Unusually, I had the staff kitchen all to myself and I lingered there for a while, drinking my coffee and gathering my thoughts. I always enjoyed the daily ward rounds, as they gave me the opportunity to develop relationships with individual patients and observe their progress first-hand. However, they could be rather draining, especially when, like today, I found myself on the intensive care unit. It was difficult tending to people who were existing on the cusp of life and death and it had certainly given me a deeper appreciation of how incredibly lucky I was to be fit and healthy and in control of my own destiny.
As I rinsed my cup at the sink, my thoughts turned once again to what I’d seen at the station. It was clear that Sammi had already succeeded in winning Chloe over, but for me she had a personality like a rash – itchy, chafing, the kind of woman I just couldn’t feel comfortable around. I’d been wary of her right from the beginning and my feelings hadn’t changed; there was too much about her I didn’t know. She did a very good job of playing Little Miss Perfect, but there was a vulpine curve to her mouth and a hunger in her eyes.
Scowling to myself, I set my mug on the draining board and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had half a mind to text Chloe there and then and ask her if she knew what Tom was up to right now. But she was already under a lot of stress and I didn’t want to drop a bombshell on her while she was at work; it would surely be kinder to tell her in person. I must admit, I would be stunned if it turned out Tom was cheating on Chloe. He just didn’t seem the sort – but then again, neither did Pete.
I hesitated for a moment, drumming my fingers on my mobile phone case – thinking, rationalising, calculating – then I pulled up Pete’s text message and began typing a reply.
R u at the hospital? x
His reply pinged through almost immediately:
Yes, off duty at 7 x
Me 2, meet me on my dinner break? x
Er, 2mrw would be better x
Can’t wait till 2mrw . . . horny NOW!!
I was cringing as I typed it; sexting had never been my style, but in this case the end justified the means. Pete took a minute or so to reply to this last message and I wondered for one horrible moment if I’d misjudged him, but then . . .
OK, u twisted my arm! When/where? x
Nope, I’d been spot on – Pete Chambers thought with his dick, just like all the others.
East Wing, 2nd floor stairwell. 7.15. Don’t be late x
I sent my reply and tucked my phone away. As I made my way back to the dispensary, I found that my mood had suddenly lifted.
I was there before Pete. I knew he’d be anxious about meeting me on hospital premises like this and I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he’d had a last-minute change of heart. But no, he arrived bang on time, smartly dressed in suit trousers and an open-necked shirt. My throat thickened when I saw him, which caused me a certain degree of irritation; I hated knowing he could still have that effect on me, after the cruel way he’d led me up the garden path.
‘What’s the plan then?’ he asked.
‘Follow me,’ I replied, turning towards the double doors that led to the surgical day unit. I knew exactly where I was headed, having scoped it out earlier; I wasn’t about to leave anything to chance.
Most of the unit’s staff had already left for the day and the corridors were deserted, but that didn’t stop Pete casting around over his shoulder every five seconds, fearful we might be spotted. I didn’t know why he was so worried; a surgeon chatting to a pharmacist in a hospital corridor was hardly going to raise any eyebrows. As we rounded the next corner, I stopped outside the staff washroom that served the nearby operating theatres.
Pete looked at me in disbelief. ‘You are joking?’
‘Where’s your sense of danger?’ I said teasingly. ‘Seriously, though, no one’s going to come in here; the operating theatres have shut up shop until tomorrow. But just in case . . .’ Reaching into my trouser pocket, I withdrew a piece of paper and stuck it to the washroom door with a strip of surgical tape:
DO NOT ENTER!
sanitisation in progress
Pete grinned wolfishly. ‘You little minx.’
He reached for me the second we got inside. As his lips pressed roughly against mine and his hands reached under my tunic, I felt the unmistakeable determination of his intent and the automatic surge of my response. But my resolve stayed firm and I refused to allow myself to be distracted from the task at hand.
‘We’ll have to be quick,’ I whispered huskily. ‘I’ve only got half an hour.’
‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ he whispered back. ‘I’ve been ready for this ever since I got your text.’
I unzipped Pete’s trousers and yanked them to the floor along with his underwear. ‘Let’s go in there, shall we?’ I said, pointing to one of the two shower cubicles. ‘Just in case somebody does come in.’
Nodding in agreement, he stepped out of his trousers and boxers. I scooped them up off the floor and tossed them over one of the stainless-steel wall hooks. Then I took off the fleece I was wearing and hung it on top of the trousers.
We both stepped into the shower cubicle and I flipped the catch on the door. Pete began fumbling with the buttons of my tunic, his excitement obvious. Just as he was reaching for the final button, I pushed him away and held up a warning finger. ‘Condoms!’ I hissed, as if the thought had only just occurred to me. ‘I borrowed some from the dispensary; they’re in the pocket of my fleece . . . don’t go anywhere!’
Ignoring Pete’s groan of frustration, I slipped the door catch and stepped out of the cubicle, pulling the door to behind me. It only took a few seconds to retrieve our clothing from the hook and exit the washroom. Outside, I stopped briefly to pull the notice off the door and stuff it in my pocket, before I began walking briskly back along the corridor towards the stairwell.
‘Megan?’ I heard Pete say, his voice sounding tinny and distant as it filtered through two closed doors. I carried on walking and didn’t look back.
26
It’s dark in this airing cupboard, dark and very warm. My hands are pressed over my ears, but I can still hear them. They’ve been arguing for ages and it’s all because of me.
It started with the letter that arrived this morning. It’s Saturday today, so Dad’s not at work. He picked the letter up off the doormat and opened it as we ate our breakfast together. I could tell straight away it was bad news. The more Dad read, the more his face seemed to sag with the weight of the words. When he got to the bottom of the letter, he laid it down on the table and gave a great big sigh like he’d just run a marathon.
‘It’s from the school,’ he said. ‘The headmaster wants to see us; apparently you were involved in a physical altercation with another student last week.’
‘A physical what?’
‘A scrap of some sort.’
I stared into the puddle of chocolatey milk at the bottom of my cereal bowl. Stupid, shit-stirring Mr Finch. I thought we’d sorted all that out in his office.
‘It says here that the other student sustained a “substantial injury, requiring hospital treatment”,’ Dad said, drawing bunny ears in the air. ‘Do you know what the injury was?’
I rested my elbows on the table and cupped my face in my hands, figuring it would make me look more innocent somehow. ‘I think he might have broken his arm, but I didn’t mean to do it, I swear.’
Dad’s face sagged some more. ‘So what happened exactly?’
I told him what I’d told Mr Finch and when I’d finished, Dad took in a large mouthful of air, so his cheeks puffed out. Then he let the air out slowly through his nose. ‘You do know I’m going to have to tell Mum about this, don’t you?’
I’d been hoping and praying he wasn’t going to say that; even just hearing the words made my shoulders shake as a freezing shiver ran up my spine. ‘No, Dad,’ I said, reaching for his hand across the table. ‘You can’t tell her; you know what’ll happen.’
He smiled sadly. ‘I�
��m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t keep something this big from her. In any case, the headmaster wants to see us both.’
Right on cue, we heard footsteps above us. Mum had woken up. I looked up at the ceiling.
Dad patted the back of my hand. ‘She’ll be down in a minute. You know how grumpy she is when she wakes up, so I’ll wait until she’s had a cup of coffee before I tell her. It’s probably best if you make yourself scarce for a bit. Why don’t you go over to Anouk’s? I can drop you there in the car if you like.’
I shook my head. ‘Anouk’s visiting her grandma in the old people’s home.’
‘One of your other friends?’
‘I don’t have any other friends.’
Dad turned his head to look out of the kitchen window. It was raining, or I know he would’ve told me to play outside in the garden. ‘You’d better go up to your room, then – and don’t come down until I tell you.’
So that’s what I did. I don’t have loads of things to play with in my room, not like Anouk, but I had my books and my friendship bracelet kit and that was enough. Pretty soon, I heard Mum moving round in the bathroom next door to my room and then the creaking of the stairs. Fifteen minutes went by and then half an hour. It was soon after that that I heard the explosion; it was a series of explosions, actually. First there was a scream, or maybe it was more of a howl, then came the sound of crockery smashing, followed by a loud thump, as if a chair had been knocked over. After that the arguing started. The kitchen is right below my bedroom, so I could hear the words licking up through the floor. It went on and on and on, but these are the bits that stick in my head:
Mum: Why does she do it? Why does she have to torture us like this?
Dad: It was an accident, Janine, just a couple of kids mucking around in the playground.
Mum: What if that boy’s parents decide to sue us?
Dad: Stuff like this happens all the time in school; no one’s going to sue us over an accident.
Mum: I’m telling you, this was no accident. That child’s evil; bad things always happen when she’s around. I don’t know why we didn’t hand her over to Social Services years ago.
Dad: How can you say that about your own flesh and blood? You can’t hold it against her forever. She was only a little girl; she didn’t know what she was doing. She’s still a little girl, for heaven’s sakes.
Mum [makes that kind of mmmp noise when you’re just about to puke]: I think she knew exactly what she was doing.
Dad: You need to find a way of forgiving her, Janine, or it will end up destroying you . . . destroying all of us.
Mum: My life was destroyed four years ago; our darling daughter made sure of that. And don’t tell me what I need, you weak, pathetic excuse for a man. What I need is a drink . . .
At that point, I didn’t want to hear any more, so I climbed into the airing cupboard, which is at the other end of the landing and as far away from the kitchen as I could get. It smells a bit fusty in here; I wouldn’t be surprised if half the towels and duvet covers on the shelves above my head weren’t even clean. I’ve been here for ten minutes now. I can still hear their voices, but not the actual words, which is a relief. Suddenly, the voices stop and I hear big, angry ogre footsteps coming up the stairs.
‘Where are you?’ Mum shouts. ‘Where are you, you little bitch?’
‘Janine!’ Dad calls from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Leave her alone! Let’s at least wait until we’ve seen the headmaster and we know all the facts.’
‘I know everything I need to know,’ Mum snarls. ‘Our daughter broke a boy’s arm and now she’s going to pay for it.’
I’ve seen Mum in a bad mood a lot before (when isn’t she in a bad mood?), but this time it sounds as if she’s really on the warpath. I open the airing cupboard door a tiny bit and peer through the crack, just in time to see Mum going into my room.
‘It’s no good hiding,’ she says. ‘I’m not going to stop looking until I find you.’ I hear my wardrobe door sliding open. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ she says nastily like a witch in a fairy tale.
I decide to make a run for it and I push open the airing cupboard door and tear along the landing, past my bedroom door, and down the stairs.
‘Sweetheart?’ Dad says, as I burst into the kitchen, where he’s sitting drinking tea as if his only child wasn’t just about to get the hiding of her life. I don’t bother answering, there’s no time; instead I open the back door and run out into the garden, even though I’m not wearing any shoes. It’s stopped raining, but the grass is wet and squishy under my toes. I look around for somewhere to hide, but the shed’s got a big padlock on it and there isn’t anywhere else, so I run to the garden gate. I don’t have a plan, I only know I need to get as far away from Mum as possible. If I stand on my tippy-toes, I can reach the bolt on the gate, but it’s big and rusty and you can’t just slide it open; you have to work it free by jiggling the bolt up and down. The bolt makes so much noise, I don’t hear Mum creeping across the grass. Then all at once her hand slams down on my shoulder.
I try to wriggle away from her, but she grabs me by both arms and pushes me back against the gate. My mouth is very dry, I hardly have any spit, and I can hear my heart hammering in my throat.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt Liam,’ I tell her. ‘It was an accident.’
‘I wasn’t born yesterday,’ she says. ‘Now, how do you think I should punish you?’
‘I d-d-d-don’t kn-kn-know.’ She’s squeezing me so hard my teeth are chattering in my head. Then she starts dragging me across the garden towards the shed. Something hard and sharp swims up from my belly and tries to push itself out as a sob.
When we get to the shed, Mum holds my arm with one hand, while her other hand reaches for a metal bucket that’s lying on the ground with loads of other junk. She turns it upside down and orders me to stand on top of it. I do what she says, even though it’s hard because my legs have turned to jelly. I think I’ve wet myself too, because my knickers feel a bit damp and I just caught a whiff of pee.
‘Are you ready?’ she says, grabbing me by the neck. The next thing I know, she’s shoving my head downwards and suddenly I can’t breathe. The reason I can’t breathe is because my whole head is under water. The water’s freezing and my hair’s floating over my eyes, so I can’t see a thing. I try to lift my head up, but I can’t; Mum won’t let me. My lungs are thrashing as if they’re about to explode and my heart feels like a helium balloon, rising away from my feet. Is this what it feels like to die?
I don’t know how long I’m under for, but when Mum yanks my head out of the big green water butt that was full to the top because of all the rain we’ve had, I gasp and gasp as if I’ll never be able to get enough air.
Then I hear Dad’s voice from somewhere behind us: ‘Janine! That’s enough!’
‘I don’t think so,’ Mum says and goes to push my head back under – but before she can, Dad’s lifting me up off the bucket and into his arms. I’m dripping water all over his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind. ‘I said, that’s enough,’ he repeats.
Mum shoots him an evil look. ‘You two deserve each other,’ she says, before she stomps off into the house.
27
Chloe
It was almost like old times: Megan and I ensconced in a Colombian tapas bar, agonising over which cocktail to try first. Small and dimly lit, the bar had only opened a month or so earlier and was barely a ten-minute walk from Bellevue Rise. I’d been dying to check it out, so I was thrilled when Megan phoned me at work, practically demanding we put a date in the diary. It was nearly a week before we both had a free evening, but now here we were at last and I was determined to make the most of this rare time together.
‘Thanks for organising this, Meg,’ I said, as our first cocktail arrived. ‘It’s just what the doctor ordered.’
‘You’re very welcome – and remember, this is my treat.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ I told her. ‘Why don’t we j
ust go halves?’
‘Because I want to pay,’ Megan said forcefully. ‘It’s the least I can do. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately – the night terrors are evidence of that – and I wasn’t there when you needed me. But I’m here for you now, I promise.’
A wave of affection for her rolled over me as I realised how much I’d missed her over the past few weeks. ‘I really appreciate you saying that, especially when you’ve got lots of other demands on your time . . . speaking of which, how is the sexy surgeon? Maybe I’ll even be able to meet him with his clothes on one of these days.’
Megan’s face contracted for a second. ‘I’m not seeing Pete any more,’ she said tartly. ‘Not since I found out from a colleague that his wife’s pregnant with child number three.’
I gasped. ‘So you mean the divorce—’
‘Was a load of old bullshit, designed to sweet-talk me into bed.’
I felt dreadful for Megan. I knew she would never knowingly have targeted a married man; she was far too principled for that. ‘I’m so sorry, hon. Are you absolutely gutted?’
She gave a quick shrug. ‘I was upset at first, but I’m over it now. In any case, I made sure he got his comeuppance.’ She leaned across the table and dropped her voice. ‘I lured him into one of the hospital washrooms on the promise of a quick shag, then I did a runner with his trousers and underpants.’
The revelation detonated an explosion of laughter that forced the mouthful of caipirinha I’d just swallowed straight back out through my nose.
Megan grinned back at me. ‘A hospital porter found him wandering the corridors of the day unit with a surgical mask clamped over his privates.’
I was now laughing so hard that tears were streaming down my face. ‘So what did Pete do then?’
‘Sent the poor bewildered porter off in search of some scrubs, so he could at least cycle home without being arrested. Except the porter couldn’t find any that were the right size, so Pete had to walk through the hospital looking like a complete twat, in trousers that were three inches too short and tight enough to give him a hernia.’
The Housemate Page 13