ says Mary Ngombe.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I am,’ I stutter, in relief.

  ‘You are the solicitor?’

  ‘That’s right. Can I get you a drink?’

  She shakes her head and holds up a bottle of something lime green. ‘I have my Mountain Dew.’

  ‘OK. Great. Do you mind if we have a chat, then?’

  Mary waves at a table nearby, then turns on her heel. I pick up my coffee and follow her. She pulls out a chair and sits down. I take a seat opposite her and watch as she unwraps a cheese sandwich from its triangle-shaped plastic carton and takes a bite.

  ‘So what is it that you want to talk about?’ she asks.

  ‘I want to ask you about the incident that happened back on the twenty-fifth of July this year, when you were at Southwark St Martin’s. The little boy who you were looking after – Finn Stephens – the one who had his dialysis line removed...’

  ‘It was a very bad thing,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Very bad indeed.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree.

  ‘I was very sad to leave him.’ She lowers her head for a moment and then looks up again. ‘Do you know how he is?’

  ‘He’s on the mend.’ I smile. ‘He’s turned a corner. I don’t expect he’ll be leaving hospital any time soon, but... he’s much better than he was.’

  Mary beams. ‘I am very pleased to hear that.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say. ‘But his mother is on trial for trying to harm him. You gave a statement to the police...’

  Mary frowns. ‘I can’t tell those policemen anything more, you know? I have already said what happened, and that’ – she gives a decisive nod of the head – ‘is what happened.’

  I nod. Her voice is deep and throaty, her intonation heavily Ghanaian. I’m finding that I have to listen intently as she speaks.

  ‘All the same, if I could just clarify one or two things... would that be OK?’ I ask her.

  She shrugs. ‘I don’t mind if you want to do that.’

  ‘Thank you, Mary.’ I pull my iPad out of my b
ag. ‘Do you mind if I take notes while we talk?’

  Mary takes another bite of her sandwich and shakes her head.

  I scroll up on my iPad to her statement. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘So you said you were doing late shifts that week. So that would have been two o’clock until ten. Is that right?’

  ‘It’s nine thirty really. But we would never leave until ten. Sometimes long after that.’

  ‘OK. You say you looked after the baby, Finn, quite closely that week?’

  ‘I was his nurse. That is right.’

  ‘And it was you who took him over to Peregrine Ward for the treatment to his kidneys.’

  ‘Yes. I was the one who did the handover. I checked his fluids, his cannula, to make sure that everything was still in place, and I talked to the ward nurse about his medications.’

  ‘And which nurse was that?’

  ‘You know, I am not very good with names. I think this nurse was called Tracey.’

  ‘Could it have been Stacey? Stacey Bennett?’

  ‘It might have been.’

  ‘OK. So that was around six fifteen?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I went back to take his medications.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, in your statement, you said that it was around nine o’clock.’

  ‘OK, so I would say that it must have been around nine o’clock.’ Mary looks hard at me across the table, as though she thinks I might be a little bit dim.

  ‘And which nurses did you see, at that time?’

  ‘I am afraid I cannot remember that now.’

  ‘OK. So did anyone else come to visit Finn while you were there?’

  ‘Such as who?’

  ‘Doctors?’

  ‘I do not think so. Just Tracey.’

  ‘Stacey?’

  ‘Stacey. And then the baby’s mother.’

  ‘Ellie?’ I say. ‘You saw Ellie?’

  ‘Yes. I came onto the ward and saw her. She had picked the baby up from the cot. She was holding him.’