by Clare Curzon
A pity I’ve no time for fairy tales, Alyson thought cynically.
He was looking down at his hands. ‘I’m afraid some of the eggs are rather bent. It seems you’re halfway to an omelette. Just get under shelter here and I’ll fetch you a fresh carrier.’
Courteous, and practical with it, she noted, thanking him. He strode off, returned happily waving one of the supermarket’s tougher bags. She was feeling a fool by then, unused to being at the reception end of heroics.
‘Thank you. You’ve been very kind,’ she said firmly as he reopened the brolly and offered to carry the transferred packages. ‘I’ve no distance to go at all. I can manage now.’
‘I’m sure you can.’ It was said smiling and, suspecting he was amused by her, she nodded coolly and moved away. She felt his eyes following her until the turn of the street, relieved at the nearness of the hospital. She’d likely not ever see him again.
She left it to Bernice when Keith came in to visit Audrey. He looked terrible, drawn and grey, seeming to have aged overnight.
‘Have they been in yet from Psychiatry?’ he asked before going to the bedside.
‘No,’ Bernice told him. ‘They’ll leave it until she’s up. Luckily we had a free bed, since there’s no single room on offer. It would be cruel to send her to an open ward.’
‘Hello, love,’ he said quietly, leaning over his wife. ‘How’s it going?’
His shoulders blocked out a view of her face. ‘You gave us all quite a shock.’
Audrey said nothing. Punishing him still, Alyson thought, trying not to feel anger. There was no further chance to watch events because she was needed at the young OD’s bedside to record his BP Still in coma; the stomach pump had taken out almost all that was left of life in the skinny little body.
His name, according to a debit card on him, was Eric Allbright, but she doubted it was his own. More likely stolen. The signature on its reverse had been too adult. Suspecting the same, the police had taken it, but left the one crisp, unused note issued from a cash machine. A beat constable had found him overnight among the dustbins on a rundown housing estate. On the whiteboard the name was recorded with a query.
His heart rate was up a little. Encouraged, she removed the urine bag and labelled it with name and time, for analysis. They might be beating this one after all.
Bernice made instant coffee for Keith. He sat crouched at Audrey’s bedside with the polystyrene beaker at his feet, the drink going cold. It wouldn’t do much for him, Alyson reflected. Keith’s accepted fix was a double espresso, even sometimes at night. He worked hard over long hours, must be dog-tired when he reached home.
Which was possibly at the root of Audrey’s complaint. But not my concern, Alyson warned herself, shying away from any image of the Stanfords’ intimate moments. She pulled on fresh latex gloves and went to look for the plastic sack containing the young addict’s vomit-stained clothing. There was still hope of some clue to his background. If she could trace family or friends, a familiar voice might speed his struggle back to consciousness.
She pulled out the unlovely assortment: string vest, T-shirt, cut-off jeans and a thick, purplish sweater, socks, trainers. Surprisingly good quality, but nothing waterproof, she noticed. Usually derelicts brought in during the winter months had something to keep the weather out. She couldn’t believe he had survived sleeping rough with just this lot. So he belonged somewhere indoors; maybe with a group who would wonder what had become of him.
There was a tapping on the glass panel of the ward door. Alyson removed her gloves, slid open the blinds and surveyed the young woman waiting outside. Through the intercom she asked for identification.
In reply a warrant card appeared: Detective Sergeant Rosemary Zyczynski of Thames Valley Police. Pretty and slim, with dark eyes.
‘Come in,’ Alyson invited. ‘You might be the very person I’m looking for now.’
‘Why? What’s up?’
She had a warm smile, brown curls cut close, and a hooded anorak in burnt orange. About my own age, Alyson judged. And a sergeant, so – good at her job.
‘Have you come about my mystery young man?’
Zyczynski considered her. ‘Actually, no. My boss asked me to look up Mrs Stanford. He saw her before she was brought in. Took her panic phone call.’
‘She phoned the police?’
‘They’re neighbours. I guess she meant to contact his wife, but they both went round to help. Mrs Yeadings was once a Sister at the old Westminster.’
‘Thank heaven Audrey had enough sense for that.’
The detective nodded. ‘It sounds as though you know Mrs Stanford.’
‘Her husband’s a GP. I met her socially through him.’
‘I see. Look, don’t let me hold you back. I know hell’s always a-poppin’ in here.’
‘That’s one way to describe it. Actually Keith’s – Dr Stanford’s – here with his wife at the moment. Come through and see him. But I’m afraid I can’t let you question Audrey. Not at present, anyway.’
‘Fair enough. A goodwill message from my boss will do for the present.’
Keith had looked up as he heard their voices. Now he rose and came across, smiling wearily. ‘Z, you haven’t come about my wife, have you? It was quite straightforward. Superintendent Yeadings could tell you what happened.’
‘He did. He sent me to see how she is. Nan would have come herself but she’s tied up with the toddler’s sight and hearing tests.’
‘She’s going to be all right. From this, I mean. You know the cancer’s terminal? The truth’s really reaching her now. I’ll have to spend more time at home with her.’
‘I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.’ Her shock seemed genuine. In the awkward pause that followed, Alyson asked, ‘So you know each other?’
‘We meet professionally,’ Keith admitted, ‘when I stand in as police surgeon.’
Zyczynski nodded. ‘I’ll not get in your way, doctor. Try and get some sleep yourself. You look dead on your feet. Goodbye.’
On her way out she turned back to Alyson. ‘You said you had a mystery young man. Is there anything I can do?’
‘I’m not sure. The constable who brought him in as an OD took away a debit card he had. I doubt it would be his, since he’s a junkie. I mean …’
‘Not old or affluent enough to have his own account? So, he’s nameless?’
‘That’s one problem. I was just going through his clothes to see if there’s any clue. Would you like to look? That’s more in your line than mine.’
‘Why not? Can I take a look at him too? Maybe I’ve seen him hanging around with dealers.’
‘It’s family visits only, but he’s out cold so he’ll never know. Come on then.’ They stood either side of the young man’s bed. ‘He’s only a boy really,’ Alyson said. ‘What do you think?’
Zyczynski was frowning. ‘There’s something familiar, but I can’t place him. Seen him in court possibly. Or at the nick when he wasn’t quite such a mess. But maybe it’s just a type. Don’t you despair of them coming in like this time and time again?’
‘Don’t you?’
She smiled. ‘I haven’t your patience.’ She leaned forward and read the ID card clipped to Alyson’s pocket. ‘Alyson Orme. D’you know, it was once a toss up for me between nursing and the police. I think I chose the right career.’
‘I certainly did. Here, put some gloves on if you’re touching his things.’
She left the policewoman to find out what she could. Keith was hovering at the door, ready to go. ‘She won’t have anything to do with me,’ he said tightly. ‘I might as well go home and leave her simmering.’
‘And the course you were going on?’
‘Can’t leave, naturally. But while she’s safe here with you, I can carry on working. Have to arrange, though, for when she comes out. See what the shrinks say.’
The one thing she wanted to ask was whether it had been a genuine attempt by Audrey to end her life.
As i
f he’d heard the silent question he said, ‘It may just have been the proverbial cry for help. On the other hand she may have meant it at the time, then changed her mind.
‘The saddest thing is that I’d do anything in my power to give the help she needs, only it’s too late. Nothing left but TLC and see she’s not in too much pain.’
‘She’s adamant still about the hospice?’
‘Won’t hear it mentioned. Quite final.’ He shook his head. ‘It has to be me. I must go through it with her. I guess that’s what marriage is about. No alternative.’
‘I’m sorry, Keith.’
‘I know. Meanwhile, I’ll be in to see Emily this evening, early as I can make it.’
She ought to tell him not to bother, but she didn’t. ‘I’ll save you some supper.’
‘That’d be nice. I’ll ring you.’ And he was gone.
Alyson returned to Rosemary Zyczynski and the plastic sack of soiled clothing.
‘What do you make of this?’ the detective asked, holding up a scuffed, once-white trainer. ‘Did you happen to look under the lining?’
Chapter Six
The wind had backed during the afternoon, bringing Atlantic clouds and giving a brief, illusory sense of warmth. By evening the snow, no longer white, was being churned to unlovely slush. Drains, blocked with ice and debris, couldn’t take the overflow. Car tyres hissed, flinging up sheets of greasy water to drench pedestrians waiting to cross at the traffic island. Among them Alyson ducked back as a wave swept up from a van that challenged their right of way. She made it safely to her own side of the complex.
Home, she thought, letting herself in; and had to smile at her own complacence. She hadn’t a home. Not since Gran’s death when at eighteen she’d come up to London, hub of the universe, to study nursing at St Thomas’s.
This was Emily’s home; yet Alyson had the illusion of belonging, because of the relationship, tenuous though it was. Emily being Gran’s elder sister meant something when you’d no other family.
Sadly, the old lady couldn’t last forever, but Alyson had never regretted transferring, qualified, to this Thames Valley hospital and moving in here on the solicitor’s invitation. To be well paid for caretaking in a luxury pad was a bonus, and the hospital authority hadn’t objected to her taking it on.
And then there was Emily herself.
She walked up the first three flights before allowing herself to take the lift. As soon as she opened the apartment’s door she heard a chair pushed back on the kitchen tiles. Sheena came out excitedly to meet her, almost running.
‘What’s up? How’s Emily?’
‘Oh, she’s fine. That is, y’know – just the same as ever. No, it’s what’s happened. She had a visitor. A Rachel Howard from Edinburgh. And listen – she must’ve known the entry code!’
Alyson put down the carrier bag with her purchases for the intended supper with Keith.
‘Calm down, Sheena. Tell me exactly what she said.’
Round-eyed with importance, Sheena made the most of it: this haughty, tall, thin woman and her assumption she could do as she liked here. Forty or more, maybe fifty, Said she was some kind of relative. Well, Alyson must know what she was like, must have met her, because she’d been able to get in downstairs.
‘How did Emily react?’
It stopped Sheena short. She’d no idea. Ramón hadn’t said. Well, he wouldn’t. Men didn’t go in for other people’s reactions. Especially old ladies’. Only, of course, she couldn’t mention him.
‘Oh, Emily was asleep,’ she improvised. ‘I wouldn’t have her woken.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Between half four and five.’
‘So she was sitting out?’ Alyson looked hard at the carer. ‘Sheena, you did have her dressed and sitting out?’
Better not lie too far: you could get in deep that way. ‘Well, no, actually. She seemed so tired. Like I said, she was asleep.’
‘But it’s important, Sheena. I told you before. She needs the chair’s support, and to be upright with her legs down, for at least a part of the day. Never mind if she dozes there.’
Sheena blinked her short, pale lashes. Thank goodness they were off the subject of the Howard woman. This was familiar stuff. You’d think Alyson really cared how Emily spent the day. Of course, however much of a bore she found the old girl, once she’d fluffed it that would be the end of the road for this cushy lifestyle. Alyson would be out on her ear, just like herself. Worse really. At least back at Mum’s she had a roof over her head. Alyson would be really adrift.
‘Did she leave her address?’ Alyson was uneasy. Until now all communication had been through Mr Fitt. It must be he who’d supplied the entry code.
‘Yeah. I’ve got her card here.’ Sheena produced it, slightly smudged with makeup. ‘Oh, and she said she’d be phoning.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
‘Did you know she was coming?’ Sheena made it an accusation.
Alyson glanced up at her and wondered at her anger. What had Rachel Howard walked in on that had made her so uneasy?
‘I’ve never heard of her before. She must be one of Emily’s family. I don’t know any of them.’
‘She said she was Emily’s granddaughter. But she can’t be, can she?’
Alyson considered. ‘There’s no reason why not. You say she’s well over forty. That could be about right for age. I’m glad someone’s taking an active interest in Emily at last. What a pity she was asleep and missed meeting her.’
Sheena was shrugging herself into her outdoor things. ‘Gotta date with my boyfriend,’ she claimed, presuming on her new connection with Ramón. He’d be on duty at the Crown anyway: captive audience more or less. She’d have to cut down on the Vodka Martini tonight though. It was working out expensive. Maybe she could get him to take her out sometime when he was free; to a film or ninepin bowling. It was too much to suppose he’d rise to a disco.
Alyson watched her go and listened for the sound of the lift taking her down. Sheena was proving less than satisfactory. She’d had experience looking after an arthritic neighbour and was a registered carer, but it didn’t make up for her being incurably lazy. She made some show of observing hygiene requirements when under observation, but left on her own could be getting away with sluttish standards. Short of installing CCTV inside the apartment there was no way to be sure Emily was getting the service her money should cover. But going that far smacked of Big Brother. Threatened with that, Sheena would probably give in her notice. She wouldn’t have been offered the job except that nobody else answered the advert. The hiring had been inevitable, so fire-power must be kept as the last resort.
Alyson made herself tea and let it cool while she prepared the vegetables for tonight’s meal: calabrese, carrots and red peppers to accompany the lamb loin steaks and creamed minted potato. No pudding, but a choice of cheeses and Italian breads. Because Keith would probably come in chilled they could start with the supermarket’s parsnip and basil soup zipped up with sherry and a pinch of cayenne.
He rang at a quarter past nine. ‘On my way, if that’s all right with you. Be there in fifteen minutes.’
Alyson smiled into the receiver. ‘That’s great. I’ll open a bottle of red.’
Not just any red though: the claret Dr Moody had given her at Christmas and she’d never had sufficient occasion to break into.
When Keith came stamping and shivering in, complaining that it seemed colder than during the freeze she had a small table set up by the great window with its view out on the town’s lights. ‘Did you get any lunch?’ she asked him.
He had to think, stopping in the middle of shedding his overcoat. ‘I guess I worked through.’
‘Empty stomach, so of course you’re feeling the cold. It doesn’ t take a doctor to work that out. I’ve got hot soup ready to serve.
‘Wonderful. I’ll just look in on Emily while you’re at it. How is she today?’
‘See for yourself. I’ve something to tell
you when you come back.’
He wasn’t long away. ‘Didn’t recognize me,’ he complained drolly. ‘Little short of spat at me. At least it’s some sign of mental activity. What were you going to tell me?’
‘She had a visitor today,’ Alyson said, waving him to his place at the table. ‘I wasn’t here. Sheena saw to her. A Rachel Howard claiming to be Emily’s granddaughter. And she let herself in below. So I assume Mr Fitt sent her.’
‘It would have been courteous to warn you in advance.’
‘Perhaps it was intentional, to catch us out. And poor Emily was left in bed all afternoon. No doubt I’ll be hearing about that when the woman phones me.’
Dr Stanford shook his head. ‘All the same I’d let Fitt know it’s not on. There’s no security if anyone can walk in on you any time they care to. If the family’s suddenly showing an interest in our patient he should accompany the visitor, by appointment, when we’re able to discuss her with them.’
‘She could actually be a granddaughter, I suppose.’
‘How much do you know about them?’
‘Nothing really, beyond the little that Gran told me: just that her older sister ‘got into trouble’ and ran away when she was seventeen. Gran was only eight at the time and it was kept very quiet. Later she picked that much up from whispers among the servants. She was raised as an only child and barely remembered the rather magnificent young woman who’d gone missing. She did learn eventually that a baby had been born, a girl, but their father would never have Emily’s name mentioned again in his presence.’
‘Self-righteous old fool. God knows how many lives he spoiled by his obstinacy.’
‘That was their way then. “Never darken my doors again” sort of thing. We may have swung too far the other way these days, but at least there’s less prejudice. Children don’t suffer the same stigma of illegitimacy.’
Keith considered. ‘Even then he must have appeared a bit of a dinosaur. It would have been 1928, well after World War I, and things were beginning to loosen up. Even among the middle classes.’
