It had always seemed odd to me that a spire, that most phallic of symbols, should be called a lady, but that morning, as their delicate shapes hung as though suspended above the trees in the autumn air, I felt I’d never seen anything so graceful, elegant, so feminine.
And savant, I thought. They must be, after watching over six centuries of sinning humanity.
‘Have you been at the drugs cabinet again?’ Mary demanded after I’d arrived. ‘Something’s certainly got into you.’
‘Clean, healthy living,’ I replied. ‘You should try it some time.’
‘Ugh! No thank you.’
Stephen behaved to me as he always had, other than to give me a fleeting wink during the ward round when no one was looking. We lunched together and arranged to meet in the evening.
He was as good as his word, and over the next few days, looked into all seven of the cases on my list, going through them with me afterwards. As he said, each taken on its own was not suspicious, and without the statistical evidence, the number wasn’t significant; just a run of bad luck.
On Friday morning, I phoned Inspector Anslow to apologize and withdraw my statement.
‘You’re sure about that?’ he asked me.
‘Yes, I am. I do hope you hadn’t actually started taking any action …’
‘Not really. I passed it upstairs, as I told you I would, and haven’t heard anything since. I’ll tell them it was a false alarm.’
‘I’m terribly sorry, Inspector …’
‘That’s all right, Miss Farewell. Better this way than you’d kept silent when there really was something.’
I thanked him and rang off.
Later that day, when I declined to go to a party with her, Mary said, ‘It’s Stephen, isn’t it?’
‘How did you know?’
‘The way you’ve been looking at him. Proprietorial. Don’t get too fond of him, because it won’t last.’
‘Whatever makes you say that?’
‘Stephen never allows himself to become committed.’
‘How d’you know? With respect, Mary, I have known him longer than you.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘You haven’t, actually. I worked with him at the Royal United.’
‘I see.’ And was that all you did, I wondered, but didn’t say anything.
‘He’s self-centred,’ she continued. ‘Ruthless. He picks up women and discards them like … like playing cards. All lovey-dovey one minute, then …’ She made a chopping motion with her hand. ‘The only thing he’s committed to is his career.’
‘What makes you think I want it to last?’ I said lightly.
‘Because I know you.’
You’re just jealous, I told myself, and tried to forget it.
*
Friday and Saturday nights, he stayed at my house, and on Sunday morning, I made him breakfast in bed before going round to my parents. I felt duty bound to go, especially since we had other plans for the following weekend. Anyway, he grabbed me and said, ‘I think I’d rather have you for breakfast.’
‘I can’t, Stephen! I told Mum I’d be round …’
But I did.
*
The next week passed by uneventfully. Armitage came back, looking better for her enforced rest. (Her doctor had written nervous exhaustion on her sick-note, and perhaps he was right.)
I saw Stephen most evenings, and on Friday, we went to stay for a couple of nights in Montgomery, a time-warp of a town on the Welsh Marches. I loved every minute, although I couldn’t help noticing Stephen had become slightly restive by Sunday. We had to come back fairly early because he was on standby. We bought a Chinese takeaway which we had in his flat in the doctors’ block where he still lived.
I knew that he didn’t like smoking and had reduced my consumption accordingly, but for some reason, I felt desperate for a cigarette afterwards and asked him for an ash-tray.
His irritation was palpable.
‘It’s beyond me, Jo,’ he said, ‘that someone of your intelligence, who knows all the risks, should still smoke.’
‘I don’t smoke very much,’ I said defensively. ‘Hardly at all during the day, and perhaps ten or so in the evening. Less, when I’m with you.’
‘In that case, it shouldn’t be too difficult for you to give it up altogether. Seriously, Jo, there’s a good clinic here at the hospital, and —’
‘Please don’t try and change me, Stephen. When I want to give it up, I will. But in my own time.’
He shrugged and changed the subject, and shortly afterwards, his phone went and he was called away.
‘I’ll see you during the week,’ he said. ‘Not sure exactly when, since I’m on standby for most of it. I’ll be in touch.’
He kissed me gently enough before he left, but there was something missing.
Or am I imagining it, I wondered to myself later in the darkness of my bedroom as I tried to sleep. I hoped so, because I was becoming fond of him and was already regretting my outspoken independence. Mary’s words came back to me.
*
Monday morning. Foul weather and the beginning of an even fouler week. Mary was on night duty, but Viv Aldridge was back, as was Susan King. Viv very tanned after a fortnight in the Bahamas with her boyfriend; Susan as pale as ever after two weeks on some retreat in the north with the religious sect she belonged to.
‘Did you have a good time?’ I asked her.
Her large, rather flat face, with its frame of pale, gingery hair, lit up. ‘Yes, I did, thank you, Sister. I’m glad to be back, though.’
‘We’re glad to have you back,’ I said.
‘And so say all of us,’ said Sophie Marsh, staff nurse. ‘Not to mention the poor bloody patients.’
Susan said nothing, but looked quietly pleased.
Viv said, ‘It may be of passing interest to hear that I had a good time as well.’
James snorted. ‘Just one look at you is enough to tell us that. You must have put on a stone at least.’
‘Why, thank you, kind sir.’ She did a very creditable mock curtsey. Her christian name suited her; she was both vivid and vital, overflowing with life and sexuality. ‘And aren’t you glad I’m back?’
‘Ye — es,’ James said. ‘You don’t have such a tangible effect on the patients as Susan, though. You should’ve seen some of their arms after Pat had finished —’
‘Thank you, James,’ I interrupted. ‘There are some things better left unsaid. And aren’t you supposed to be looking after Mr Phillips?’
‘Yes’m.’ He sketched a salute. ‘To hear is to obey,’ he intoned, and was gone before I could think of a suitably crushing reply. The week was shaping up nicely already, and Mrs Sutton arrived half an hour later.
She’d taken an overdose of amitriptyline — an anti-depressant drug — a couple of hours or so beforehand and had been found comatose. Although her stomach had been pumped out, the drug can have serious after-effects on the heart, which is why she was in ITU.
O/Ds always irritate me (although I do my best not to show it), whether suicide was genuinely intended or not. They unnecessarily absorb resources that could be put to better use elsewhere. (And I suspect that when they don’t die, they didn’t really intend it. People who truly want to kill themselves usually make sure they take enough to do the trick, and leave enough time for it to work.)
She was about thirty; a fluffy blonde creature whose very softness told you she’d been pampered. I said as much to Viv after we’d seen her.
‘Don’t you realize who she is?’ Viv said to me in an undertone.
‘Should I?’
‘She’s Len Sutton’s wife.’
‘Well, I’d assumed she must have been married to a Mr Sutton of some species, although I hadn’t realized it was a Len …’
‘You mean you don’t know who Len Sutton is?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘You have led a sheltered life, Jo. Len Sutton has a finger in every scam in the West Midlands.’
; ‘Oh, a racketeer. I don’t have your informed background, Viv.’ Her boyfriend’s a solicitor.
‘Still, I’d have thought you would have heard of him. The filth have been after him for years, without conspicuous success as yet.’
‘Well, I hadn’t.’ I paused. ‘I imagine she’ll be transferred to a private hospital before too much longer.’
‘She’ll be here for a few days yet — it was a pretty big dose she took.’
‘You think she meant it, then?’
‘I do, yes.’ It was her turn to pause. ‘I wonder why? You wouldn’t have thought she’d have wanted for anything, would you?’
‘Except love, perhaps.’
Viv looked at me. ‘You’re rather a softy underneath it all, aren’t you, Jo?’
But Mrs Sutton didn’t seem to be short of even that when I saw her with her husband the next day.
He’d come in hesitantly, which surprised me when I realized who he was, holding a large bunch of flowers. He asked for Mrs Sutton in a Birmingham accent you could have stood a spoon in.
I told him, then said, ‘I’m very sorry, but we don’t allow flowers to be left by the bedside.’
‘Oh? Why’s that, then?’
‘They might spread infection. I’ll show you a place you can put them where she can see them.’
He grunted, but didn’t demur.
He was a short, compact man; shorter than her, I guessed, and at least twenty years older. He had a broad face with beady brown eyes, small ears and nose, a hard mouth and less hair on the top of his head than on the backs of his hands. He wore well-cut slacks and a rather sharp blazer.
‘She’ll be all right, will she, Sister?’ he asked anxiously after he’d left the flowers, and I assured him she would.
When I went through the ward twenty minutes later, he was holding her hands while she looked adoringly back at him.
I caught the words: ‘Oh, Len, why didn’t you say?’ as I passed.
He came into the Duty Room before he left.
‘Thank you, Sister,’ he said almost humbly. ‘You’ll look after her, won’t you?’
‘Of course we will, Mr Sutton.’
How strange, I thought, when he’d gone. The last type of people you’d have thought would be a devoted couple. But that’s what they were.
The phone rang. It was Mary, although I didn’t recognize her at first.
‘Jo, I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve got the most God-awful dose of flu. I just wouldn’t get through tonight.’
‘All right, Mary,’ I said slowly. ‘Have you any idea when you’ll be back?’
‘Not really. I’m sorry, Jo.’
‘OK, Mary. Let us know how you are tomorrow.’
Damn, I thought as I put the phone down. We were already a staff nurse short on that shift. And Clare Burton, the ‘spare’ sister for that week, was on leave for two days. I couldn’t really ask Viv …
I’d have to do it myself. Damn, damn, damn!
I cleared as much paperwork as I could and went home just after two, hoping to get some sleep.
Some hope! I never find it easy sleeping before night duty at the best of times; my biological clock doesn’t like it, but that afternoon, it was impossible. I was too keyed up, partly because I was thinking about Stephen, partly because, for some reason, I was filled with a vague apprehension.
I don’t believe in omens or anything similar, but that night, while I was on duty, Mrs Sutton died.
6
There was no warning.
Teresa handed over to me at midnight, reporting no particular problems. It happened twenty-five minutes after that.
I was at the nurses’ station looking over some reports when the alarm went, and I hurried over to Mrs Sutton’s bed. Gail already had her night clothes off and was giving her external heart massage.
‘Ventricular fibrillation,’ she said as I arrived. I glanced up at the monitor to confirm it, then quickly drew the screens around the bed.
Deborah Hillard and the rest of the crash team arrived less than a minute later. She looked at the monitor, then at Gail. ‘When did it happen?’
‘Two minutes ago. Less.’
‘OK.’ She looked at Mrs Sutton’s face as it lay to one side; the mouth slack. ‘Intubate and oxygen, please, Graham,’ she said to the anaesthetist. ‘A hundred mil of sodium bicarb, intravenous,’ to Jane Bromley, staff nurse. As she spoke, she checked that the defibrillator paddles were well smeared with electrode jelly before handing one to Nicky Twycross, the other staff nurse.
‘Ready?’
Gail had stepped back. Jane completed the injection. Deborah and Nicky placed their electrodes either side of the heart and Deborah administered the shock. Mrs Sutton jerked, as did the trace on the recorder before settling back into the fibrillation pattern.
But, as with Peters, I knew it wasn’t going to work and a dizzying sickness grew and spread from the pit of my stomach.
They went on trying for three-quarters of an hour, then brain stem death tests were carried out and she was pronounced dead. Deborah, hollow-eyed with fatigue, rang Mr Sutton herself. He arrived twenty minutes later.
If I hadn’t been so busy organizing Last Offices (washing and laying out the body) and so wrapped in my own misery, it might have occurred to me to warn Deborah. It was only when I heard the familiar accent shouting: ‘You mus’ be out of your tiny fucken mind,’ that I realized she must have asked for permission for organ transplant.
Then there was a noise as he pushed his way into the air-lock, Deborah saying: ‘You’ll disturb the other patients,’ and Sutton replying: ‘I don’t give a fuck about the other patients, I want her!’ He was pointing at me.
I hurried forwards to try and prevent him leaving the air-lock.
‘Mr Sutton, I’m truly sorry —’
‘Don’t give me that, you bitch. You said you’d take care of her. This what you call taking care? Eh?’
Deborah hurried out.
‘Please believe me,’ I tried again. ‘We did everything possible —’
He lashed out, the back of his hand caught my mouth and I staggered against the door …
‘Someone’s gonna pay for this, lady, an’ I’m lookin’ at you …’
He hit me again and something inside snapped.
‘Why don’t you find the one who really killed her,’ I shouted, ‘and take it out on —’ I broke off as he stared at me.
‘Wha’d’ya mean?’
‘Nothing. I — I didn’t mean anything —’
He caught my wrist, bent it, dragging me towards him …
‘Yes, you did’ — his face closed in, unshaven, his breath sour — ‘I can see you did. Wha’d’ya mean, the one who really killed her?’
‘You!’ I said desperately. ‘I meant you, for making her so unhappy that she —’
The door behind opened and Gail’s voice snapped, ‘Let her go!’
‘You keep outa this!’ His eyes flicked over to her, although he kept hold of my wrist.
‘Let her go, or I’ll —’
Then two security guards burst in and grabbed him — he released me and tried to hit one of them … Fortunately, the other spoilt his aim … Then, realizing he couldn’t win, he relaxed and allowed himself to be led away. He turned and gave me a look just before the air-lock door swung shut behind him.
An arm went round my shoulder — Gail. Deborah ran over to me.
‘Are you all right, Jo? You’re bleeding, let me have a look …’
‘’S nothing,’ I mumbled. ‘Cut lip.’
‘I’m so sorry I left you with him … I didn’t think for a moment he’d …’
‘’S all right. You did the right thing …’
She took over from Gail, saying to her, ‘Coffee, with plenty of sugar. I’ll take her to the rest room.’
She led me through, sat me down. I found my bag, took out a cigarette and guided it to my lips. ‘Sorry, Debbie, but I must.’
She gave the ghost of a smil
e. ‘Well, under the circumstances, I suppose … let me have a look at your lip first.’
She gently pulled it up. ‘Hmm. Fairly superficial. Try washing your mouth with Listerine.’ She put a hand under my chin. ‘Move your jaw around … does that hurt?’
‘No,’ I mumbled.
‘Good — nothing broken, then.’
Gail came in with the coffee. ‘I put plenty of milk in so you could drink it straight away,’ she said.
I took a mouthful and lit the cigarette. ‘Is everything all right in there?’
‘Don’t worry about it. A couple of patients woke up, that’s all. Nicky and Jane are calming them down. I’ll go and check them now.’
‘D’you want me to call the police?’ Deborah asked as Gail left.
‘No,’ I said. ‘There’s no point. I’d only make a very bad enemy.’
She looked at me curiously. ‘How d’you mean? I’d have said you already had one.’
I told her what Viv had told me about Len Sutton.
‘It’s my own fault,’ I said as I finished. ‘It should have occurred to me he’d do something like that. I didn’t take her seriously enough.’
‘It sounds to me as though we should get the police,’ Deborah said.
‘I’ll think about it. Please — can we leave it at that for the moment?’
‘All right,’ she said doubtfully. ‘If you’re sure that’s what you want …’
I had another coffee, another smoke, then washed my mouth with Listerine and felt almost back to normal. Except for the fact that Mrs Sutton made the eighth.
*
That thought nagged away at me all through the long hours of the shift, and as soon as I’d handed over to Viv at eight, I rang Stephen at his flat.
‘It’s Jo. I’ve got to speak to you. I’m coming over now.’
‘Can it wait till I get in? I’m on duty in half an hour.’
‘No. Honestly, Stephen, I must see you now.’
‘Ahh … all right.’
About five minutes later, he opened the door and his eyes widened as he saw me.
‘My God, Jo! What’s happened?’ My lip had ballooned after the attack and I had a livid bruise over one cheekbone.
Sisters of Mercy Page 4