Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral

by Puckett, Andrew

  Alan slowly nodded, then apologised and some, although not all, of the tension evaporated. Alan went over to speak to Ron and Malcolm, while Hannah and Sophie started folding the tables.

  Craig said quietly to Marc, ‘That was close…’

  Marc glanced at Rebecca, then said, ‘I did a quick count and thought we could do it – especially after Malcolm said his piece.’

  ‘Well, you called it right –’

  Sophie called, ‘Hey you lot, give us a hand,’ and Marc and Craig went to join them.

  Rebecca was about to follow when she saw Alan beckoning her. She went over. Alan said, ‘Rebecca, this is Ron Young, who you’ll be liaising with, and Malcolm North…’

  She shook hands with them. Ron said,

  ‘That was a very interesting suggestion you made, Rebecca, and I’m only too pleased to help…’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking her hand away.

  ‘Shall I come to you?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll come to you.’

  They made a date for the next day, then Marc came over and asked them if they were going for a drink.

  Chapter 13

  As they walked the short distance to the pub, Craig fell in beside her. ‘I wonder if I could cadge a lift?’ he said. ‘It’s only a mile or so from here.’

  She hesitated just long enough to let him know she wasn’t a pushover… ‘OK – so long as you don’t want to stay in the pub too long.’

  He smiled – he had a rather sweet smile, she thought – ‘I’ll be glad of the excuse to leave.’ He went on, ‘I wanted a word anyway – I’ve spoken to my boss, but I didn’t want to tell you about it in here –’ He indicated the pub – ‘in front of the others.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Not at all…’

  They went in, he bought her a drink and they sat with the others. Ron fastened onto her and gushed on a bit.

  As soon as she could get a word in, she said, ‘You are Ron Young, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t help noticing that you’re one of those who hasn’t paid their subs yet.’

  Malcolm, next to him, laughed and gave him a shove. ‘You walked into that, Ron – and yes –’ he said, turning to Rebecca, ‘I am the Malcolm North who hasn’t paid his either.’ He reached for his wallet and handed her a ten-pound note. ‘Your turn, Ron,’ he said.

  Ron made a show of going through his wallet and extracting a couple of fivers. Rebecca put the money away and said,

  ‘I was interested in your contribution, Ron. It was very eloquent –’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘– but it’s something that’s bothered me in the past. I want to help starving people, but I don’t like the idea of just handing money over to some of the nastier African leaders…’ She tailed off and shrugged.

  ‘Have you ever been to the Horn?’ Ron asked. ‘Or anywhere in Africa?’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘You have, I take it?’

  ‘I did two years with Voluntary Workers Abroad, oh, a long time ago now. They warned us that we’d be ordered around, sometimes at gunpoint, by some pretty repellent individuals, who’d almost certainly help themselves to the aid we were offering. And that if we wanted to help those in need, we’d better get used to it. We were selected on our ability to do just that.’

  Rebecca tried to say something, but he overrode her.

  ‘You have to understand something about African tradition. The man who becomes Chief, or President – and it is always a man – expects to remain that way until he dies. And his people expect it as well, by and large.

  And if we want to help the needy, the starving,’ he leaned forward… ‘we have to swallow our European pride and work with them. It’s their country, not ours – can’t you understand that?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ she said after a pause. ‘And I truly admire you for your detachment. I don’t think I could do that.’

  ‘I had to hold my nose enough times when I was there,’ said Sophie. ‘But he’s right you know, if we really want to help.’

  ‘That’s why these volunteer groups are so careful who they select,’ Ron said. ‘Oddly enough, the Christian groups are usually the best at it, although I don’t approve of them in other ways.’

  There was a short silence and Rebecca thought about how completely Ron shed his clown image when he talked like this… then she noticed Hannah staring at her speculatively…

  Hannah, knowing she had to say something, said, ‘Well, you’ve certainly hit the ground running, Rebecca.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Rebecca said, not at all sure it was a compliment.

  ‘Any luck on the job front yet?’

  ‘I’ve got an interview at the hospital next week.’

  ‘Oh yes, I thought I saw you there last week – Thursday, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You probably did, I went to see Human Resources – thus the interview.’

  ‘What’s it for? I didn’t think they were taking on anyone at the moment.’

  ‘Clerk in the pay department, and you’re right, they’re not unless they have to.’ It was the best she could think of on the spur… ‘It’s not what I want, but –’ she shrugged, ‘beggars can’t be fussy…’

  ‘No. Well good luck with it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Rebecca took a mouthful of drink to cover her discomfiture… did Hannah work at the hospital? Could she find out she was lying? She’d have to think of something to cover it…

  Hannah started talking to Sophie; they were natural allies, she thought…

  Marc was talking to Malcolm, while Alan was saying something to Ron. She said to Craig, ‘It was quite a coup, getting the MP to agree… when is the forum?’

  ‘Week after next. Thursday, in the library. Are you coming?’

  ‘Of course. Rather short notice for him, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been trying to pin him down for weeks. I don’t think he really wants to do it, which is why I didn’t invite him along tonight.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just say no?’

  ‘He does bang on about Foreign Aid, so it wouldn’t look good, would it?’

  Sophie, who’d been listening, put her arm round him. ‘Well, I think you’ve done very well, darling,’ she said.

  ‘I do my best,’ he said plaintively.

  ‘I know, and it’s very good.’ She kissed him on the cheek.

  Rebecca wondered why Sophie felt the need to take the piss out of him all the time, although he did rather set himself up for it… Just another of the currents swirling round this happy pond of altruists.

  Sophie finished her drink and stood up. ‘Love you all to bits though I do, I also have to work.’ She waggled her fingers and left.

  Rebecca would have liked to talk to Malcolm, but he was talking with Marc now, and it would be difficult to break in without seeming pushy… Better cut her losses and see what she could get from Craig. She finished her drink and looked at him. He took the hint, finished his own and they said goodbye – although not before Ron had reminded Rebecca not to forget their meeting.

  ‘I’m in the multi-storey,’ she said to Craig when they were outside.

  The rain was turning to sleet and the pavements were slick in the streetlights. The street was narrow and the crowds, tall buildings, and orangey glow above gave it a claustrophobic feel and made it difficult to talk. She waited until they’d turned into a quieter street before saying, ‘You were going to tell me about your boss…?’

  ‘Oh, yes… Well, like the hospital, we’re not recruiting at the moment, but there’s someone due to retire before long, and that might be a way of getting you in. Anyway, he’d like to talk to you informally – he suggested tomorrow morning, if you can manage it.’

  ‘That’s amazing,’ she said. ‘Thanks,’

  They reached the multi-storey and started up the hollow grey stairway. She said, ‘We’ve got plenty of monstrosities like this in London, but I’m surprised they allow them in
a place like Exeter.’

  He shrugged. ‘Needs must. And at least it doesn’t go above the skyline.’

  They found the car, strapped themselves in and squealed their way round the shiny slippery surfaces.

  ‘So what’s your boss looking for?’ she asked once they were out and on their way.

  Craig explained between giving her directions, then they were in his street. Grade Three terraces, she noticed.

  Would he invite her in? She thought probably not. She wouldn’t have gone anyway, although she’d have liked to talk for a bit longer. She said,

  ‘D’you think someone put that woman, Shirley, up to it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t think Hannah would. Maybe, as she said, Shirley did it off her own bat.’

  ‘But you don’t believe that, do you?’ she said, looking at him. He didn’t answer and she went on, ‘It was lucky that Malcolm spoke when he did.’

  ‘Oh, luck had nothing to do with it, I put him up to that.’

  She laughed. ‘I guessed someone had, but I thought it was Marc.’

  ‘He and I cooked it up between us, although I did the deed.’

  ‘How did you know it would be coming up?’

  He shrugged. ‘Knowing Open Door, we just thought it was likely. It’s their style.’

  She said, ‘What is it you’ve got against Open Door? Oh, I can see their aims are different, but I get a sense it’s more than that…’

  Craig took a moment, then, ‘Open Door’s agenda is completely different from ours. They say they’re providing refuge for asylum seekers and so on, but their real aim is the creation of a multi-cultural society.’

  ‘We already have that, don’t we?’

  ‘We have a multi-racial society, which isn’t the same thing. It’s not just that multi-culturalism has been completely discredited now, it’s also a huge turn-off for the kind of people whose support we want.’

  ‘Why should that matter? You’re two completely different charities…’

  ‘Because people like Shirley – and Hannah, for that matter – would like us get much closer, even amalgamate. It’s my belief we’re incompatible.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘They want to create a perfect society, as they see it, here in Britain. We want to help people in their own countries.’

  Rebecca looked at him and nodded slowly. ‘I see what you mean… I think… Doesn’t that make Marc and Hannah rather strange bedfellows?’

  Craig laughed. ‘It should, but somehow it doesn’t. Maybe because they don’t live in each other’s pockets. They compartmentalise.’

  Interesting… She said, ‘I thought when I first met them that Hannah wore the trousers; now, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Oh, she does at home, but Marc’s a very clever operator.’

  ‘Mm. I saw that tonight. What does he do?’

  ‘Teaches in a secondary school.’

  She nodded as though expecting it… ‘Yes, he’s got that toughness …’

  She smiled. ‘I also saw what you meant about Ron…’ She continued – ‘That seems rather an unlikely friendship…’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Ron and Malcolm – Alan too, for that matter. I can’t see what they’ve got in common.’

  ‘Ron’s nothing like as weird as he looks – I’d have thought you’d have worked that out.’

  ‘He’s eloquent, if that’s what you mean,’ she said slowly, ‘but I’m not sure he convinced me… About having to kowtow to nasty dictators, I mean.’

  ‘That’s Ron being pragmatic. You have to work with them if you want to help their people.’

  ‘Do you, though?’

  ‘Well, what do you suggest? Bumping them off? I’ve got a feeling that’s against our rules somewhere…’

  ‘It seems just… wrong to keep such people in power.’

  He smiled wanly. ‘Yes, it does. But that’s where humility comes in.’

  She looked at him. ‘Have you done VSO?’

  He gave a brief, almost reluctant, nod. ‘Yes.’

  And she could sense that, like Alan, he didn’t want to talk about it. She said, ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’

  ‘If you want to, after you’ve seen my boss. It’s Room 214, same corridor.’ He opened the door. ‘Best of luck with him. And thanks for the lift.’ He waited by his door until she was moving off before giving a wave.

  Chapter 14

  Wednesday morning. County Hall was a pleasant Art Deco building with a sharply modernist extension tacked on behind. She was directed to the modern bit, where Frank Weller, Craig’s boss, came down to collect her himself.

  The words ‘Old School’ screamed at her. He was wearing an old fashioned suit and had severely parted greying hair with wings over the ears. He smiled gravely as he shook her hand and took her up to his office. He’d managed to make that look old fashioned too, no mean feat in that building. He sat behind his desk, putting a formal distance between them.

  ‘Craig’s told me you worked for the NHS in London, but whereabouts exactly?’ He was pleasantly spoken with a slight Devonian accent.

  St. Stephen’s, she told him. She described her fictitious job, glad she’d boned up on it. He listened carefully, then fired some fairly searching questions at her. She felt glad that she’d worn a skirt and matching jacket, not casual… then realised with a slight shock that she was taking this seriously, as though she really wanted the job…

  ‘What made you leave?’ he asked.

  She told him about the messy relationship. He asked about her qualifications, then whether he could phone her department head.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. She took out notebook and pen and wrote down the prearranged number. ‘That’s her direct line,’ she said.

  He took it, said, ‘Miss Hale, it’s my impression that you would fit in here very well, although as I’m sure Craig told you, there is no specific post as yet. If you’ll leave your address, I’ll be in contact with you.’

  He stood up, shook hands with her again and showed her to the door. ‘I expect you’d like to see Craig. He’s three doors down.’

  She thanked him and went to look for Craig. His name was on the third door, which was open, so she tapped on it and went in.

  He looked up from his desk and grinned. A woman of around forty eyed her curiously from the other desk. Craig introduced her as Tina, then suggested they go for a coffee.

  He waited until they were in the lift before asking, ‘So how did it go?’

  ‘Well, I thin… although I’d have appreciated some warning about his idea of informal.’ She told him how rigorous it had been.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘It means he’s taking you seriously.’

  The lift opened and he took her along to the refectory. ‘Did he ask about where you were before?’

  ‘Quite a bit.’

  He bought her a coffee and they sat down. He took a sip, said, ‘Look, if you did get it, could you cope with that much work – a new job, remember – as well as all the BTA stuff?’

  ‘I don’t see why not…’ She looked at him curiously… ‘Why – d’you really think there’s a chance?’

  He nodded vigorously. ‘I do, yes. And it might be sooner than you think. I know he’d like to get someone in and trained up.’

  ‘Can he do that?’

  ‘He’ll find a way.’

  There was a slight pause. He looked at her speculatively and she had the sudden feeling that he was going to ask her out, but all he said was,

  ‘Haven’t you got an interview at the hospital tomorrow?’

  She nodded. ‘Nothing like as good as this, though. Clerical assistant.’

  ‘What’ll you do if you’re offered it?’

  She grinned. ‘Well, I’d rather have too many offers than too few… I’ll worry about it if it happens. Oh,’ she said, ‘I know what I was going to ask you – does Hannah work there? At the hospital, I mean. Only, she said she saw me there last week…’


  ‘She’s a Health Visitor, so I suppose she would be there sometimes.’ He paused. ‘What time were you there?’

  ‘Around midday.’

  ‘She was probably visiting one of her patients. What time’s your interview tomorrow?’

  ‘Half nine. And then I’m meeting Ron at his place in the afternoon.’

  ‘Well, I wish you joy of that.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said drily. ‘Anyway –’ She finished her coffee – ‘I’d better be going. Thanks for fixing this up, Craig –’ spoken this time with more sincerity.

  ‘My pleasure.’ He finished his own coffee. ‘And I’d better get back before Tina throws a wobbly.’ He stood up. ‘Tell me what happens tomorrow, won’t you? And I’ll let you know if I hear anything here.’

  She nodded. ‘All right.’

  They walked to the door. ‘Can you find your way out?’

  ‘Sure – just down there, isn’t it? Thanks, Craig.’

  She smiled and walked away. She had the feeling he was watching her go, but didn’t turn round to check.

  *

  Back in the flat, she phoned Herry and asked if she could come to his office in the morning, to cover the time of her supposed interview, in case Hannah was there again. ‘We need to talk, anyway,’ she said.

  He agreed. He sounded rather subdued, she thought.

  Next, she tried ringing round the rest of the team. She only got through to two, and only one had made much progress. Dan in Plymouth had joined the BTA branch and been to a meeting. He gave her what names he could, but hadn’t made any solid contacts.

  ‘Not for lack of trying,’ he told her, ‘but all they’d offer me was helping out in the charity shop.’

  ‘Take it,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I did, and had a good look round. Nothing there, so I’m going to phone the Membership Secretary tomorrow and ask if I can do any leafleting.’

  Josh in Bristol however, had, like her, managed to get onto the committee – in his case of the Anti-Slavery League. He gave her all their names and those of the other members he’d spoken to.

  ‘I have to say they seem a pretty harmless bunch,’ he said. ‘Complete fruitcakes, most of them, but in a nice kind of way.’