by AB Morgan
“Konrad Neale’s wife, Delia, has made a statement in which she expresses her disgust at her husband’s behaviour in the face of what looked to be an amicable divorce, our reporter...”
Click.
He opened his eye. ‘Eliza?’
‘You shouldn’t be watching that.’
‘I still can’t believe what’s happening.’ Seeing Eliza again, Konrad felt uneasiness, and couldn’t determine what was bothering him about her presence. As he grappled with this thought, it came to him. ‘Where’s Freddie?’
Eliza hesitated. ‘He’s at the police station. They’re asking him questions. I’m not sure what about. Dad, I’m sorry, he doesn’t want to see you.’
‘Why not?’
‘He says it’s because you deliberately belittled him in front of Chloe, but I think there’s more to it than that. What did you say to him?’
Konrad recalled every word, but gave his daughter the brief version. ‘I told him that I was expecting him to find a job to help support himself at uni, and not to keep hanging on my coat tails.’
‘He said you refused to find a job for him at Channel 7.’
‘Yes, of course I refused. I can’t create jobs or invent them. Anyway, he only wanted to work in London because he could be closer to Chloe’s head office and see her more often.’
‘He’s moved in with Mum for the summer instead, so Chloe will be a regular visitor. She and Mum can swap tips about fashion and make-up. How hideous.’ Eliza sighed.
‘Has your mother gone?’ Konrad asked. He hoped Delia would calm down, whilst accepting that the likelihood of that happening was going to be slim. The well-publicised news about Lorna being his mistress and the wild reports of sexual deviancy would whip her up into a fearful frenzy.
‘Yes, she has. I don’t think she’ll be visiting again soon.’ Eliza tried to smile. ‘Dad, is there anyone you would like me to contact for you? Barney has been trying to get hold of you on your mobile but the police have that. Can I tell him where you are?’
‘Yes please, Eliza, I need a mate just now. He looks like a blithering idiot but he’s not. Can you get hold of Annette Lichfield at Channel 7, my editor? I wonder if the police have spoken to her yet. Shit, I don’t know where to start without Lorna being around with her sensible brain. Annette’s the next best thing to common sense that I know.
‘Finally, can you reach John Brace my solicitor, I’d better tie up with him about the divorce before it gets too messy.’ Konrad felt pleased with himself for being able to think through his most pressing requirements, despite his fuzzy head and the pounding pain.
‘Sorry, Dad, you can’t use him. Mum got there first.’
‘Christ. She likes to make things harder than strictly necessary.’
‘However,’ Eliza interjected, ‘your bosses at Channel 7 have engaged the services of a big gun: Rupert Van Dahl. He’s a barrister, apparently, and he’s already dealing with the backlash in the press. The bosses must really want to support you through this.’
‘Oh, Eliza.’ He sighed at his daughter’s naïve, optimistic view of the world. ‘That’s not for me. Employing a top-notch barrister is to help preserve the reputation of the company. He’ll be doing their bidding, not mine. I’m not complaining mind you, he’ll have a great deal of incentive to make me look like a poor innocent victim and gain the public’s sympathy.’ Following that train of thought, Konrad arrived at the appalling conclusion that in order for him to be made the innocent victim, Lorna would be labelled and treated as the evil perpetrator. There could be no mention of a stalker in the press otherwise the nightmare would only become worse for both of them. Can I trust the police? I can trust Annette, she already knows about the stalker. She’s the only other one apart from Lorna. Do Mike and Joe know? Did I tell them? He couldn’t remember.
‘Dad?’ Eliza had raised her voice.
‘What?’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’ Eliza looked concerned. ‘I asked you if you needed anything else. I’ve asked for a phone to be put in here so we can call you, but is there anything else? I have to go, it’s getting late and I have work tomorrow. I’ll phone you.’ She leant forward and kissed her father on the cheek.
‘Eliza, you’re amazing. I love you. Please don’t think too badly of me. You’ll see, “the truth will out”. I’m not a sex pervert.’
‘Dad, I’m not an idiot. You’re so naïve at times; how could you be a pervert if your life has been filled with vanilla sex? Let’s face it, you didn’t even know what a milf was, let alone what some of things are they’ve talked about in the press, so I know it can’t be true. Hang on in there.’ She smiled down at her dad who had been holding his breath waiting for the rejection to come, and when it didn’t he let out a sigh and a stream of tears. ‘You can stop that nonsense, it’ll make your bandage soggy.’ With a gentle touch of her hand on his, Eliza left.
Still don’t understand what she meant by vanilla sex. Sounds like ice cream.
Konrad had only himself for company for the rest of the evening, interrupted by the occasional visit from a staff nurse who would carry out vital-sign checks and administer antibiotics and steroids. His spirits had slowly and inexorably plummeted as the consequences of Tessa Carlton’s actions became more apparent. The damage she had incurred was irreversible and catastrophic. Konrad managed to persuade himself that he could handle the condemnation for having been caught with his mistress in a hotel room, and he was convinced that he would recover his own public image, somehow, and be able to deal with the divorce.
What he could not accept, however, were the deeper and more painful losses. The loss of his eye, the loss of Lorna, and knowing that their reunion had been shattered into disgusting pieces and lowered to the level of cheap tacky pornography. He couldn’t even picture it in his head. What did they mean when they said on the news about sadomasochistic activities? What does that mean exactly?
26
She took a seat in front of the camera.
‘I’ve been watching the news again today, Konrad, listening out for the latest updates on your story. It’s the most exciting real-life television drama you’ve ever been involved in, and I’m sure the world must look entirely different for you now with one eye, your mistress in prison, your son disowning you, a wife beside herself with rage at your betrayal and your future career in tatters. It’s what you deserve for poking your nose into private matters. Perhaps Lorna should have been ordered to cut that off while she was slashing at your face.
‘Have you seen yourself on film yet, I wonder? You and Lorna were magnificent.
‘I did think that taking on two of you would be a risk, but whatever those clever Chinese chemists have done to that powder is nothing short of genius. The Columbians have the raw stuff, the Devil’s Breath, but the Chinese have finesse and the know-how to turn it into a much better product. I only wish I could get hold of more, but the stupid bastards got themselves caught in Paris. So, Konrad, you had the last of my supplies. I made good use of it though, don’t you think?
‘You and Lorna. What a performance and I must say you were the easiest cast members to direct. Everything I asked of you, down to the facial expressions, you carried out without question. I honestly thought I was going to run out of battery in the camera before the pair of you had reached the final climax. Konrad, if only you knew how tempted I was to join in with you and Lorna. It was such a turn-on watching you. Alas, it was not to be. I had a plan in mind, and despite your distracting cock, I had to make sure I followed it.
The police will be looking for Tessa Carlton by now I’m sure. I wish them luck. I’ll be in touch soon, Konrad. Maybe, a get-well card would be in order.
27
‘Good morning, Mr Neale. I hope you managed to get some sleep last night.’ Staff Nurse Sheila had woken him as she entered his hospital room carrying a tray. ‘I know it isn’t your usual standard of breakfast, but I’m reliably informed that the scrambled eggs taste much better than they look,
although the toast underneath is probably a little on the soggy side it adds a certain… je ne sais quoi… to the dish,’ she said as she placed the morning’s offering onto the adjustable table, which she then manoeuvred expertly into place.
Helping Konrad to sit up, she changed the angle of the backrest and plumped up his pillows. On waking, he had felt disorientated for a few seconds mostly because, during the time asleep, he’d forgotten about the loss of his eye. The sad reality crashed back into his head as soon as he recognised Sheila and the clinical room he had woken up to find. He couldn’t speak for a while as he readjusted.
‘Your daughter has phoned already to see how you are. She’s a lovely girl. Now then, eat what you can, and after breakfast you and I are going to get up close and personal behind these curtains – for a wash.’ Sheila caught the expression on Konrad’s face. ‘Not me. You. Yes, Mr Neale, I know the thought is embarrassing but I’m a nurse and it’s one of my specialities. You will feel so much better afterwards. Just think of it as a free spa treatment.’
‘I’d rather not. You’ll be getting out the hose for a colonic next.’
Sheila grinned and ignored the inference. ‘Hopefully by tomorrow you’ll be able to get up and about a bit more, but for now you have to keep that pressure bandage dry for a good five days in total.’
‘When can I get rid of this catheter bag? It’s embarrassing. I feel so incredibly weak and useless.’
‘Let’s see how you get on today. Eat up. I’ll return to scrub your back in half an hour or so.’
‘No rush, I’m not going anywhere. And Sheila… thanks for putting up with me. I don’t usually swear at nurses. I’m sorry.’
‘Mr Neale, you apologised yesterday. It’s forgotten about. See you later.’ Sheila waved briefly as she headed back out into the busy breakfast rush-hour traffic on the main ward corridor.
It was only when he started to eat his eggs did he appreciate what an impact having one eye would have on his life. He found judging the distance between the plate, cutlery, and mouth quite tricky. He had to concentrate hard not to miss the food altogether. Several times he misjudged where the fork was in relation to his mouth and stabbed his lips and clattered his teeth as a result. Without both eyes, his spatial awareness at close range was badly affected, the loss of one eye meant breakfast was out of focus and lacking dimension.
Looking around him at the far corners of his small room he realised that judgement over longer distances didn’t seem to be as difficult, but in doing so confirmed that his peripheral vision would be problematical in the future. He had to move his head more than was natural to fully scan around him, and this still hurt.
His next trial was heralded by the return of Sheila wearing a thin plastic apron and surgical gloves. She moved the table and cleared space to work in. Raising the bed using the electric controls, she also pulled the concertina blue curtains around the area, providing privacy.
Her expert routine for carrying out a bed bath had been finely honed. Towels were moved to maintain dignity when possible, and each area of Konrad’s body from top to bottom was treated to a thorough wash and dry. To his amazement there were other injuries to his body that he hadn’t known about. He might have missed them altogether if it hadn’t been for the running commentary provided by Sheila as she worked. She had sat him up and leant him forward to enable her to wash his back and shoulders. ‘This might sting a little, there are some abrasions across your back.’
‘Are there? Like what?’
‘Like long straight red marks.’
‘What are they from?’
‘I don’t know, Mr Neale. You really can’t remember, can you?’
‘No, I bloody can’t.’ He could feel Sheila’s experienced hands move across his back as she outlined for him where his injuries were. She kept her voice down as she described what she saw. ‘There are few of the same on your buttocks. They look a bit sore, so we’ll have to keep an eye on those. Luckily the skin isn’t broken like the ones on your back.’ When he was dried, she sat him up to rest while she helped him to wash the front of his body. He was encouraged to do what he could for himself, but Sheila took over again by washing his lower legs and finally his feet.
With a fresh hospital gown on, he felt slightly more human, although the unwelcome sight of white surgical stockings being put on again offended him somewhat.
‘Are those absolutely necessary?’
‘Better than thrombosis, Mr Neale. When you’re up and about, they can come off.’
‘For Christ’s sake don’t let anyone take a photo. Can you imagine what the bloody press would make of it?’ Sheila laughed.
Konrad told her how impressed he was at the way she had managed to change the sheets on his bed as she worked. ‘We often do this in pairs because it’s easier, but you’re pretty mobile so it’s not hard on my own. You just have to be organised,’ she said as she neatened the bedclothes. ‘I’m old school, so I’m sure my methods are probably out-dated, but they work for me and my back.’
‘They’ve made sure you and Christine are the only two nurses who tend to me, haven’t they? You’re trustworthy, dependable and bloody good nurses, but even I know that staff nurses don’t usually carry out such menial tasks as washing a patient and putting on his damned stockings for him.’
‘No flies on you, Mr Neale, are there?’ Sheila said, confirming his observation that he was being given special treatment. Not because of celebrity status but because of a scandal and a crime. The hospital couldn’t afford any leaks to the media, and neither could the police.
Putting the tray table back in front of her patient, Sheila provided the means for him to brush his own teeth using a cheap brush, toothpaste, a small bowl to spit into and clean water in a large tumbler.
‘At least I can brush my own bloody teeth.’ Konrad’s embarrassment at his level of disability had not gone unnoticed by Sheila. ‘You let me know when your bowels call for attention and we’ll see if you can manage to wipe your own bottom, shall we?’ She had a wicked grin. He managed a smile and a small snort of a laugh. ‘Thank God for a sense of humour, Mr Neale. Thank God.’
‘Thank God,’ Konrad said looking up at the ceiling. He wasn’t entirely sure he meant what he said, but the sentiment was a good one. Sheila busied herself tidying up and finally asked if he wanted to watch the television before she left him alone again.
‘Yes please. I’m not brilliant company for myself right now. I’ll try to avoid the news channels.’ He gave Sheila a half-hearted wave as she departed and switched on to BBC news straight away. He couldn’t help his enquiring mind.
‘Oh my giddy aunt,’ he exclaimed. There on the screen was Gorgeous George. Konrad turned up the volume and prepared to be dismayed. George was being interviewed outside the offices of Marriot and Weston’s, immaculately kempt, George was clearly emotional as he said his piece to camera in response to questioning from the roving reporter for BBC Breakfast.
‘We are all still in a terrible state of shock. We can’t believe it’s true. He’s such a wonderful man, so polite, so friendly and generous. What the papers have said is outrageous and they should get their facts straight before firing off. Look what happened last week when they made allegations that Mr Neale was gay, just because he took me out to lunch. He looks after his work colleagues and his friends because he is a genuinely kind person and we wish him a speedy recovery. I have to go now, I’m too upset to say anything more.’ Konrad watched the screen in amusement as George swiped the back of this hand across his forehead and sashayed dramatically through the revolving doors into the reception area.
The news reporter was reaching the summing up stage and ended her short piece by saying, ‘We understand that Mr Neale is seeing his barrister today to begin the preparations for the high-profile court case that will be heard in the not too distant future.’
I’m seeing my barrister today? That’s news to me.
He toyed with the idea of pressing the call bell to ask Shei
la, but he didn’t want to take her away from her other patients to answer a stupid selfish question. The phone rang, breaking into his ponderings.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Mr Neale, this is Jan the ward clerk, I have a call for you from a Mr Rupert Van Dahl. He says he’s your barrister but that you may not actually be aware of that fact. I’m not sure if he’s telling the truth, Mr Neale. Should I put him through to you?’
‘Thanks for being so cautious, Jan. I really appreciate it. Yes, I do know of him. It’s okay to put him through.’
‘Good. I wasn’t sure. I’ll add his name to the list of approved contacts.’
Approved contacts. God, they are being tight with security.
There was a click and the line opened. ‘Hello, Mr Van Dahl, Konrad Neale speaking.’
The conversation was brief. Konrad agreed to Rupert taking on the case and being his legal representative, because that choice had already been made for him, and they indulged in a bullet-point review. However, once Konrad had alluded to a more complex scenario than Rupert had been led to believe, he was cut short.
‘Not on the phone. I’ll come up to Manchester. Your case has been given priority by chambers. I’ll be there later today. Can you give me the DCI’s name… Gethin Anwell and he’s at the Gwynedd police headquarters in Bangor itself? Right, I’ll give him a call. Cheerio.’
He wasn’t sure he liked Rupert. He reasoned that the plum in his barrister’s mouth must have been huge to make him sound that ridiculously pompous. Rupert Van Dahl. Typical posh boy from a top public school who’s never seen real life, and the sort of wanker that I despise. Just my ruddy luck.
He closed his eye to escape from the world for a minute or two.
When he opened his eye again, two people were sitting on chairs next to this bed. Annette had touched his hand to wake him.
‘Hello, you pair. I’m so pleased it’s you,’ Konrad croaked.
