Clinical Judgements

by Claire Rayner

  Most of the crowd seemed in accord with the demonstrators, who were carrying the usual motley collection of placards such events spawned. ‘Hands Off Our Old East’ was a common theme and there were others that read, ‘Don’t Bleed Our NHS to Death’. But there were others now that he hadn’t seen on previous visits and he noticed one of them in particular, carried by a tall and rather aesthetic-looking old man in a tattered raincoat but an expensive bowler hat. It read, in uneven letters, ‘Prostates Not Perverts’, and he carried it above his head with great aplomb, not at all put out by the jeers of some of the boys from the Job Centre.

  But there were some in the crowd who were not at all in sympathy with the demonstrators, it seemed: several dispirited-looking people were clustered together under a banner which read, ‘Gay and Lesbian Pride Group’, and another little knot of even more miserable men were standing behind a poster which read, ‘Persecution of Minorities is a Fascist Plot. Transvestites Say No to Victimisation’. The boys from the Job Centre were jeering at them as well as at the old man, and now and again spat in their general direction. But they paid no attention, just standing there doggedly as the marchers, who were about half of the people in the placarded group, made their repetitive circle from the front to the back of the building, through the archway that led to the courtyard beyond.

  Oliver hitched his Uher higher on his shoulder, shortening the strap, and fitted the microphone in place to check sound levels. He’d pick up what he could while he was out here; why not? And then go and see Kate. Maybe they could get some lunch together, if she hadn’t already had some. He realised suddenly that he was more than a little empty. It had been a long time since they had sat at Joe Allen’s and he had chewed his way through barbecued ribs, and he’d not bothe red with breakfast this morning.

  He moved in among the crowd, collecting background sound to start with, and at the sight of him some of the more experienced demonstrators started a chant of, ‘Cut out NHS Cuts, Cut out NHS Cuts!’ and he nodded at them and held his microphone up to show them he was recording them, and nodded at the tall angular woman who was leading it. She had been the one he’d interviewed before about it all — a clever woman with a lot of sense in her. But he couldn’t talk to her again. It would have to be someone else. He had just about chosen his target, a tall man in a rather neater suit than that of most of the other people there, who looked as though he might be useful, and was starting to make his way towards him when one of the policemen set a hand on his arm.

  ‘Excuse me sir, but can I ask you who you are? And what you want here?’

  ‘Mm?’ Oliver squinted at him in the dusty sunshine. ‘Oh. Merrall. City Radio. Picking up some quotes, that’s all. Why? Any reason why I shouldn’t?’

  ‘Not at all, sir,’ the man said with rather pugnacious courtesy. ‘Just checking. We don’t want to get this out of hand here, you see, and we have instructions to be very careful about who — you know how it is.’

  ‘No,’ Oliver said. ‘I don’t. You tell me.’

  ‘Well sir, you being Press — and perhaps you’d show me your Press card if you don’t mind — should understand. We have a security problem here, Minister of the Crown and all that. Can’t be too careful. Anyone we see carrying packages that might hide a bomb you know — can’t be too careful —’

  Oliver looked down at his Uher. ‘This a bomb? Hardly likely.’

  ‘Anything’s likely these days, sir. So if you don’t mind, your Press card and then we’ll have a look inside that there box.’

  ‘And if I won’t allow it?’ Oliver said. ‘Press are supposed to be —’

  ‘Security, sir,’ said the policeman woodenly and moved a little closer and Oliver saw that now there were two others flanking him and a couple of fairly obvious plainclothes men a few yards further back. ‘Got to have proper security. We don’t want another Brighton, do we? They was lax on security there and now we’re at a hospital. Can’t be too careful.’

  Oliver stared at him and then reached in his breast pocket for his wallet, and flicked it open to show his NUJ card with its blank staring photograph of himself and said, ‘Will that do?’

  ‘Very nicely, thank you sir. And now if you don’t mind, this machine of yours —’ and he reached forwards and with a practised hand flicked it open and looked at it.

  ‘Perhaps you’d just take that tape out, sir, so we can look further. I wouldn’t like to damage nothing, you see —’

  His teeth gritted to prevent himself from saying what he shouldn’t, Oliver complied and at last the policeman nodded heavily and said, ‘That’ll be fine, sir. Thank you. You can go ahead with your interviews now.’

  ‘Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll bother,’ Oliver said, his voice tight with anger. ‘I haven’t the time now — I’ve got to see someone in the hospital. Thank you so much for making my job so difficult for me.’

  ‘In there, sir?’ The policeman seemed unperturbed. ‘You mean to go inside, sir?’

  ‘I do. Any objection?’

  ‘Not if you have an appointment, sir. Or any other evidence of your right to be on the premises.’

  ‘Right to be on the — what are you talking about? This is a hospital! A public place.’

  ‘Not entirely, sir. Private property, in point of law. Well, DHSS property. You have an appointment with someone there, sir?’

  ‘No, dammit. I mean, in a way —’

  ‘Can’t be both, sir.’

  ‘I want to go and see my — my friend, all right? She works there.’ Oliver was standing very straight and had his head up. His temper had been fraying steadily all day and it would take very little now for the controls to snap.

  ‘Oh, yes, sir? Where?’

  ‘It’s no damn business of yours,’ roared Oliver. ‘If you think — Look, let me talk to whoever’s in charge here. I’ve had enough of this rubbish —’

  ‘By all means, sir. Joe, tell the Inspector, will you? This gentleman wants a word —’

  ‘Right,’ one of the other policemen said. ‘Right away.’ And made no move.

  ‘Now, if you please,’ Oliver said and his lips felt hard and tight. ‘I have a lot to do and no time to waste.’

  ‘I thought you were just going to visit your girlfriend, sir? Why should that put you in such a rush?’

  ‘That is none of your business! Where’s that Inspector? I demand the right to see him. Now!’ Oliver’s voice was rising and people around them were becoming aware of what was happening, and coming closer to stare and listen, and Oliver’s tension tightened as the screw of anger inside his head turned another couple of twists.

  ‘Well, so you shall, sir, when he’s got time. He’s a very busy man, you understand, and seeing you just want to get in to see your girlfriend —’

  ‘I said my friend!’ Oliver shouted. Why it should anger him so to hear Kate labelled his girlfriend he wasn’t sure. But then he knew he was; it was as though she were some little piece of nonsense and he no more than one of the boys from the Job Centre. They were the sort who talked mawkishly about boyfriends and girlfriends, and his gorge rose as he heard the snobbish sneering thought go marching through his head; and that was the last and most ruinous turn of the screw. He almost heard his control snap, felt it physically as a sensation deep in his abdomen, and with all the power he had in him, pushed on by the frustration of the morning, he pulled back his arm and hit out with a great sweep of his fist. He felt it connect with the policeman’s face and revelled in the luxurious sense of joy that filled him. He’d let go; the tension was gone and he felt marvellous.

  But then he didn’t. He felt sick as suddenly three large policemen landed on him at once, knocking the breath out of him and throwing him to the ground so violently that it seemed to come up and hit him. And the impact was so hard and so sudden that he couldn’t breathe.

  He lay there for what seemed for ever, trying to catch his breath, but his throat had gone into some sort of spasm and had locked and as he struggled, feeling his
ribs cave inwards with his efforts, the lights in front of his eyes broke up and dazzled and then shattered into scraps of black and white jigsaw patterns. And then someone hauled him up and he was being half-dragged, half pushed, across the road and his head was hurting quite abominably. But at least he was gasping and filling his lungs again. And crying too, he discovered, for his face was wet with tears.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Does he have to know?’ Kate asked and lifted her chin to stretch the back of her neck which was aching abominably.

  ‘I don’t see how we can stop him knowing,’ Levy said. ‘Do you?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. Oh, I mean, he can know I operated. It’s the drama I’d like to keep under wraps. I’m not usually so damned hamfisted but —’

  ‘I gather you had a less than capable scrub nurse,’ Levy said. ‘It wasn’t your technique that failed but his.’

  She reddened. ‘Who said that? I didn’t — Look, I don’t want to make life any more difficult for that boy than it need be. And it was my case and my responsibility.’

  ‘And his cock-up,’ Levy said. ‘But I take your point. Better not to try to share blame around. Especially if we want their cooperation. The nurses, that is. I imagine that’s what you’re hoping for? That the nurses will say nothing about the blood loss in theatre and that will be that?’

  She got up and began to prowl around the room, finding the inactivity of his armchair more than she could tolerate.

  ‘Yes, precisely that. Look, let me tell you how it was. In the middle of all that hubbub over Fay I thought — There’s nothing much I can do to help, just standing here and listening. I’ll get rid of that blood. So I went back into the theatre, collected the bowl in which we’d put all the stuff that had been soiled when Slattery bled and took it out to the sluice. I ran the linen under the cold tap for ages — long after the blood-staining was out. It comes out quite easily when it’s fresh, you know —’

  ‘I may be a physician,’ Levy murmured, ‘but I do remember about blood.’

  She laughed then, her face lifting from its tired lines. ‘Sorry. Well, anyway, I cleaned up and by the time the nurses came through to start their own clear-up I’d just about finished. They were so agog over what happened to Fay that they seemed to have forgotten about our case. I realise, of course, that I shouldn’t have made such a fuss over it. There was probably no need. The more I think about it now the more convinced I am that I was right the first time. Slattery isn’t a risk — I just overreacted. It’s been a tough morning — you know how it is. But, as I say, by the time the theatre staff tore themselves away from gawping at Fay and her policeman and listening to Byford kicking up his rumpus over Saffron’s security, the cleaning up was done and that was that. I just went away and said no more about it. And with a bit of luck and a following wind no one else will. And then Lemon needn’t know what happened. Just that I did his case and it’s all over and forgotten —’

  Levy shook his head. ‘I wish I could be so sanguine,’ he said. ‘If you’ll forgive the obvious pun. My dear Kate, you’ve been around hospitals long enough, surely, to know that there is no such thing as anything being forgotten. The nurses will have gossiped about what happened with that case. They’ll have told heaven knows how many people that there was a bleed and that you were so upset about it you wanted to clean up the mess yourself. And then someone will talk to Slattery and notice how he behaves and put two and two together. And never think Lemon himself won’t be talking, saying he refused to do the case and why and then you did — no, my dear, we really do have to take hold of this situation and handle it. No use shutting your eyes and hoping it will all go away. You have my personal guarantee that it won’t.’

  She leaned against the window and looked at him miserably. ‘Then what do we do?’

  ‘Nothing in a hurry,’ he said. ‘That much I am sure of. Now, tell me, how is the patient?’

  ‘Slattery? Oh, he’s fine. Perfectly clean wound, no problems at all. Surprisingly. The way that case went I’d have expected him to start spiking a temperature and chucking pus at us. But he’s got a clean sweet wound and seems as merry as a grig.’

  ‘I like the image,’ Levy said. ‘When can he be discharged?’

  ‘As soon as you like,’ Kate said. ‘The sooner the better in fact. I need a bed in the ward anyway, and Esther’s — Sister’s — fussing. She’s getting pressure from Le Queux for extra beds and if he discovers I’ve got a non-renal case in there he’s likely to make life even harder for her. As I say, you know how it is.’

  ‘Indeed I do,’ Levy said with some feeling. ‘I’ve had him on at me about beds already today. Wants another ward, no less.’

  ‘Wants me out altogether?’ Kate said and lifted an eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’

  ‘Don’t take it personally. He’s an empire builder, always was. Look, talk to this chap’s GP and see if you can discharge him home, will you? He can come back for removal of sutures, to make sure there are no problems, and that way we can hope to have the man well and truly out of sight before the storm really breaks.’

  She frowned. ‘What storm?’

  ‘Dear Kate, I’m sure you’re an excellent surgeon but you have the most tenuous grasp of politics, haven’t you? And hospital politics are the most inflammable around. Look down there. Behind you.’

  ‘The demonstration?’ she said, turning to stare out of his window. ‘But what of it? That’s been going on for ages. They don’t want the beds closed, that’s all. That’s got nothing to do with Slattery —’

  He sighed again and held out his hand to summon her back to the chair beside his desk. ‘My dear Kate, I know you’ve been rather busy about your own affairs but clearly you haven’t seen this morning’s Globe, and nor have you really looked at the demonstrators and their placards. Look first, will you, at this?’

  He handed her the paper over his desk to her and she sat there and read it, her head bent so that her hair slid forwards to cover her face a little. A pretty enough girl, Levy thought as he watched her, and then got up to fetch a cup of coffee for her. I hadn’t really noticed, but she’s a pretty girl. I can’t blame that Merrall chap. And he frowned at that thought. Poor Kate. She was in for a tough time with that one, unless he badly missed his guess.

  ‘Damn,’ she said then explosively and pushed the paper back on his desk. ‘Oh, damn and damn and damn —’

  ‘There’s only one way they could have got it. From the patient,’ Levy said. ‘That reads to me like a personal story, hmm? And the pictures they’ve got they must have got with cooperation. One of them seems to have been taken actually in the ward. I imagine Sister didn’t realise what they were up to, or she’d at least have stopped that, but there — it wouldn’t have made a lot of difference, would it? They’d have got their pictures some way.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Kate said and then bit her tongue. She couldn’t tell Levy she’d been worried about this possibility, that Oliver had told her it would happen. How could she? He’d be fully entitled to be furious with her for leaving him unaware and so unprepared for the onslaught of publicity. Better to be a little devious. Not dishonest, precisely, but less than fully open. ‘I thought I knew that patient. Well, as much as one ever can. There was real distress there, real pain, and none of this mumbo jumbo they’ve got here. I can’t imagine her actually wanting to parade herself in this fashion. They must have persuaded her into it. She couldn’t have realised what it would be like and what it would mean —’

  Levy laughed. ‘You’re a very agreeable and clever girl, Kate, but I have to tell you you’re dreadfully naive in some ways. Kim Hynes told them this story and it’s the Taj Mahal to a Shadwell council house she’s been well paid for it. Money opens a lot of mouths. She’s still in the ward, I take it —’

  ‘Mm? Oh, yes. I was going to take her back to theatre to do some plastic work on the wound. She’s eager for further surgery later and — well, it’s a neat enough wound but I c
ould improve it. Why? Shouldn’t she be there?’

  ‘Not for me to say. You’re the surgeon. But I’d suggest you go and talk to her. You’d better know the strength of what she’s done. This won’t be the end of it, you see.’ And he flicked the copy of the Globe with a contemptuous forefinger.

  ‘What more can there be?’ Kate said. ‘They’ve got enough detail there to satisfy the most prurient, I would have thought. Surely this will be the end of it.’

  ‘Never you believe it. They’ll keep this going for ages yet. I’ve seen this sort of thing before. Remember the fuss over the first in-vitro baby? This is just today’s Globe. There’ll be the evening papers, tomorrow’s dailies and the weekly magazines and the Sundays to think of, as well as television and radio. I remember some years ago a writer — I forget his name, but he was quite well known at the time — he was a trans-sexual and decided to do it publicly. Wrote a book about it, quite a good one as I recall. And for months there wasn’t a day that passed without some publicity somewhere. This’ll be the same, you’ll see. Once they get a really cooperative subject there’s no holding ’em.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Kate said and moved towards the door. ‘I’ll get over to the ward, then —’

  ‘Kate —’ Levy said then. ‘Before you go —’ She stopped and looked at him miserably. All she could think of was the hateful things she’d said to Oliver at the restaurant; and all he’d been trying to do was warn her. Oh, damn her own prickly idiocy. She could have listened, even though his suggested remedy had been so crass. Why hadn’t she listened? She’d had to dissemble to her Dean because she’d been so stupid and she still had somehow to patch up things with Oliver. As well as deal with Kim and Slattery — what a ghastly mess it all was.