by Val Penny
When Joe walked into the room, it was quiet. He was surprised to see Frankie sitting there. The stench of his coat entered with him. He sat down beside the lad. They both sat, deep in thought; staring silently at Annie.
***
Mr Castle walked in and coughed; he had not smelt Joe before. Frankie and Joe flinched. The medic tried and failed to clear his throat of the smell. He found that gasping did not help either. He walked to the far side of the room but found the distance was not enough.
He looked from Joe's face to Frankie's. He recognised the agony and anguish that emanated from both men. Mr Castle never found it easy to deliver bad news, but today the giving the message was more even difficult than usual. A young man was losing his partner and gaining two baby girls.
He walked quietly around trying to find the words that would deliver the coup de grace with the least amount of sorrow. He did need both men to see Annie as he explained the urgency of the situation for the children she bore.
***
Annie could not see him. She was aware of his presence. She had come to trust Mr Castle. Today his presence meant her death. She knew this. The girls lay quietly within her. It was their time now. Frankie would care for them, support them and love them, just as he had done for her. Courage.
She heard the consultant take a deep breath. She knew Mr Castle would regret that because the stench emanating from Joe was exaggerated by the hospital heat. She heard the consultant breathe out. Then he spoke. He had a comforting, melodious voice. It was only the words that were upsetting.
“Mr Johnson, Mr Hope, thank you so much for your time. I know it is precious.”
“It is Annie that is precious,” Frankie said softly. “And the babies.”
“Aye lad,” agreed Joe.
“Of course,” Mr Castle said. “We need to make a decision.”
***
Joe sat, completely unconscious of the ordeal he was inflicting on the consultant, He watched Mr Castle intently, as if staring at him would change bad news to good.
***
If Frankie had not been so engrossed in Annie, he would have found Mr Castle's discomfort funny. Today, he did not notice. He did not care about anything but Annie and the babies. He knew instinctively, today, something had to give.
***
“The issue we have is this.” Mr Castle tried again to get Frankie and Joe to focus on his words. “The woman...”
“Annie.” Frankie never lifted his eyes from her face.
“Annie,” Mr Castle said. “She sustained internal wounds and head injuries of such severity that she cannot survive unaided. We always knew this day would come.”
“Aye son, but I don't need to like it.”
“I understand, Mr Johnson. However, recently we have noticed a change in the way her babies are lying.”
“Our babies,” Frankie corrected.
“Yes,” Mr Castle went on. “The babies have been moving less and less. That is what we would expect as they grow.”
“Aye son. So?”
“So Annie has done a wonderful job, and her babies—”
“Our babies.”
“Your babies have developed as well as could be expected since she came in. Usually, with twins, we would deliver the babies early anyway. With this woman—”
“Annie.”
“With Annie, we have been monitoring her around the clock, and today, we have noticed the babies are hardly moving at all. We have no choice: we need to deliver the babies today, without delay, in order to save them. However, Mr Johnson, we need your permission to do that.”
“Aye son. Why's that then?” Joe asked. “You just have to do what is best.”
“Yes, Mr Johnson.” Castle sighed again. “But what will save the twins will result in your daughter's death.”
“Annie,” hissed Frankie again.
“Annie. After the delivery, we will disconnect the equipment that is supporting her. There is no hope of saving Annie, Mr Johnson. But we still need your permission to proceed, because it will precipitate Annie's death. I understand her mother is dead and you, as her father, are her next of kin. Do you understand?”
“Aye, son. Annie has to die for the twins to live. That's it isn't it?”
“Yes, Mr Johnson. That's it in a nutshell.”
“Oh God, Joe!” Frankie wailed. “Today we lose Annie.”
“Frankie, no, she's already away, son.”
“But I can come and see her, talk to her, hold her hand. She's not dead to me, Joe!”
“I know, Frankie boy, but if we don't let her go, we lose them babes as well. That's it, isn't it, Doc?”
“We need you to make a decision,” Castle said abruptly. “If I am to operate to save the babies, I must do so now.”
“Aye, son.”
“Is that consent, Mr Johnson?” Mr Castle asked. “If the delivery is to go ahead, it must be this afternoon.”
“So, what do we do, Joe?” Frankie asked balefully.
“Well, it is Mr Johnson's decision.” Castle commented testily.
“And there's nothing you can do for my Annie? Nothing at all? You are sure?” Joe asked, plaintively.
Castle shook his head.
“Where do I sign?” Joe took the form of consent. With his left hand, he signed where the doctor indicated to permit the operation that would end Annie's life.
“Please, you should take time to read it carefully.”
“Will reading it change anything, son?”
Mr Castle shook his head again. “No, Mr Johnson, it won't.”
Joe smiled ruefully.
“Then consider it read and understood.”
The surgeon called for a nurse to conduct the preparation while he and the team went to scrub up.
***
Frankie kept wiping his eyes and sniffing. He refused Joe's offer of a handkerchief. He took pictures of Annie with his phone. He did not know if they were good or bad, he could not see.
“I feel as miserable as you do, lad. Maybe I should have said and no signed.” Joe said. “After all, she's no mine.”
“Annie would be so hurt to hear you say that, Joe. You know you're her real dad.”
“Will ye let me see they bairns?”
“Course, Joe! You're their Grandad.”
“We both know, now, that was nae true.”
“Aye, it is! Annie loved you. You're her dad and she loved the bones of you.”
“Thanks, lad. That means a lot. You got names for the girls?”
For the first time since he had arrived in the hospital, Frankie smiled. A broad, easy smile. The one Annie had fallen for.
“Aye Joe. I've got really lovely names for them. Kylie Ann and Dannii Ann. Like the Minogue sisters. They're braw. Ann as a wee nod to their mum and your Mary-Ann too. What do you think?”
“Kylie Ann Hope and Dannii Ann Hope.” Joe mulled the names over. “That's fine, lad. More than fine. Excellent. You're a good lad, Frankie. You'll do well by the girls.”
“I'll try, Joe. I'll do my best. And I've got my mam to help, of course. I'll need her at first. I know nought about babies.” Frankie looked at Joe and smiled nervously. “But I'm glad you like the names. You're the first one I've told.”
It felt like forever until a nurse came into the room. She led Frankie and Joe up to the ward to see the twins. She caught her breath, sniffed the air, and glanced at Joe. He realised that she identified him as the source of the offensive odour when he noticed the expression on her face.
“Too much beer and nicotine, nurse. Two of the main food groups.” He smiled.
She swept open the door to the ward and Frankie touched the tiny fingers of each of the twins. He took their pictures with his phone. Joe smiled at the nurse again.
“Just a couple of minutes, then Mr Castle will need to speak to you again.”
Joe nodded. When she left, he spoke quietly.
“So beautiful. Those babies are perfect, lad. Just perfect.”
“So
tiny.”
“Aye lad, they are that.”
“Joe, if what you and my pop told me is true, I have to talk to the doctors.” Frankie never took his eyes off the twins.
“Aye, talk to them. Then you know. They have to know too. For the babies.”
“Joe, I'm scared.”
“Me too, son. Me too.” Joe patted Frankie on his shoulder and the two of them went to find Mr Castle, who reeled slightly as Joe entered the room.
“Mr Johnson,” he said. “You have had a chance to see your new granddaughters, I believe?”
“Well, son,” Joe began.
“You have both been to see the twins?” Castle asked.
“Yes,” Frankie and Joe answered in unison.
“It's just that you may want to be with Annie when we turn off the life support.”
“Then she'll die, son?”
“She will.”
“Will she feel anything?” Frankie asked.
“No, Mr Hope. She won't.”
“Will it be quick for her, son?”
“I don't think it will take long.”
“Sad. So sad, son.”
“It is, indeed, Mr Johnson. Now, shall we all go to Annie?”
It was the hardest thing Joe or Frankie had ever done.
***
Joe marched out of the hospital, wiping his nose on his coat sleeve. Frankie knew that whenever he wanted to see Joe, he would find him in Bennett's pub. It would be warm in there. Joe would play dominoes for beer.
Frankie took the chance to linger.
“I know there is nothing I can do for you now, pet. It's all about the babies. I will get flowers for your funeral from them, that say ‘MUMMY’, or ‘MUM’, maybe. See, Annie, I have photos of them on my phone. I have named them Kylie Ann and Dannii Ann. I hope you like the names.”
***
Annie did like the names. Her eyes were already closed. She never saw the photos.
***
Robert Castle followed Frankie out of the room leaving Annie under a white sheet.
“Mr Castle, I need to tell you something. And then ask you something.”
“Mr Hope?”
Frankie explained the relationship between himself and Annie. He stressed they had not known about it until after Annie's accident. They did not mean to do any wrong. They loved each other.
“So I don't suppose she ever knew. Best that, really,” Frankie said. “Anyway, I wanted to know, will it affect the girls? It's bad, isn't it?”
“Well, it isn't good. But, to be honest with you, it is too early to tell if the twins are affected. As I understand it you and Annie were not full siblings?”
“What's that?”
“You were only half-brother and sister, not full-blood.”
“Aye, that's right. My pop was her pop. That's it. My mam wasn't her mam. You understand?”
“I am glad you told me.” The consultant paused. “The babies will remain in the specialist neo-natal unit for quite a while because they are premature. When they are fit enough you can take them home, but we will make sure you have health visitor and GP support.”
“Okay. Thanks, I think.”
“This is really very interesting. I will ensure the twins are closely monitored for any adverse effects of your close relationship with their mother. We will discuss the details at a later date, Mr Hope.”
“Yes. Thanks.” Frankie did not fully understand why he was thanking this man. He made his way home.
Chapter Forty-Two
Tim stopped at his dad's on the way home.
“Monika has left,” his father greeted him. “She said she did not know if I was mad or bad, but she could not cope with me and my life any more.”
“You mean, she could not cope with the money drying up. So she's gone back to Switzerland?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I never liked that woman.”
“I know.” His father smiled. “Coffee?”
“Please. You told Mackay about John Hamilton, I believe?”
“Yes, he has others who support my evidence.” Sir Peter looked at his son sadly. “Is it difficult for you at work, yet?”
“Could be better. Not as bad as for you, Dad. Most folk at the station are supportive, but there are always one or two. John Hamilton was one, I admit.”
“And Wilson?”
“The DI? No, he's been great.”
“Really? That surprises me. I thought he might take the opportunity to get his own back on me, through you.”
“No, honestly, he couldn't have been more supportive. John Hamilton has been a bit of an arse, but he'll have other things to worry about now.”
“Hmm. That man has more problems than he can dream of. So, don't waste too much energy worrying about him. Anyway, to what do I owe this pleasure? I doubt it is just for my coffee, excellent though it is.”
“It is indeed, but that’s not the reason. Dad, I'm just fed up. We spent two days getting access to Ian Thomson's other garage where he keeps his old 4x4, only to discover the garage was empty and nobody seems to know anything about it. So bloody irritating.”
“Say that again.” Sir Peter Myerscough reacted sharply. “He has two garages?”
“Yes, up Orchardhead Lane. But his second garage, where, we were told, the Range Rover should have been, was completely empty.”
His father laughed loud and long, like a little boy. A happy boyish laugh that Tim had not heard for years.
“What's so funny?”
“Nothing really. It's just that old habits die hard.”
“I'm sorry, Dad. I'm not in the mood for twenty questions, and I'm really not following you right now.”
“No, and the Thomson clan don't want you to. I mean that Ian Thomson or one of his cronies must be behind the car incidents.”
Tim sighed. “I hate to have to be the bearer of bad news, Dad, but that is not possible. Thomson is behind bars and not eligible for parole for at least six months.”
“True enough.” His father smiled. “But believe me, Tim, a few years in Saughton is not enough of a deterrent to Ian Thomson. Not when it comes to running his business.” Sir Peter paused. “Tim, do you honestly think he would leave clowns like Arjun, Billy and Edna in charge of his empire without supervising them?”
“Now you mention it, probably not.”
“Quite so.” His father paused. “You will find the car in the car park at the Musselburgh Race Course. Needless to say, it will have been repaired, valeted to within an inch of its life, and be totally spotless.”
“How do you know?”
“Thomson is not stupid, but he is a creature of habit. The jungle drums must have been beating, and he heard that somebody used his most precious car and damaged it. Ian Thomson does love that old Range Rover. That's the same place we found it previously after it was used in the robbery.”
“But you found it?”
“Only after he told me where it was!”
“Why Musselburgh Race Course?”
“Would you think of looking there?”
“Not for a minute. Oh, I see what you mean. He's likely to have taken it to the same place as before?” Tim sipped his coffee thoughtfully.
“Guaranteed. I'd put money on it.”
“What has all that got to do with Thomson?”
“I have no idea, Tim. But I do know that Thomson would not have sanctioned the use of that car if he had known that it might have been damaged. The old Range Rover is his pride and joy.” He picked up the mugs and glanced at Tim. “Anyway, you are the detective now, my son. Go forth and detect! But you can get Brownie points by going home via East Lothian and finding out that I am right.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Tim drove towards Musselburgh Race Course as fast as the speed cameras, Sophie's Fiat 500 and the traffic would allow. Although the darkness of the short winter days and rain in the wind made visibility difficult, Tim drove on.
He drew the car to a stop just one hundred metres
from the racecourse and strode towards the car park. He moved quickly, but his jacket was soaked by the time he got there. One light-coloured vehicle, alone in the darkness, made his heart beat faster. Damn! Dad was right.
Tim stood and stared at that car. Was somebody in there? He thought he could see somebody next to the Range Rover, but it was hard to be sure. He tried to hold his breath so that the steam from his lungs stilled. He wanted to force his heart to beat more slowly. Perhaps the rain was playing with his sight. He stood still. He was sure that he heard the front door opened. His heart throbbed in his chest. Perhaps the wind was playing with his hearing.
He watched the driver carefully. He crept forward for a better view. He ducked low and moved a little closer to make sure what he thought he was seeing was true. The identity of the driver was still not clear. He watched them take off their shoes before getting into the driver's seat and closing the car door. The engine turned over. The headlights of the vehicle dazzled him. The car roared into life. Tim lifted his arm to shield his eyes from the light. The car sped towards him. Swift. Straight. Sure. The driver had spotted him, and there was no doubt Tim was to be the next intended victim.
Tim feinted to the right, then dived to the left. The car missed him. Tim silently blessed his rugby coach. He knew he would not be as fit without the strict sports training. Tim jumped up quickly, but not quickly enough to get a good look at the driver. Although, he was still suffering slightly from the recent rugby training, Tim had to ignore his protesting muscles and concentrate on the car with the same intensity Coach insisted the team apply to the match.
He crouched down and tried to focus on the registration plate while the car was still. As if reading his mind, the driver spun the car and sped back at him. Tim ran forward then jumped left, and, praying his timing was right, sprang towards the bonnet of the vehicle. He missed and felt the bruises forming before he rolled off the car and on to the gravel. Shit! That was sore, but it worked: he now knew who the driver was. He had seen the same hate-filled face that Mary-Ann, Billy and Annie had all witnessed. All Tim had to do now was stay alive long enough to tell somebody else.
No time for hesitation. He sprinted into the shadows and towards the wall of the car park. He crouched to avoid being such an easy target. The driver did not take time to turn the car, but reversed it towards him. Full speed. Nobody can outrun a car. Tim tried. He sprinted along the perimeter of the grounds then sprang to vault the wall, again thanking Coach for his enforced fitness regime. Panting hard, he watched from relative safety as the car thumped into the wall. He was hot. His heart beat fast. This was exciting! It would make a great tale if he lived long enough to tell it.
