‘That was your Uncle Sidney, not my Nicholas. Oh, you are a tease! Isn’t she Will?’
‘Gwen, she’s not teasing, she’s trying to explain. Don’t worry, we all forget from time to time, we just don’t want you to worry that Nicholas isn’t coming home,’ he said tactfully.
‘My name is Gwendolyn, if you please, William,’ she said sternly. Suddenly, she burst into tears. ‘You don’t think he’s having an affair, do you?’
‘Mum, he’s not. He’s dead!’ Gina’s voice was becoming more strident.
‘I bet it’s that Brenda from the bridge club. She’s always fluttering her eyelashes at him. Do you know, I caught her trying to kiss him once! Completely brazen she is. Plastered in makeup and brassy blonde hair.’
Gina opened her mouth to try again to explain to her mother but noticed Will shaking his head. Her mother had disappeared into another world, and it was pointless trying to reason with her. Gwen looked suddenly tired and sat back and closed her eyes. As well as settling into a new job and taking part in the inquiry, Gina would have to find somewhere for her mother as a matter of urgency. Today’s sudden deterioration in mental capacity was shocking, and it would take Gina a while to come to terms with it.
Will indicated with his head that they should speak privately and he collected up the tea things, his wife following him to the kitchen.
‘God, what a nightmare,’ she sighed.
‘Look, speak to her carer and get her an appointment at the doctor. I wonder whether she’s got a bladder infection. That can worsen the confusion considerably. It would explain why she seems so much worse today. I think she might have wet her pad as well, I think there’s a bit of an ammonia smell, that would indicate an infection.’
‘OK, I’ll check her and change her pad. I’ll phone Georgia tonight. Thank goodness she’s looking after her so well. I’m worried about her staying here on her own though.’
‘Why not ask whether Georgia can organise someone to stay tonight? We can pay, it’s not a problem. Then you won’t worry so much.’
‘OK, good idea. I just hope Mum will agree to it.’
‘Don’t tell her now, let Georgia explain. She’s less likely to be obstructive with her. It’s the close relatives who always get the abuse.’
Gina and Will stayed with Gwen until Georgia arrived about 6 p.m. For both of them, it had been an emotionally draining experience, but now there was no doubt that immediate action needed to be taken regarding her mother’s care. She could no longer stay in her own home.
Chapter 6
‘Are you feeling better now, Beth?’ Trish asked her friend.
‘Yes, thanks, the cup of tea helped.’ She smiled weakly, but at least she had a bit more colour than when they’d met at 9 a.m. that morning.
‘Your testimony about your mother reads very well, try not to worry too much.’
‘I’m trying not to, it’s just I’m not used to speaking in public.’
‘The other relatives will feel the same, try to remember that. Also, you aren’t on trial, you are doing something which will be helpful to others.’
Beth nodded and checked for the umpteenth time that she had her testimony in her handbag. Trish looked at her friend and could see that the cuticles of her thumbs were bitten down and looked red and sore, a sure sign that she was putting on a brave front but was suffering badly from nerves within.
‘Have you been here before?’ asked Beth, scanning around the Clagett Auditorium which was part of the Canterbury Cathedral Lodge Conference Centre. ‘It’s very impressive. I looked at the photos on the web, and it certainly looks as good in real life.’
‘They’ve done a fantastic job of blending in the buildings with the cathedral and the stonework matches exactly. Sort of modern but old at the same time. The zinc roofs are unusual. I must say. I’d heard about it when it was being built but never really knew where it was exactly.’
‘Yes, it’s tucked away in the Cathedral grounds. I fancy staying in one of the luxurious bedrooms,’ said Trish, ‘but it would seem a bit strange booking a hotel room only about a mile from where we live!’
‘You should try to organise some sort of course here so you would have an excuse to stay!’
Trish was unable to comment further as the inquiry was being called to order. The chairperson had just entered the auditorium and was speaking to a couple of people before taking her seat at the table on the platform facing the assembled legal teams, relatives and members of the public. Finally, as the clock ticked around to 10.30 a.m. the long-awaited inquiry into the abuse in the SEKare group of homes was about to begin.
**
Gina’s weekend had been one of contrasts, but the dominating memories were those of the previous day with her mother which had by far overshadowed the relaxing Saturday with Will. The weekend had ended far too soon, and after lunch, he would be on his way back to Manchester, and their enforced separation would begin again. However, they had decided on somewhere to rent and over the next week, Gina was hoping to sign the paperwork for a furnished apartment. This first domicile would be a stepping stone to finding somewhere more permanent to rent whilst they sold their house in Manchester. Will would have the unenviable task of organising the transport of their furniture and belongings and putting the property on the market.
The previous evening, they had both spent time dealing with their respective work matters, answering emails and reading documents. In some ways, it had been good to have something to distract them as they had both returned from Broadstairs feeling depressed and anxious. However, Will’s advice had proved to be sapient, as a few minutes ago she’d had a text from Georgia to tell her that she was taking Gwen to the doctor later that morning. In addition, the carer had offered to phone a care home which she thought would be suitable, to check whether there were any vacancies. Hopefully, the one they chose would be better regulated than those run by SEKare. It was ironic that the two events had coincided. Though there were still things to organise, Gina felt reassured that a plan was beginning to take shape, she just hoped her mother would be compliant.
She was distracted from her reverie by her junior counsel, Julius Bretherton, who sat alongside her. ‘Looks like we are ready to get the show on the road,’ he whispered.
‘About time,’ replied Gina. ‘I’ve been here since 9 a.m., I could have had a lie in!’
‘Same here. It’s a bit like being in court with one delay after another.’
The diminutive figure of Dame Margaret Benton-Smith took her seat, straightened her papers in front of her and looked straight at the assembled group.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ she began. ‘Sorry for the late start but the accident on the ring road delayed a few people.’ She scanned the room and smiled welcomingly.
Dame Margaret was in her mid-sixties and had practised criminal law prior to becoming a Circuit Judge in Surrey. After an illustrious career, she had retired early to spend time caring for her husband who had developed cancer. Then, after his death, she had taken up the position of Honorary Professor of Law at the University of Kent at Canterbury where she had also been awarded an Honorary Doctorate. She had been active in initiatives to promote the role of women in professional life and now sat on the board of the Equalities and Human Rights Commission. Despite her direct approach to all matters, she was in no way abrasive and possessed a compassionate and sympathetic nature. Her short coiffured white hair contrasted with her healthy tanned complexion, and she was the picture of elegance in a dark grey suit, complete with a pale blue silk blouse.
‘I will spend a few minutes outlining the purpose of this inquiry, its aims and aspirations. It will be a challenging few weeks, and my aim is to produce a report which will contain benchmark recommendations for the management of care homes for the elderly and vulnerable.’
The inquiry into the deaths and ill-treatment of patients in the domain of SEKare had begun.
**
‘OK, Melanie, thanks for letting us know, you
take care and hopefully, we will see you in a couple of days,’ said Melanie’s boss, Liz.
‘Sorry about this, I’ll be in as soon as I can,’ sniffled Melanie.
Melanie did sound dreadful, and all blocked up as if she had a bad cold, but in fact, it was due to crying during most of her waking hours. Somehow she must have fallen asleep last night and so her body had been granted some respite from her anguish until her horrific dreams overwhelmed her, causing her to wake soaked in sweat. Her world had fallen apart, and just at that moment, she could fathom no plan to restore professional, smart and confident Melanie. That previous persona was refusing all attempts to coax it back to inhabit the frail physical husk, which appeared as a ghostlike image in the full-length bedroom mirror.
Izzy had phoned last night to enquire after her friend and to report back on the party. Everyone in their social circle of friends had been asking about her and wishing her well. Melanie had contributed little to the one-sided conversation which suited her, and she coughed appropriately to convey the charade of illness. Apart from her fragile mental state, she was now damaged physically. Her left arm now bore a substantial bandage, as did her left thigh. The stinging sensation had subsided about an hour after the act of mutilation. If only the physical agony could be more long-lasting, there would be less of a need to repeat the procedure. There had been an anxious moment late last night when she had started to panic, and the shock triggered her pragmatism to return. For a few minutes, she had even contemplated phoning for a taxi to take her to A&E. However, once she realised the questioning she would have to endure and the possibility of a referral to a psychiatric team, she pushed the idea away. She would not allow herself to go down that particular avenue, even though it was doubtless the best route for her.
Carelessly, her concentration had lapsed, her vision clouded by her copious tears and the knife had penetrated too deeply, causing the cut on her inner thigh to bleed for much longer than normal. To protect her bed, she had slept on a towel, and to her relief, the cautionary layer was barely blemished in the morning.
It was only 9 a.m. on Monday morning, a whole day stretched ahead with nothing to fill it apart from despair, and Melanie simply had no inkling how she could pass the hours.
**
Dame Margaret Benton-Smith had spent around ten minutes outlining the reasons behind the current enquiry and details of the proceedings which would be made available on the inquiry website. During that time, Gina looked at her notes and added some reminders for herself. Members of counsel were introduced, along with other officials which completed the rather tedious house-keeping issues.
‘I now wish to focus on the aims of the inquiry,’ said Dame Margaret. ‘My overriding aim is that the victims will not have suffered in vain if the legacy of this inquiry ensures that such failings never happen again.’ She read slowly and carefully from her prepared script.
‘From the information presented, I will draw up recommendations about how care homes and nursing homes should be managed in the future. This will involve the training of staff, the supervision of homes, the responsibilities of the local Clinical Commissioning Groups, and the powers for councils to intervene rapidly if they suspect that homes are not being maintained to the highest standards,’ she paused. ‘Ultimately, I sincerely hope that the Benton Inquiry, as I believe it will be called, will act as the basis for new rules and regulations which will apply countrywide.’ She looked up from her prepared notes. ‘Please rest assured that I will not leave any stone unturned in my quest for this to be a watershed inquiry.’
It was the sort of speech which under different circumstances might have received applause, but the mood was sombre, and all present knew to remain silent. The formidable chair of the inquiry had immediately gained the respect of those in the auditorium. Her earnestness was clearly visible.
‘I am now going to ask Mr John Sedgley, Secretary to the inquiry, to show the photographs of residents whose deaths resulted from neglect or abuse in the group of care homes.’
The slide showing all six victims appeared on the large screen. Dame Margaret remained silent for a few seconds, then began to read out the names of the deceased.
‘I will read the names in alphabetical order: Mrs Agnes Bunting, Mrs Doris Campbell, Mr Harold Gorton, Mrs Dora Mitchell, Mr Richard Stein, Mrs Iris Yalding.’
Trish sensed a slight stiffening of her friend’s demeanour as the last name was read out, and could fully understand how upsetting it must be to hear the name of a deceased loved one. The atmosphere in the auditorium was completely hushed, allowing previously unnoticed noises from outside to permeate; a builder shouting instructions, a group of tourists being marshalled together, a siren from a police car attending an emergency call.
Dame Margaret broke the silence. ‘I think it is an appropriate moment to take a short break before we reconvene to hear statements from the relatives of the deceased. Please return in twenty minutes.’
Chapter 7
The final testimony from relatives had just been delivered by Beth Sheldon, Mrs Yalding’s daughter. Trish was relieved to see Beth’s anxiety abate once she had begun and her smart grey suit gave her a confident and professional appearance. Her shoulder length, dark brown hair shone in the spotlights from the ceiling and with her minimal makeup, she looked the picture of understated elegance. Her statement was earnest and at times her voice wavered, as she described her mother whose life had been tragically shortened when her health had deteriorated in the Stour View care home.
‘Thank you, Mrs Sheldon, please return to your seat.’
Dame Margaret waited for Beth to be seated before continuing. ‘I should like to thank the seven men and women who have spoken touchingly about their beloved relatives. It has helped us to gain an insight into the people who would otherwise have been merely a name or a photograph. In due course, we will hear more about the circumstances of their deaths and the environment they experienced in the SEKare Group of homes. Before we break for lunch, I would like to ask Counsel for Justice for SEKare to address the inquiry. Ms Overton, please begin.’
‘Thank you, Madam Chairman. I do not need to spend many minutes outlining the gravity of the events which bring us here today. Due to the extensive news coverage of the appalling crimes which have taken place, I was under no illusion as to the disturbing nature of the evidence I would need to examine when I was approached to represent the aggrieved relatives. However, it wasn’t until I actually read at first hand the accounts of the abuse and the disgraceful neglect which transpired that I began to appreciate the egregiousness and heinous nature of the transgressions. You will all hear and see evidence which may disturb you for months to come.
Gina’s voice was engaging and confident. Her upright posture and ramrod straight spine showed her true professionalism, and if she was at all nervous, she concealed it well. She wore a dark grey pinstripe suit with a white blouse. Around her neck was a thin gold chain and a matching bracelet hung down on her right wrist. A large solitaire diamond ring accompanied a broad wedding band on her ring finger, and her right hand was bare of adornment.
‘You will see during the next few weeks, that a catalogue of errors produced a pitifully unsafe environment for vulnerable people who were powerless to complain or defend themselves. The mainly elderly victims were trusting and wanted to believe the best in people. How wrong could they have been? Thankfully, today, as a society, we have been granted the advantage of new technology which enabled some suspecting relatives to have their suspicions confirmed. Before showing any disturbing video clips, we will give a warning so that anyone can leave the room if they feel they will be upset. That is all I wish to say by means of introduction.’
‘Thank you, Ms Overton. I think it is an appropriate time, to take a short refreshment break. We will resume proceedings in twenty minutes,’ said Dame Margaret.
There was a general shuffling of bodies and murmurings as people collected their belongings and left the room. Gina felt some relief
that the ice was broken and the inquiry was underway. She was in her stride, and totally focused on the day ahead.
**
Melanie had returned to bed after phoning her workplace and was dreaming about one of her managers, Liz who was accusing her of embezzling money from a customer’s account when she became aware of her entry phone buzzing. She slowly returned to consciousness, her mind confused as to what time of the day it was and her heart began to race. Her long hair felt damp where it had lain against her neck, and a faint odour of sweat rose up as she moved her body. The buzzing continued and was beginning to rile her.
Slowly she dragged her leaden limbs to the entry phone and picked up the receiver.
‘Yes?’
‘Melanie? It’s Greg, I’ve lost my keys, I think you’ve got a key to our flat.’
‘Er, yes, I think so,’ murmured Melanie, struggling to process who Greg was.
‘Look, can you release the front door, it’s hard to hear you with the traffic?’
‘Yes, OK.’
Melanie pressed the door release and slumped back against the wall. Greg was the new boyfriend of Sandy, from across the corridor. He was a brash, thoughtless young man whom she had heard shouting and swearing on numerous occasions when they had come back late at night.
Heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs, and then a fist thumped on the door to her flat. Melanie opened the door and handed him the key which she’d retrieved from a drawer in the hall table.
‘Here’s the key,’ she said, opening the door just enough to peep around it and hand over the key.
‘Oh, thanks, babe!’ said Greg, taking the proffered keyring. ‘Shit, are you OK?’
‘Yes, I mean, no, I’m not very well.’
‘Fuck! It must have been a good night,’ laughed Greg, tactlessly.
‘Bye,’ said Melanie and closed her door. She stumbled off to the bathroom and looked at herself. She looked a complete fright, no wonder Greg had been shocked but wasn’t it just typical of him to judge her by his own standards and to think she was hungover.
A Form of Justice Page 4