by Stella Duffy
THIRTY-THREE
Lillian and Patrick arrived back a little after three in the morning. Saz, part sleeping, mostly listening for the slam of car doors, was in the hallway by the time Lillian put her key in the lock. Matching pairs of tired eyes confirmed her unspoken question. Saz made tea and reassured Lillian about the comfort of her guests – including Mrs Dawkins and family – and then heard their story. Summer traffic had taken the first two hours and then they’d met with the technician who was to help them. The bottle-red matron who greeted them wasn’t quite the girlie lab rat Patrick had been expecting. Nor was her manner. She took blood and hair and a £500 cash sample of Patrick’s money: “I mean, I’m OK to wait for the rest of the money until later in the day. You can go out and get the remainder while we’re waiting for the results from the police lab, but there’s no way I’m even going to start without some of the cash upfront. All right?”
Patrick handed over £500 and Shirley laughed out loud at his offer of a cheque for the balance. She gave him directions to the nearest cash machine instead. Satisfied that she’d have her money as soon as possible, Shirley slapped on a pair of latex gloves and got on with the job. She took their hair, blood and saliva samples and then told them they could bugger off for the rest of the day.
“Audrey’s got a rush job on just now. I called her half an hour ago to check her schedule. She reckons she’ll probably be able to get on to this lot in her tea break and then slip it in with a bunch of other stuff that’s going on in her lab. But they’ve got heaps to do, some murder or rape or something like that. I don’t know, Audrey’s job’s a damn sight more bloody exciting than mine, all I ever get is …”
Patrick felt Lillian tense beside him and realized he needed to shut Shirley up before she gave out any more gruesome details. And he had no doubt she would if they gave her half a chance, “Right. So you’ll get our stuff to her and we’ll wait to hear from you, is that it?”
“That’s it, love. There’s a couple of nice little restaurants I can point out. I mean, it might be quite awhile. I hope you two have got something to talk about?”
Patrick looked at the short, fat woman addressing him. Hair that Lillian was later to describe as “harlot-red” floated in a bouncy top-knot above an apparently innocent face: smiling mouth, dimpled cheeks, eyes cold as fuck. It was impossible she hadn’t guessed why they were there. She simply couldn’t be that stupid – which left only one reason for her question. She was actually enjoying their discomfort. His anger rising, Patrick clenched his fists tight, digging short strong nails into his palms. They needed this. He gave Shirley his mobile number, took Audrey’s number in case Shirley couldn’t get through to him for any reason, and wrote down the names of the three restaurants “a man of your tastes might find almost passable”.
As they left the lab Shirley shouted after them, “You won’t forget my money, will you?”
Patrick smiled and nodded back at Shirley and then turned to look at Lillian. Her face was screwed up and her arms folded tight across her chest. “Are you OK?”
Lillian nodded. “Just get me out of here.”
Only once they were safely in the car did she relax a little. “I’m sorry, I just knew I was going to have to slap her if she didn’t stop soon. Nasty piece of work, not enough to get all that money out of you, but she has to humiliate us both as well.”
Patrick burst out laughing and opened his hands to show Lillian the stigmata of his own fury. He put his arm around her as she crumpled into tears and he wondered how it was he’d become such a twentieth-century boy that he needed to waste so much money proving an already clear truth. Though even in the comfort of that moment, he realized that proof was a vital component of vengeance. And somebody was definitely going to have to pay for this.
This Patrick explained in great detail to Saz back at the B&B, while Lillian slept off the strain of the past day. “I’ll kill the bastard. You just find out where he lives and I promise you, I will kill him.”
“Patrick …”
“No. I mean it. This Lees bloke – really, I want to slaughter the bastard.”
“I know you do, but …”
“Then you find out where the fuck he is, so I bloody well can.”
“I’d rather we contact him and get more information. There are others in your position, you know. Chris hasn’t even made it this far yet.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck, I just want to meet the bastard.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Patrick, shut up. Of course I know how to get hold of this doctor. If he’s still alive.”
“Yeah, well if he is, he’s not fucking alive for long.”
Saz sighed and ignored his ranting, “Yeah, right. That’ll help no end. If by some stroke of luck and astonishing bad management this bloke hasn’t been struck off yet, he’s easily found through a medical register. Even if he’s retired. That’s not the problem.”
“Well then, what is the problem?”
“For Christ’s sake, will you calm down?”
Patrick shook his head, “Fuck no. This is forty years’ worth of pissed off. I’m hanging on to this one.”
“Listen, Patrick. There’s no way I’m going to let you have anything to do with this. Not now. Not as long as you’re thinking like this.”
“And you’d rather I behaved like what?”
“Nothing. Just be exactly as you are. I don’t expect anything else. You have every right to feel the way you do.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“But it doesn’t actually help anyone, you know. It’s too nasty and it’s too bloody close and, for fuck’s sake, this is clearly not something we should be dealing with ourselves. We should take you and Lillian straight down to the police first thing in the morning and hand the whole lot over to them. Including that poncey bloody Georgina’s role in it, because believe me, she knows something about all this.”
“We can’t.”
Saz spoke through teeth clenched in irritation and exhaustion, “Patrick, this isn’t a vigilante outfit. This is only you and me. And Chris. Maybe Luke too. And for all we know it’s not just you lot. There might be other women, other children involved.”
“There’s bound to be.”
“We can’t just race round the country reuniting mothers with babies they thought died years ago, it’s fucking insane. There’s got to be a more ordered way to take care of this. The man’s committed a crime, for fuck’s sake. I’ve done my part of the job, we’ve found your mother. Now I’ll clear it with Chris; he’s going to have to tell his adoptive mother about this some time anyway, then we call the police and leave the rest of it to them.”
“I promised Lillian.”
“Promised her what?”
“She wouldn’t have to talk to the police.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“You’ve seen the woman, Saz. She’s clearly not the most balanced of people at the moment—”
Saz forbore to mention it was now abundantly clear where he got his own great reserves of sanity from.
“She’s got a pretty damn tenuous grip on her life as it is. And she’s terrified of the system. She spent nearly four fucking years of her life in that loony bin. Not a nutter, but persuaded that she was. She won’t talk to the police about it. We spent fourteen hours together, just her and me, all that time driving and waiting, and nothing to do but talk about what might be coming, and I guarantee you, there’s a fuck of a lot more she’s still not said.”
“Patrick, that would be true of anybody, for God’s sake. You’ve just been reunited with your mother, and in hardly the most ideal of circumstances. Even if the rest of Lillian’s life had been a fairy tale, this would still be really shocking.”
“So we should do what she asks.”
“We should do the right thing.”
“What? And turn all this over to the likes of my little social worker?”
“You make her sound like my little pony.”
“She is. She’s practically
a child herself, for God’s sake. She doesn’t know anything about all this.”
“Neither do you.”
Patrick stood up, squared his shoulders to Saz, his hand on the door, “All I know is that I promised my mother she wouldn’t have to deal with any police or any social workers. I promised her I’d take care of this. You and I would take care of this. Now, if you find other mothers, your friend Chris’s mother perhaps, or that Luke, and they’re willing to talk to the police or social workers or whoever, then fine. But if Lillian can’t do it, then she doesn’t have to, and I’m not going to make her. And neither are you, got it?”
Patrick slammed the door before she was able to argue any more and Saz stood up, stretched, walked around the little room, scratched irritably at the scars on her hands and then sat down again, completely frustrated. She understood Patrick’s position, had guessed at the extent of Lillian’s fear, but this was ludicrous. It was also dangerous. She knew Patrick’s fury was no empty threat. If he did get hold of Lees, there was no knowing what he’d do. And she didn’t think a minimum of grievous bodily harm was readily excusable in court, not even with the sound reasoning Patrick had to offer.
THIRTY-FOUR
Molly was waiting with information for Saz, information she clearly felt very uncomfortable about passing on. She knew about Doctor Lees, not because Saz asked her to check on his present status as a medic – though that had been Saz’s first request when she called to say she was on her way home – but because she’d spent most of Saturday afternoon going through Eva Freeman’s medical records. And then gone into quite a lot of further research.
“It made fantastic reading. It’s amazing how much we’ve learnt about fertility in the past forty years. The incredible amount that’s changed in so short a time. I mean, I’m a walking advertisement of that, right?”
“Yeah, Moll, you are, but these records …?”
Unfortunately for Saz’s sense of urgency, Molly really was interested in the subject. Saz, who’d been interested in reproductive sciences only as far as it pertained to her own procreative desires, wasn’t especially enthused about any of it right now. Molly had made it to pregnancy, Chris and Patrick’s adoptive mothers hadn’t. That was the extent of her involvement in the subject. She was far more interested in the fact that Eva Freeman had been in contact with Doctor Lees.
“Lees wasn’t her own doctor though, was he?”
“No. She was referred to him much later.” Molly shuffled through the case notes in front of her, “According to this lot, Gerald and Eva tried to get pregnant straight after the marriage. Your bog standard, perfectly happy, straight couple. Not a question in their minds that it might involve anything more than just a matter of ordinary old sex.”
“But it was no good?”
“Sadly for your disgustingly prurient nature, Saz, their sex life doesn’t come into these strictly medical notes.”
“I meant the attempts to make babies.”
Molly glared at her girlfriend, “I know that. I thought bringing a little levity to the discussion might remind you that I’m your partner, not merely your research assistant.”
Saz had wondered when this might be coming, though she’d hoped to forestall the time-not-spent-on-relationship discussion until after she’d got the information she wanted from Molly. She tried to head her off with straightforward contrition.
“Sorry.”
No good. Far too late and certainly not big enough. Whatever was going on, Molly wasn’t likely to be appeased that easily.
“I mean, I barely got a kiss when you walked in the door; you didn’t even ask how I was feeling.”
Saz tried again. Few words. Heartfelt. “I am sorry, Moll.”
Still no go.
“And the first thing you said was how exhausted you are, and then you just asked me to tell you all about Lees.”
Saz bit her lip, clenched her teeth, scratched at her left hand scars, sighed, felt guilty, sighed again, felt more guilty and therefore, guilt breeding its own bad temper, still more agitated.
“Molly, I’m sorry. I am really fucking sorry. I know I’m being a crap girlfriend.”
“Crap mother-to-be as well.”
Saz ignored that. The potential parent was a whole other argument and even in her stressed state, Saz knew better than to go anywhere near that one.
“But I do need to get onto this. Patrick is being very scary. Really. The whole journey back he was ranting and screaming about doing this bloke in. I don’t know how serious he is, but I also don’t think he’s joking a whole fuck of a lot.”
“So you said.”
“And I did ask how you are.”
“You asked how well I am. That’s asking about the baby, that’s not asking about me.”
Saz groaned inside and reminded herself to speak to some fathers, quick. She obviously had a lot to learn about being the non-pregnant partner. And she still went with apology. It was right. But it was also faster than argument.
“OK. I’m sorry I didn’t ask about you. I’m learning how to do the pregnant thing at the same time as you are. I know I’m being obsessive about this, but I do really feel that time is of the essence here. And though I am worried about Patrick’s excesses, it’s not just about that. I’m very aware that I’ve made hardly any headway with Chris, nor do I have any idea how I’m going to, since we now know his adoptive mother wasn’t connected to Lees.”
“She was.”
“What?”
“That’s one of the things I found out. Keane was Lees’s partner. They fell out in the late ’60s, but worked together for years before that.”
“Fantastic! Can we get hold of him?”
Molly shook her head, “Sorry, babe, he died in 78.”
“Shit.”
“Look, Saz, this is getting all a bit out of hand. Are you’re sure you can’t take this to the police?”
“I’ve had this argument with Patrick already. It was my first suggestion.”
Molly dropped her pissed-off frown long enough to raise her eyebrows. “That’s not like you.”
“Yeah, well, even I learn eventually. Only Patrick won’t let me. And I called Chris just in case he wanted me to, but he refused as well. Doesn’t want to have to tell his adoptive mother, not yet anyway.”
“And people saying no has stopped you before, has it?”
“Well, what can I do? They’re both adamant I can’t go to the cops; Patrick won’t even let me tell Helen or Judith. I explained they’re mates and so they don’t really count, but he’s having none of it. My hands are tied. It’s their story, not mine. I need to find another of these women, maybe Luke’s mother was one of them. If Leyton was involved with his adoption, there’s a good chance she’s been done over by them too. I just need to find one other, someone who’s prepared to go to the authorities on this. Or, better still of course, I could get actual proof that Lees and Leyton were selling these babies.”
“But you need to know how to get to the woman first.”
“Yeah, I do. And I am sorry that means I’m treating you like an unpaid researcher, but you do see that the sooner I get this sorted the sooner I can get back to being normal with you? And the sooner I can stop Patrick becoming a homicidal maniac?”
Molly grinned, “Hell, yeah. Wouldn’t want that.”
Saz took Molly’s hand from the case notes, “And I do want to know how you are and how the baby is and I don’t want to keep going away and I am really sorry …”
Molly pulled her hand back, obviously not wanting to be placated that easily. “I know. We can do sorry later, all right?”
Saz hastily agreed, inwardly weighing up which expression of remorse was likely to be demanded this time, time or money. Or both. Even while she knew it made her very selfish indeed, Saz hoped it would be money. She had a whole lot more of that than time at the moment. Then she fixed her eyes on Molly’s and gave her her undivided attention. The least she could do was to look like she was concentrating. C
oncentrating hard and feeling like a bitch at the same time. And exhausted. And frustrated. Sounded like good practice for motherhood.
Saz drew her thoughts back to Molly’s words. She was talking very slowly, as if telling a story she didn’t really want to tell. Saz started to feel uncomfortable. Something was clearly not OK. Something more than she’d been expecting.
“Anyway, after a couple of years the Freemans realized nothing was happening. She went to her doctor – private, of course – who referred her to one specialist, and then another, and then another. She seems to have tried everything.”
“And all of them no good?”
“Nothing. Three years, no baby, no sign of a baby, not even a miscarriage to show that perhaps it could be possible.”
Saz was surprised by Molly’s cool description, by her attitude in general. “God, Moll. That’s all a miscarriage is? Just a sign you might be able to have a baby?”
“To a medic? Yes. You’re asking me to be a doctor here. Not to talk for myself. I’m not telling you how she felt. Or how I feel for that matter. You’ve asked for the information. I’m giving it to you. This is really difficult and I’m trying to do it as best I can, all right?”
Saz sorried for the hundredth time that day and Molly went on. “In the end they went to Lees. I don’t know how they got referred to him, the notes don’t say. In fact, they jump from one specialist straight to Lees with no indication of a referral at all.”
“Yes, but according to Lillian, he was resident at that institution. He was in charge.”
“Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have also had a private practice in London, babe. How do you think this lot make all their money? They don’t just stick to the one job like me.”
“How do I get hold of him then? Do we know?”
Molly looked away, sighed far too heavily for Saz’s comfort, “Sadly, babe, we know all too well.”
“Why sadly?”
Molly half smiled, then turned the smile into a groan, shook her head, moved her mouth as if to speak, and closed it again. Then, with great effort, she started. “There’s no easy way to explain this. Your Doctor Lees, the one you think sold Patrick to the Freemans, well, seems he likes to have a partner to work with, someone else to help develop his ideas. When he and Keane stopped working together he became Barbara Richard’s partner.”
