The Waiting Rooms

by Eve Smith

  ‘We have intelligence that suggests Bekker passed on his knowledge of the TB strains to known radicals. So they could harness the disease for their own ends.’

  His words stretch and warp, as though I’m hearing them in slow motion.

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t understand … He would never … He’s spent his whole life fighting disease!’

  I bite down on my cheek and remember the conversation Piet and I had in my living room:

  It’s quite simple when you think about it … To accelerate the spread, all someone has to do is ensure that conditions are optimal…

  I drag my hands over my face. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t, I can’t believe it…’

  The officer regards me coolly as the car accelerates onto the motorway.

  Jesus, where are they taking me?

  ‘How well do you actually know Piet Bekker, Mary?’ His lip curls. ‘I mean, these days?’

  I run my tongue around my mouth. ‘We’re colleagues. I hadn’t seen him in years before we … before the Crisis.’

  ‘Precisely.’ His eyes flash. ‘A lot can happen to a person in twenty-eight years.’

  An avalanche of memories crashes through my head: that day we spent on the TB ward; our recent fight at my flat. Piet’s blazing blue eyes, angry at me, angry at the world.

  Could he…?

  I stare desperately out of the window. Smoke billows from the other side of the carriageway: it looks like an enormous bonfire has been dug into a muddy trench, stretching across two fields. It’s not logs that are burning though. People in white, hooded suits spray more fuel into the blaze.

  ‘Your testimony is key, Mary. Because, once upon a time, you did know Piet very well, didn’t you?’ My heart thuds. He locks on to me like a cobra about to strike.

  I force myself to meet his gaze. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure what—’

  ‘Enough.’ The way he says it cuts me dead. ‘You weren’t just work colleagues. You were lovers. Until he jilted you, that is.’ The saliva dries in my mouth. ‘Which must have been very difficult, for a woman of your calibre. Particularly in your … condition.’

  The breath stops in my throat. I think I’m going to be sick.

  I wrench the door handle, even though we’re going at least eighty, but of course it’s locked. I scrabble for the window button. The officer grabs my arms and forces them down by my sides; his wiry frame belies his strength.

  ‘What do you want?’ I pant, as all the fight seeps out of me.

  ‘Evidence,’ he hisses. His grip tightens. ‘You have it, Mary. You may not realise it yet, but you do. Face it, Piet Bekker is no stranger to betrayal.’

  Memories tumble. The wind whipping my hair as I study each bone in his face. His lips moving down my neck. That night, of the fire…

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I can’t do this. I won’t do this.’

  He releases me and exhales a long, slow breath. ‘Still protecting him. Even now.’ He slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out a phone. ‘Have you heard from Kate lately?’ My heart stills. ‘No?’ He stabs the screen. ‘Well, the good news is, she’s healthy. For now.’

  He holds up a photo of a young woman in an ivory wedding dress, standing outside a church. A smiling man, with a kind face, is next to her. Tears swell. I blink them back. She looks radiant.

  ‘Happily married.’ He calmly pockets the phone. ‘Even contemplating a family of her own.’

  My nails dig into the flesh of my palms. How could they possibly have found out?

  He sighs. ‘But, hospitals are such dangerous places…’ My head jerks up. ‘Oh, didn’t you know? She’s a nurse. A very competent one, by all accounts. Quite the reputation.’

  I clench my jaw. I am harpooned. The anger quivers through me.

  I lift my eyes to his. ‘Please…’ The word comes from somewhere so deep, it accumulates a density all of its own.

  His mouth looms closer. I can taste his stale, minty breath. ‘There are two ways this can go, Mary. The choice is yours. In both scenarios, Bekker is going down.’

  Tears trickle down my face, as I disintegrate, cell by cell.

  He reaches over and catches one with his finger. ‘Don’t let her be a casualty of your misplaced affections. Again.’

  CHAPTER 43

  KATE

  I edge the door open and crane my neck round. She’s there, bundled up in her duvet, like a caterpillar in its cocoon. I listen to the soft rhythm of her breathing, watch the flicker of her eyes. I remember those nights kneeling by her bunk when she was little, just watching her. Curling my hand through her hair.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ she croaks. She sounds as if she’s had a very big night. Except I know she hasn’t.

  ‘Hi, love. Sorry, I thought you were asleep. Did you get much rest?’

  ‘Not really.’

  I manage a bleary smile. ‘Me neither.’

  It kills me that she’s been holding this all by herself. I should have noticed; all the signs were there.

  She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. ‘Has Dad gone?’

  ‘Yes, don’t worry.’

  I hate keeping secrets from Mark, but she made me swear. Strange, how petrified she was about what her dad might think. Their relationship has weathered the teenage years much more smoothly than ours.

  I draw the curtains, and a pallid light seeps into the room. Sasha levers herself up and wraps her arms around her knees. She looks so pale. I want to scoop her up and kiss where it hurts. Make it better.

  She takes a breath. ‘So. Have you got it?’

  I hold up the white paper bag with the green cross that’s been lurking in my drawer. She eyes it, as if there’s a snake coiled inside.

  ‘Good job your dad didn’t find it; I’d have had some serious explaining to do.’ I ham it up a little. ‘Seeing as he’s had the snip.’

  She stretches her mouth into a smile, for my benefit.

  I swallow. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’

  She shakes her head. ‘It was torture enough having to wait this long. I just want to get it over with.’

  After the initial shock when she told me, my next response was relief. That, despite everything, she’d confided in me. I didn’t shout at her or call Jake an irresponsible idiot. Didn’t lecture her about unprotected sex or whisk her off to the nearest clinic. I just wanted to help. Prove worthy of her trust.

  She throws off the covers and swings her legs out. She pads past me, her satin nightdress hugging her curves. I feel a nostalgic ache. My little caterpillar has transformed into a young woman. With a body ready to have children of its own.

  She reaches the bathroom door and stops, like a horse refusing a jump.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Shit, Mum.’ Her voice sounds very small. ‘What am I going to do if it’s positive?’

  I squeeze her shoulder. ‘Let’s just take things one step at a time.’

  Wise words, Kate. That exact question’s been bouncing around my head all night. University. Career. Marriage. Wasn’t that the path we’d imagined for her? She hasn’t even left school. The only positive I can summon is that at least she knows she can conceive. And with that thought sidles in another. What if things change? What if the bacteria steal another march on us? Now, Sasha could give birth safely, with proper medical care. Who knows how easy it will be in ten years’ time?

  I open the packet and pull out a shiny foil pouch. There’s a waft of lavender and disinfectant as Sasha lifts the toilet lid. I tear along the strip and take out a white plastic stick. Even though I know what to do, I read the instructions anyway.

  ‘There you go, love,’ I say gently. My stomach loops, as if it’s me that’s taking the test, not her. She looks at me as if I’m handing her a weapon. ‘You need to keep the tip in the stream for at least ten seconds.’ I lay a strip of toilet paper on top of the cabinet. ‘When you’re done, pop it on there.’

  She eyes the little pictures on the box. She wanted to do this the old-fashioned way
: no pregnancy app, no record on her profile. I try to keep my voice normal. ‘The lines will appear in that little window.’

  Her gaze darts to mine. ‘Line, Mum. That’s all I want. Just one, single line.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ The blood rushes to my face. ‘I meant the one in the control panel too.’

  I remember staring at a little white stick, praying for two lines, not one. It took me four tests to get them.

  There’s a rustle as she hikes up her nightie. Then just the sound of our breathing.

  ‘Remember, aim for the strip. I’ll tell you when to stop.’ I turn away to give her a bit of privacy. Although I’m desperate to check she’s doing it right.

  I hear a faltering stream and start to count. I wonder if my birth mother used a test like this. Did she count her ten seconds with longing or with dread?

  ‘Uugh, disgusting!’ Sasha pulls a face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Some of it went over my hand!’

  ‘Don’t worry, just keep going. You’re nearly there … And … stop.’

  Sasha drops the stick on the cabinet and thrusts her hands in the sink. She soaps her fingers over and over. ‘How long?’

  ‘Just two minutes,’ I say. What I don’t say is that those two minutes stretch to infinity. That they are like time travelling through space while the seconds, hours and days battle past in this room.

  Sasha peers at the stick.

  ‘Try not to look, honey,’ I say, fighting the urge to check myself. ‘I know it’s hard. Wait until it’s time.’

  I listen to her raggedy breathing and focus on my reflection, beside hers, in the mirror. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…

  As she pushes back her hair I notice the arrow-shaped nick above her eyebrow from when she fell off her scooter. My hands clench. I want to throttle that scrawny bastard.

  ‘It was my idea, Mum.’

  For a moment I wonder if I said it out loud.

  ‘It was just the one time, honest. Normally we’re careful.’ She grips the basin as if it’s the only thing holding her up. ‘I suppose I wanted to be … impulsive, for once. No pills for this, skins for that.’ Her head sags. ‘Just live. In the moment. Like they did in those films.’ My throat constricts. ‘I know it sounds stupid, but—’

  ‘No, Sasha.’ I gently run my fingers through her hair. ‘It doesn’t sound stupid at all.’

  I remember the thrill of the unknown, that collision of stars. When all that mattered was the heat of skin on skin and the heavy pull of desire.

  I glance at the stick. There’s a very faint blue patch, like a wash of paint. I make myself look away. One minute fifteen seconds to go.

  Her body tenses. ‘How long now?’ The hollowness in her voice sinks me.

  ‘About a minute.’

  I count each second: breath after breath.

  ‘Mum, when you were young, did you ever, you know … get caught out?’

  I curl a lock of her hair around my finger. ‘No. That’s not to say I was always careful. Before, I mean. I was just lucky, I guess.’ I pause. ‘But I knew someone your age that wasn’t.’

  Maria Hallows. Her name rises up like a ghost. Skinny girl with long legs. Pale-green eyes.

  Sasha takes a breath, and I know what’s coming. ‘What did she do?’

  I remember the gossip that day Maria didn’t come to class. She hadn’t said anything, but we all knew. I don’t think she ever told her parents.

  ‘This was before the Crisis, remember.’ Our eyes meet. My tongue tests the word against the roof of my mouth. ‘She had an abortion.’ Just saying it feels dangerous. ‘No one had any idea that … how things would change. How difficult having a baby would become.’

  ‘So she didn’t consider adoption, then?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. But that wasn’t what she did.’

  And it strikes me how hard a decision adoption must have been. Perhaps even harder than the alternative. To carry a child for nine months, knowing you were going to give it up. Could Sasha put herself through that? Could I stand by and watch my daughter give her baby away? Neither Sasha nor I would be here if my birth mother had made a different choice.

  Seconds stretch and contract, heady with their own power.

  ‘Is it time?’

  ‘Nearly, love. Ten seconds.’

  Sasha’s shoulders slump. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do if … I’m not sure I could, you know…’

  I wrap my arms around her. ‘Shhh, it’s going to be OK.’

  I wish I could save her from such a choice. I wish I could glide in with my sparkly wand and make it all go away. What advice will I give her, if two lines appear, not one?

  The second hand finally thuds round.

  ‘OK, darling. It’s time.’

  We both turn.

  Sasha throws her arms around me and bursts into tears.

  CHAPTER 44

  LILY

  The bee crawls across the pink velvety folds towards the stamens, fur glistening with pollen as it fills its sacs. Pollination. Fertilisation. Germination. The cycle of life. This tiny square of garden is all the nature I have left. I’d so wanted to show Kate, next time she came.

  A sudden twinge rockets up my arm. Another wave comes, blurring the pinks of the Boscobels into black. When I got dressed this morning, there was a pale pink rash like sunburn stretching from my collar bone to my shoulder. I managed to get my shirt over it before Pam saw. Damned brooch, I knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. Was it just bad luck? Or did whoever sent me that card tamper with it? Who knows? It’s no use fretting about that now.

  Tears roll down my cheeks. They’re a constant stream, as if my eyes can no longer hold them. The throbbing in my arm is insistent, no matter how many painkillers I take. God knows how I got through the bloods this morning. Afterwards, I just sat there, waiting for Dr Barrows to come. Should I tell Kate? I circle round and round this question. Our relationship is like a flower that’s only just starting to bud: extremely fragile and vulnerable to attack. What if she thought that was the only reason I’d agreed to see her? To try and beg favours, get access to the drugs? She’d be risking her job and her reputation. After everything I’ve done, what would be the point of that?

  Something flashes past, a glimpse of iridescent green. I grasp for the word through the fog. Dragonfly, that’s it: supposed to be good luck if one lands on you. Their short lives only span a few months. Some don’t even get that.

  It darts back towards me, its emerald body sparkling in the sun.

  ‘Lily?’

  My heart thumps. Is that Pam? The dragonfly disappears. Perhaps the blood test has caught up with me after all.

  ‘Lily, are you out here?’

  My hand moves to my patch. Is Dr Barrows with her? Is there an ambulance outside, waiting for me?

  My breath rations itself to small gasps. I could just throw myself at her mercy. Anne’s partly responsible, after all. If Anne could prove it, maybe she could…

  Footsteps.

  My courage deserts me. I stay silent. Start conjuring names.

  Catmint. Columbine. Coral bells.

  A jingle of keys.

  Daisy. Delphinium. Foxglove.

  Breathing. Getting closer.

  Geranium. Hollyhock…

  ‘Here you are!’ Natalie pushes through an arch of leaves.

  So. The arbour has betrayed me too.

  ‘I’ve been calling you for ages! Didn’t you hear?’ She mops her brow and stabs my frame in front of me. ‘Come on, then. Up you get. I’ve got another three to do after you.’

  I stare at her as the blood screams in my ears.

  ‘You’ve forgotten what day it is, haven’t you?’ She smiles. ‘Wednesday. Time for your rub.’

  My body sags against the bench, but my relief is short-lived. ‘Oh, sorry, yes. It’s just that … Well, my hands … they’re quite a bit worse today.’ I realise I’m panting. ‘Maybe we should give it a miss?’

  She frowns.
‘That wouldn’t make much sense now, Lily, would it? The balm’s supposed to help with the pain. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle on those joints.’

  She hauls me up, and I swallow a cry. I shuffle along the path in front of her as the burning radiates down my arm. I have to think of something. Anything. But my mind is at a loss, frazzled by the pain.

  Just as we reach the ramp I remember. ‘Where’s Anne? I haven’t seen her.’

  ‘She went home yesterday, after lunch,’ Natalie breezes. ‘Nothing serious; probably something she ate. But you know how it is in this place. Can’t take any chances!’

  It’s as if all the air has been pressed out of my body. I pitch forward over my frame.

  ‘Careful, Lily! Are you OK? It’s sweltering out here. Let’s get you inside.’

  Cold waves of panic roll through me. Anne won’t be allowed back for at least forty-eight hours. Maybe longer. What am I going to do?

  Eventually we make it back to my room, and Natalie helps lower me into the chair. My blouse is soaking and I reek of sweat; she must have noticed.

  Her mouth puckers. ‘Are you overdoing it, Lily? Not so far next time, I think.’

  I watch her push up my right sleeve, trying not to tense. She unscrews the lid and a sickly-sweet smell pervades the room. There’s a sucking sound as she smooths the honey over my fingers and a treacly warmth seeps into my bones. Normally I enjoy it. But all I can think about is how much the other arm is going to hurt.

  ‘How’s that?’ she asks.

  I have to take a couple of breaths just to keep my voice steady. ‘Good.’ I don’t take my eyes off her hands. ‘Actually, it’s helping.’ I run my tongue over the sweat on my lip. ‘Look, I’ve made you late already. We could just focus on this one?’

  She moves round to the base of my thumb. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to short-change you.’ She smiles. ‘Don’t worry. The others can wait.’

  As she rolls up my left sleeve the saliva builds in my mouth. The cloth tightens above my elbow and I wince.

  ‘They’re really giving you some jip today, aren’t they?’ She tuts. ‘Those tablets not helping? I’ll have a word with Dr Barrows. See if we can get you something a bit stronger.’