The Dilemma

by Abbie Taylor

  It was the strangest feeling. So tender. No one, not even Kevin, had ever done that to her. She was normally the carer, the one who protected others. No person that she could remember, since she had been very small, had ever held her like this.

  From the darkness, Will spoke.

  ‘There’s something wrong. Isn’t there?’

  She couldn’t answer.

  ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’ he asked. ‘Can’t you tell me what it is?’

  The kindness in his voice. More than anything, she yearned to tell him. And not just because of the compassion, the tender cradling of her face. Will was intelligent. Probably one of the most intelligent people she knew. He had a logical, practical mind. If anyone could help her to find a way out of this, it would be him.

  But she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell him. If he knew what she had done … He admired her so much. There was no question that it would change the way he saw her. Even if he did help, even if he found a way to resolve this, he would never want anything to do with her again. Lying there with her head in his hands, she suddenly knew that she could not bear for that look to leave his eyes.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing wrong.’

  Later, when he was asleep, she lay beside him, wide eyed and determined in the dark. Will must not know. At all costs, no one could know.

  Something had occurred to her. Very soon, Dr Coulton would be leaving St Iberius. Registrars worked on temporary contracts, rarely for more than a few months. In another few weeks he would be gone. There was nothing more he could ask of her. Once he had left and started again in a new environment, surely he would have to forget about all of this and move on? The end was in sight. It was. She just had to be patient.

  Her temples still tingled from the pressure where Will had held her. She should have told him. Should have brought it out into the open. But you never know these things until it is too late.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She was woken by a persistent, clanking whine droning from somewhere outside her window. The lawnmower at number 62. Eileen Warren’s nephew must have dropped by to do her grass. Dawn peeled a long strand of hair back from her eyes. The daisies were bright on her wallpaper. The clock on her table read twenty past ten. Dawn sat up. Poor Milly would be crossing her legs by the back door.

  Halfway down the empty side of her bed, Will’s pillow lay rumpled and abandoned. Earlier, Dawn had woken to see him standing in the dark, buttoning up his shirt. He had been tiptoeing about, trying not to wake her, but his bulky frame wasn’t designed for stealth. When he had sat on the chair to pull on his socks, the wicker had cracked and squeaked under his weight. Dawn had lain still, enjoying the drowsy feel of watching him through half-closed eyes, putting his glasses on, fixing his tie. But when he had finished and stood up from the chair, she opened her eyes properly and said, ‘Good morning.’

  Will came over to her at once. ‘I was going to leave you a note,’ he said. ‘Like they do in films.’

  Dawn was sitting up, reaching for her dressing gown. ‘Let me get you some breakfast.’

  ‘No. Please. Stay in bed. I’ll get something in town.’ Will hesitated, concentrating on cleaning his glasses with his sleeve. ‘I’ll call you later.’

  ‘I’m doing a night shift tonight,’ Dawn reminded him. ‘Tomorrow as well.’

  ‘Then I’ll call when your shifts are finished. We’ll arrange something then.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ She smiled at him. Will’s eyes crinkled in return. He leaned down, dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. Then he took his jacket and left. The sound of the front door closing downstairs made Dawn feel temporarily bereft. But almost before his footsteps had faded on the pavement she was asleep again, the deep, dreamless sleep of a person who hasn’t slept properly in a long time.

  Now, awake again and more alert, she had a mild headache and a feeling of distant floatiness she put down to the wine. Her mouth was dry, but overall she felt rested and well. The edginess of the previous day had receded, replaced by a sanguine sensation of que sera, sera. Whatever might happen now, she would face up to it and deal with it. She would cope.

  In the back garden, Milly snapped at a wasp and barked at a magpie to move him off the lawn. She seemed much better than yesterday but her movements were still cautious; she was careful not to do anything that might bring back the pain. Dawn tied the belt of her dressing gown and put the kettle on. The crumpled coffee filter from last night still lay on the draining-board.

  Will. She paused. Will Coombs! Here, last night, in her bed! It was still so hard to take in. Will, standing beside her in the early half-light, saying, ‘I’ll call you …’ She knew that he meant it. And the difference was, this time she was looking forward to it. Once again, she touched the sides of her face. The subject of when Will was moving back to Cumbria had not come up during the evening. Now she knew she was going to be afraid to ask. Would they stay in touch when he went back? Cumbria was a long way away. It was still so early; they hardly knew each other. If they had met sooner, when he had first moved to London … But that wouldn’t have worked. He wouldn’t have been ready to get over Kate then, nor she over Kevin. She wondered what would have happened if they had met each other properly all those years ago in Cumbria. If she had lived there for longer. If her parents hadn’t been killed …

  Steam swirled around the kitchen. Pointless thinking like this. Dawn poured the boiling water into the coffee-maker. She had plenty to do before her shift started this evening. Walk Milly, iron a clean uniform, catch up on some paperwork before she took her holidays. She didn’t want to leave too many loose ends for Francine. In fact, if she put a spurt on, she could get some of the admin out of the way right now.

  She took her coffee through to the dining room. Next to a pile of papers on the table was her laptop. The sight of it caused a small, quick frog-leap in her throat. Computers did that to her now. She was like one of those dogs who salivated whenever a bell rang. It wasn’t even as if she could expect anything from Well-wisher this morning; the morphine package would have just about reached him, if at all. And her letter telling him that they were quits would knock him off balance. It might take him a while to think of a reply. If he ever did. There was a possibility she might never hear from him again. So she would have to get over hyperventilating every time she saw a computer.

  She turned on the laptop and sipped her coffee, waiting for it to boot up. The sun poured through the patio doors, sparkling on the crystal glasses and decanter on the sideboard, spreading itself like a honey-coloured doily over the table, lying on her neck like a warm massage. It was several seconds before Dawn realized that her e-mail inbox was up on the screen. One new message. The subject line read, Matron Torridge, Forest Ward.

  The sender was Well-wisher.

  Dawn put down her mug. That jerky frog-leap in her throat again. That was quick! He must have replied almost the minute he received the morphine. But what was there to worry about? This message would be no more than a confirmation to let her know that the package had arrived.

  Before opening the e-mail, she paused deliberately to take another sip of coffee. She was the one in control here. She didn’t have to be afraid. Whatever power Well-wisher had over her he had now well and truly lost. The internet connection was slow this morning. The text came blotching on to the screen in segments, like pieces of a jigsaw. There seemed to be quite a lot of it, too much for a simple confirmation of receipt of a parcel. Even when the entire text was in place, Dawn took it in only partly at first. There was the same disbelief that she had felt at the very first e-mail, the same conviction that this had to be a joke. The same heat in her cheeks and ears, the acid spasm behind her sternum as she tried to take in the words.

  Dear Matron,

  Well done for getting the morphine. I knew you would succeed.

  I can tell from your letter that you’re getting tired of this. So you’ll be glad to hear that I have only one last favour to ask you. It’s
a complicated one but I will try to make it simple for now.

  Very soon, a patient – let’s call him Mr F – will be coming to St Iberius for an operation. More details will follow, but for now there are only two things you need to know.

  One is that he is being admitted within a couple of weeks. The other is that he must not leave the hospital alive.

  You have done this before so I know you will find a way. Trust me, your method will be the kindest for him. Once it is done, I promise you won’t hear from me again.

  Sincerely,

  A well-wisher

  The mug of coffee was gone from her hand. She hadn’t even felt it drop. Must not leave the hospital alive. Did he really mean …? You have done this before. He did! He did mean it. The laptop, the sunlit table, the crystal glasses on the sideboard, all had started to wheel in circles about her with a whirring noise that grew to a roar. The carriage clock was still ticking in the next room, Milly’s claws were pattering on the kitchen lino, Eileen Warren’s lawnmower droned on across the road but the roaring noise overwhelmed them all.

  Must not leave the hospital alive. God. Oh God. She had thought she knew what she was dealing with, but this … This was beyond anything she could have imagined. She was way out of her depth here. She looked at the sent date on the e-mail. One day ago. This message had been written yesterday. Before Dawn had left for London, she had checked her e-mail and there had been nothing there. So sometime during the evening, while she had been travelling up on the train in her glittery outfit, drinking wine, strolling with Will under the blue-lit trees, all the while blithely imagining that she had got the better of Dr Coulton, he had been hunched over his computer, tapping away with his pale, bony fingers, churning out this piece of evil, malignant trash.

  Her hand and sleeve were soggy. The coffee had slopped over them as it fell. The chill of it slowed the spinning and roaring around her. She knew what she had to do. She would go to the police. She should have gone to them at the very beginning, at the very first e-mail, but she had panicked and posted the money on impulse. Why hadn’t she taken the time to think things through? How would Dr Coulton have proved that she had killed Mrs Walker? Even if he had seen her with his own eyes, what proof did he have? Mrs Walker had been cremated. It would have been his word against hers. Dawn could simply have stood her ground and denied everything. She had been at St Iberius for almost twenty years; she had an excellent reputation there. Francine would have backed her up. The other ward sisters. Claudia Lynch. A creepy, arrogant loner like Dr Coulton wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on.

  Her face was hot, the blood rushing so violently in her veins that it took a moment for her to register the colder current sliding underneath.

  If Dr Coulton had no proof when he had written the first e-mail, he did now. She had sent him the five thousand pounds, hadn’t she? She had stolen the morphine from her ward and posted it to him. She had admitted her guilt as surely as if she had handed over a written confession.

  The roaring again in her ears. Now she knew why the amount of morphine he had asked for was so small. It was to ensure it wasn’t too difficult for her to steal, to guarantee that Dawn went ahead and compromised herself. But it never had been the morphine he was interested in. Nor even probably the money. All along, right from the beginning, this was what he had wanted. He had set this clever, simple trap for her and she had flown straight into it, like a fly crash-landing on a strip of sticky paper.

  She made it to the bathroom under the stairs just in time. Vomit splattered into the sink. She hung over it, clutching the sides. The sour smell of wine rose from the porcelain. She retched again.

  When there was nothing left to come up, she lowered the cover of the loo and sat on it. She was freezing cold, her skin covered in icy prickles under her gown. Yet the sweat was trickling down from under her arms. Her hands were clammy. All right. All right. No police. But if the police weren’t an option, she would just ignore the e-mail. Wasn’t that what she had planned to do all along? Hadn’t she said that no matter what the blackmailer demanded this time she would refuse, because if all of this came out he had as much to lose as she had? Shocking as this was, why should it be any different?

  Your method will be the kindest for him.

  She pressed her knuckles to her teeth. What was that supposed to mean? Was it supposed to imply that if she didn’t kill this Mr F he would be murdered some other way? A worse way? She couldn’t ignore this. Not this! A doctor writing a message like that; he had to be insane. A danger to the public. She could not sit here knowing he was planning to kill someone and do nothing to stop it. She had to go to the police. She had to.

  But the money! The morphine! If she reported Dr Coulton she would lose everything. She wrapped her arms around herself with a groan. Then her mouth filled with saliva and she had to stand up to the sink again. She retched but nothing came. She rested her forehead on the mirror. The coolness of it settled her again, helped her to think.

  Mr F. Coming to St Iberius in the next couple of weeks. Well, if she couldn’t go to the police and she couldn’t ignore the e-mail, there was one other option left to her. As the Matron, with responsibility for beds and staffing, she had access to the names of all patients scheduled to be admitted to the hospital. Mr F, as a future patient, would have to be on that list. Whoever he was, wherever he was, she would have to find him. Track him down and warn him to stay away.

  Mr F. It wasn’t a lot to go on. No first name, no date of birth. No indication of what his medical condition was or which ward he was coming to. But if ‘F’ really was the first letter of his surname, it just might be enough.

  Dawn went over and over all the possibilities as she changed into her Sister’s uniform. It was only half past eleven and her night shift didn’t start until nine, but leaving now would allow her to spend the afternoon uninterrupted on the computer in her office.

  ‘Sorry, Milly,’ she said as the dog bounced about at the sight of her putting on her jacket. ‘No walk today. I’ve got to go to work.’

  Milly barked, turning in circles inside the front door. Look! I’m back to normal! I’m not like I was yesterday. But it didn’t do any good. Dawn took some biscuits and placed them on the step outside the porch. Along with two bowls of water, as she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Milly whimpered, recognizing the signs. Dawn felt guilty. It was a very long time to leave her. Not just all today, but the whole of tonight as well. She crouched beside Milly, pulling at her ears, the old familiar routine that they both loved.

  ‘We’ll do something nice tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

  Milly gazed up at her, her ears cocked, her head to one side. The love and trust in the brown eyes was humbling. No matter what went wrong in Dawn’s life, this kind, loyal, affectionate animal would always be on her side. She gave Milly’s ears a final tug and stood up to leave. But as soon as she opened the gate, Milly squeezed in front of her and tried to force herself out on to the pavement. Dawn just managed to grab her and close the gate again. She was surprised. Milly had never been like this before. She seemed genuinely agitated: Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave. In the end, Dawn had to hold her back with one hand and inch past her on to the pavement. She shut the gate in Milly’s velvety face.

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ she told her. ‘I’ll see you then, OK?’

  Milly stared after her through the bars as she walked up the road.

  On the bus, it occurred to Dawn that the trembling of her hands and the dark blobs floating in her vision were not just due to shock but to dropping blood glucose. She’d had nothing to eat that day. She stopped at the hospital WRVS café for a coffee, added two heaped spoons of sugar and took a large gulp even before she left the counter. Coming out of the café, carrying her cardboard cup, she bumped into Francine.

  ‘Dawn!’ Francine stopped to greet her. ‘I thought you weren’t working until tonight?’

  ‘I’m not,’ Dawn said. ‘I just came in to do some bits an
d pieces before my holiday next week.’

  ‘Honestly, Dawn,’ Francine gave a tut. ‘The sooner you get away from here the better. I must say, you’ve chosen some lovely weather for it. I wish I was off somewhere nice.’

  A vision of the week ahead rose before Dawn. Her, alone in her house, with no one to talk to and no idea of what to do or what might happen next. The sense of panic and claustrophobia made her close her eyes. She opened them again to see Francine staring at her with concern.

  ‘Dawn, is everything OK?’

  ‘Fine. Fine. Just felt dizzy for a moment.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  When Dawn didn’t answer, Francine put her hand on her arm and drew her in to the alcove where the telephones were, away from the crowds. She stood there in her white dress, her head tilted, her delicate face furrowed with worry. The shock and the low blood sugar had made Dawn emotional. Francine was such a warm, wise friend. Over the years they had grown very close. Through all the staff shortages and budget cuts and bed crises and consultant tantrums, Francine had been there, Dawn’s staunch ally, the one person she could depend on for support, for brainstorming sessions, for laughs over a cup of coffee. Even when Dawn had got the Matron post, there had been no resentment or loss of goodwill. Francine’s friendship had remained solid; she had wished Dawn every success, sent her flowers to help her celebrate, assured her of her support. And, despite her breathy, silvery voice and delicate dancer’s frame she was, in fact, a much tougher person than Judy. Like most ward sisters, it took a lot to shock her. She was not one to sensationalize or to judge. She worked in an ITU, caring for the sickest patients in the hospital. She, of all people, would know why Dawn had done what she had. She of all people would understand.