by Linda Huber
Sarah hesitated, but Mim leapt into the breach. ‘Why don’t you two join Sarah and me for coffee, and see if your gran’s more awake afterwards?’
Five minutes later they were sitting in the cafeteria, Frankie with a large piece of chocolate cake in front of her.
‘Eat that slowly or you’ll be sick,’ said Petra, her face grim. ‘I don’t know why I bought it – you’ll get fat.’
Frankie shrugged, staring at the table top and twirling her hair.
Sarah stirred her coffee. ‘No school this afternoon, Frankie?’
Frankie brightened immediately. ‘It’s closed today and tomorrow because so many people got scabies. I didn’t get it so it’s like a holiday.’ She started on the chocolate cake.
Mim didn’t miss a beat. ‘Lucky girl. I’m sorry your gran’s having problems, Petra.’
Petra’s voice was rough with emotion. ‘That last stroke has knocked her right off, but I so need to speak to her about the money. Those bloody posh banks are no help at all. I don’t know what she was thinking, withdrawing all that cash. But she’s been asleep or unconscious twenty hours a day since the weekend. If I thought I would end up like that I’d shoot myself.’
An uncomfortable silence fell and Sarah searched for something to break it. Petra shouldn’t talk like that in front of her girl. The poor little thing was working her way through the chunk of cake, but whether or not she was enjoying it was anyone’s guess.
‘We can’t plan the future,’ Mim said at last. ‘Sometimes things don’t work out the way we’d like them to.’
Petra raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘You can say that again. I’ve got an appointment with the hospital administrator tomorrow afternoon, anyway. We’ll see if he can track down Wilma’s savings because they were definitely real and I’ve got the bank statements to prove it. They should never have left all that money with her and if it doesn’t turn up I’ll sue. Frankie, if you’ve finished we’d better get back to Gran. Oh, for heaven’s sake, look at you.’ She brushed the child’s front free of crumbs and turned to Sarah and Mim. ‘Good luck. Maybe we’ll see you again before you leave.’
Mim reached out and squeezed Frankie’s hand. ‘Pop up to Ward Seven if you come tomorrow. I’ll be here till the afternoon.’
Sarah watched as the two trailed back towards the TV room. ‘Petra has an – energetic – way of speaking.’
Mim pursed her lips. ‘My mother would have called her ‘a rough diamond’. Kind enough – she bought that chocolate cake without being asked – but a bit too direct. Mind you, she must be under a big strain. You can tell she cares about her gran.’
‘Yes. Oh, Mim, I’m so glad you’re okay!’ Sarah reached across for a hug, and Mim hugged back.
‘No problems here. Home tomorrow, then you and I are going to have the longest talk ever. I want to know what’s causing that little frown line – and don’t tell me it’s my knee, because it’s not.’
Sarah managed to laugh, but she could feel the lump rising in her throat. How very good it would be to get Mim away from the hospital. This time tomorrow…
Chapter Three
Thursday, 6th July
He cowered in his car, parked illegally by the main entrance to the hospital, his eyes glued to the nearby bus stop and sweat drenching his shirt. She must come, she must come… He had to stop her before she went to the administrator. If Ian Paterson started to sniff around it could all become very dangerous. The police might be involved, and if they started investigating they would find out that Wilma wasn’t the only old dear to lose a large sum of money. Not all his victims had been in hospital, of course… His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. Glynis had. Oh God, they mustn’t find Glynis. What a horror scenario that would be.
A number 25 bus drew up and disgorged a handful of unhappy hospital visitors fighting with umbrellas and – yes! There was Petra, and hell, she had the kid with her. He watched as they passed, huddled together under one umbrella. They were heading for rehab, so hopefully the girl would stay there with old Wilma. He would catch Petra on her way back down to the admin building.
His stomach was churning and he fumbled in his pocket for a mint. It was all very well knowing that Wilma’s stupid granddaughter was the biggest cow in creation, but that wouldn’t help him with the real problem here – getting rid of her. The first part of the plan was fine. He would manage to lure her into the car, where the Taser he’d bought – just in case – at the start of the money project was waiting under his seat. One good zap and she’d be his. But once he’d got her locked up in the garage at home – what then? That was where his plan came to sudden end.
He turned the key in the ignition and the car jerked forwards. Now to park as near to rehab as he could, then he’d intercept Petra when she emerged again.
Rain was drumming ever harder on the car roof when he pulled up about twenty yards from the rehab entrance, but that was all to the good. Petra was unlikely to stand around wondering if she should accept a lift back to the other end of the hospital. Another horror scenario flashed into his head, making his heart pound. Supposing someone on Ward Five offered to drive her to the admin building? That wasn’t impossible, and all he could do was hope it wouldn’t happen.
He glanced at his watch. Any minute now…
Sweat broke out on his brow.
Petra dumped the bag of clean nighties on a chair. ‘You sit here and wait for Gran. Though why they even bother bringing her to watch the tennis after physio’s beyond me. If she starts snoring take her back upstairs, and I’ll collect you there.’
Frankie flopped down without speaking and stared in the other direction, the picture of a sulky almost-teenager.
Petra tried to sound pleasant. ‘I suppose she might be awake enough to talk to you. She always used to love Wimbledon.’ Leaving Frankie picking her nails, Petra hurried towards the toilets beside the cafeteria. Better check her make-up before she left.
As soon as she stepped out the building she realised that touching up her face had been a waste of time. The rain, a steady downpour when they arrived at the hospital, was now an absolute monsoon, and thunder was grumbling in the distance. Petra’s umbrella blew inside out the moment she put it up and she struggled to control it, wobbling on her heels. Hell, she should never have worn these shoes, but her waterproof ones were so crappy – she didn’t want Mr Paterson to think she was Wilma’s poor relation, desperate to get her hands on the money when the old girl snuffed it. Rain blew into her face and Petra felt like crying. What idiot designed this place, with the offices at the front near the bus stops, forcing visitors and patients alike to walk effing miles to and from the wards?
‘Hi there!’ The voice came from behind and she turned and peered into the car crawling along beside the pavement.
Thank goodness, someone was going to give her a lift.
‘You’re a life-saver,’ she said, but the wind whipped her words away.
She dropped into the car and slammed the door. He reached under his seat, and shock took Petra’s breath away. Shit, no! What the – Panic surged, and she twisted round to open the door.
But it was locked.
Fear swirled through him and his fingers slid on the yellow plastic as he fired the Taser. She twitched, the horror on her face mirroring his own expression when he realised – she wasn’t unconscious! He fired the Taser a second time but again she only twitched like some electrocuted cartoon character, her eyes wide and fixed on his. There was no choice. He whacked the side of her head with the Taser as hard as he could, the sweat of sheer relief cold on his body when she slumped in the passenger seat, eyes closed.
Away, he had to get away from here. Thank God it was raining so hard. Even if anyone’d been out in this weather, the windows were awash and steamed up too – no-one could have witnessed what he’d done.
He gunned the car towards home. Six minutes, that was all it took to drive to the row of lock-ups behind his house, but it felt like forever and he swore as a l
orry cut in front of him. Come on, come on – she mustn’t wake up until he got her home.
His lock-up was a roomy, double compartment that had been Dad’s workshop, at the end of the lane behind the house. The entire row was half-derelict; no-one kept a car there now. He ran to open the door then reversed inside, quick, quick, he was so nearly safe… He had made it.
Bile rose in his throat as he turned on the dim light and slammed the heavy metal door down, leaving them cocooned in semi-darkness. But there was no time to be sick. Petra was making stupid little moaning noises as he pulled her from the car and dragged her to the side. Her hands, he should fix them first. He took one of the cable binders he’d laid out ready, but it was all he could do to slide the end into the tiny opening and he swore under his breath. His hands were shaking like a ninety-year-old’s. At last he managed and tightened the binder round her wrists. Now her feet; that was easier. He grabbed the waiting length of blue nylon cord. And the gag… and the sack over her head.
He scrambled to his feet, staring at her, an anonymous bundle on the floor. She was immobilised and she hadn’t woken up. Thank you, thank you. He could go home and calm down, and work out what to do. He had the shakes now; he couldn’t keep his hands still… Up with the door again, down the lane, round the corner – and home. He was safe.
But what had he done, what had he done?
He had crossed a line and there was no going back. He ran to the bathroom and hung over the toilet bowl, his stomach heaving.
Sarah turned into the main hospital thoroughfare, Mim’s raincoat and stout shoes in a bag on the passenger seat and the windscreen wipers going double time. Talk about Sod’s law. The weather had been perfect ever since she’d arrived in the country, but now that they needed a dry day, on came the rain.
Mim was in the TV room with Frankie and Wilma, who was no more awake than the day before. Two young men were whacking the ball about the court; it appeared that Wimbledon was enjoying better weather than Brockburn.
Sarah crouched beside Mim’s chair. ‘All packed and ready to go?’
‘Am I just!’ said Mim, winking at Frankie.
The girl was slumped between Mim and Wilma, wearing a too-small blue tracksuit that hadn’t been much protection against the rain, and chewing a strand of hair. She looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else than in a hospital TV room watching tennis with her great-grandmother. But she did smile back at Mim, Sarah noticed, and the hair was clean. Poor Frankie, it was an awkward time of life, with puberty on the horizon and the whole world suddenly different and awkward.
‘Where’s Petra?’ asked Sarah.
Frankie pulled out her phone and glared at it. ‘She went for her meeting with that administrator,’ she said, her voice aggrieved. ‘She’s been gone for ages. And I hate tennis.’
Sarah laughed. ‘Oh well. It’s the finals at the weekend, then that’s it for another year. And it could be worse, Frankie – it could be cricket.’
Frankie’s eyes widened. ‘S’pose,’ she said, then grinned. ‘Yeah – that would be much worse.’
Mim reached for her crutches. ‘Sarah and I’ll get my things and say goodbye upstairs, then we’ll look in here before we leave. I’m sure your mum’ll be back by that time.’
Sarah walked to the lifts beside Mim, noticing with pleasure that the older woman was better on her feet than yesterday. It wasn’t going to be a long convalescence, which was all to the good, because Mim wasn’t a patient person.
The nurses fussed round as Mim collected her belongings, and Sarah chuckled to herself. Pop had always said Mim could charm the hind leg off a donkey. She’d ordered a huge box of chocolates for the staff, and they gathered in the corridor, waving and calling out good wishes as Mim and Sarah entered the lift.
‘Everyone’s favourite patient, that’s you,’ said Sarah, when the doors slid shut.
Mim raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Well, they’ve been very kind. And they have enough awkward sods to look after without me joining in. We’ll check Petra’s back, then home, James, with us! Oh, Sarah, I can hardly wait!’
To Sarah’s dismay there was no sign of Petra in the TV room. The rain had reached London, and ball boys were pulling the court covering over the grass. Wilma was still dozing in her wheelchair, and Frankie was still chewing her hair. Impatience flared up inside Sarah. What was Petra thinking, leaving the child here all this time?
‘No sign of Mum yet?’ she said, seeing the tears in the girl’s eyes.
‘I wish I hadn’t come,’ said Frankie, scowling. ‘This is so boring. She’s not answering her phone so she must still be in the meeting. Can I go home?’
Mim sat down beside Frankie, her face concerned.
Sarah touched the girl’s arm. ‘I think you’d better wait. I’ll see if I can find out what’s going on. Who was Petra meeting?’
Frankie sniffed. ‘Bloke called Mr Paterson.’
‘Okay. You two wait here.’
Sarah hurried through the entrance hall. Someone in Wilma’s ward would be the best person to ask. The lift took its time coming, and Sarah tapped her foot on the green linoleum. All she wanted was to get Mim home, but they couldn’t desert poor Frankie.
Neuro rehab Ward Five was called Avon, and it had the same layout as the orthopaedic ward above. Sarah approached the desk as a blond male nurse emerged from a room behind it. He gave her a broad smile as he pinned on his badge. Staff Nurse Nick Wilson, read Sarah. Good. She explained briefly.
‘Not back yet?’ he said, frowning. ‘That seems – odd. Ian Paterson doesn’t usually go in for such marathon meetings with people’s relatives. I’ll give him a buzz for you.’ He vanished back into the other room.
Sarah waited, aware that Jack Morrison had come up beside her. Golly, he was tall. She gave him a weak grin, feeling her heart rate increase as she caught a whiff of spicy aftershave. Wow. But that wasn’t what she should be thinking here, was it? Come on, Sarah. Just find Petra, then get Mim home.
Jack’s eyes were wide. ‘Sarah! Is your foster mother in this ward now?’
Sarah explained again and he pulled a face.
‘Gawd, poor kid. Um – how about making a date for that coffee?’
Sarah couldn’t stop the grin spreading over her face. There was nothing she’d like more… ‘How about the weekend? That would give me a day or two to settle Mim at home.’
‘Sounds good. I’ll call you.’
He gave her a quick salute and marched off down the corridor. Sarah watched him push the button for the lift, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet while he waited. He caught her eye as the lift arrived and Sarah waved, hugging the warm feeling inside her. Maybe Mim’s hospital stay was going to have a very interesting side effect...
Nick reappeared and spoke in a low voice. ‘Um – Sarah, is it? There’s something odd going on. Petra didn’t show up for her meeting.’
Sarah could hardly believe her ears. ‘Then where on earth is she? Her daughter’s been waiting for hours in the TV room with Wilma. The poor kid’s going bananas.’
Nick’s face was blank. ‘I’ll come down with you and talk to them. It’s time for Wilma to come up again anyway. Evan – I’m going downstairs. We seem to have mislaid Petra Walker. I’ll bring Wilma back with me.’
The dark-haired nurse glared. ‘Vicky’s still at the head injury clinic.’
‘So you’re in charge. I won’t be long.’
Nick turned towards the lift, and Sarah trotted along beside him. What could have happened? Even if Petra had decided for some reason not to go to the meeting, there was no excuse for leaving Frankie like that. Unless she’d been taken ill, or something.
Nick extracted Wilma from the busy TV room and manoeuvred her chair to a bench in the corner of the hallway. Mim and Frankie followed and sat down. Sarah balanced on the arm of the bench, noticing that Mim was looking bright and fit, holding Frankie’s hand. The girl’s mouth was tight.
Nick woke Wilma very efficiently and bent till
his head was level with hers. ‘Your Petra didn’t go to her meeting,’ he said directly. ‘Any idea where she could be?’
‘Naaa,’ said Wilma, her head lolling. A thread of spit escaped from her mouth.
Frankie looked round wildly. ‘She did go! She left me in the TV room and said to wait for Gran, and she went! They brought Gran back at three and we’ve been waiting ever since!’
Sarah glanced at the clock above the lifts. It was nearly five. Petra had been gone for over two hours.
‘Try phoning your mum again,’ Nick said to Frankie.
Frankie tried first Petra’s mobile and then their home number. When the second attempt failed she broke the connection and burst into noisy tears. Sarah pulled out a packet of tissues and handed one over, her eyes meeting Mim’s over the girl’s head.
Mim hugged Frankie. ‘Oh, poor lovey. Maybe Mum remembered some bank papers or something she had to take to the meeting, and got tied up getting them. Why don’t you come with Sarah and me, and wait at home with us?’
Frankie nodded, sniffing, but Nick looked aghast. ‘I can’t let you take Frankie just like –’
Sarah explained the relationship, and he raised his eyebrows. ‘I see. But…’
‘I’ll call Mrs Jameson from Social Services. She can give permission.’ Mim pulled her mobile out and made the connection. ‘Sue, it’s Mim Dunbar. Can you –’
Sarah cuddled Frankie, who was sobbing quietly now. Mim finished her explanation and listened for a moment before passing the phone to Nick.
‘Okay… Right… I’ll do that. Thanks.’ He handed it back, his expression still bemused, then grinned at Sarah.
‘Is that what’s called being in the right place at the right time? Okay, if Frankie agrees she can go with you.’
Frankie was staring at Wilma, who had fallen asleep again. Sarah’s heart went out to the girl. What a horrible situation. She of all people knew what it was like to feel abandoned.
