Ben

by Cody Young

  Sal broke the silence first. “Ben doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s just walked in. I haven’t had a chance to ask him.”

  “Ask me what?” said Ben.

  She glanced nervously at Jonathan, who answered for her. “To attend a meeting with me and the other doctors.”

  Ben sighed. “I’m on leave. And, in theory, I’m still in Hawaii. I’m in the middle of a crisis and I’m too damn busy for a doctors’ meeting.”

  Jonathan’s mouth kept setting into a hard line. But it broke now. “Dr Stein. I cannot explain the details with patients listening to us. That would be most inappropriate.” He glanced out into the waiting room where the usual array of coughs and colds were sitting. Then lowered his voice. “I need to speak to you about a crisis of a different kind.”

  “Or possibly the same crisis,” said Fiona, darkly. And smiled a little smile.

  The Meeting

  Jonathan led Ben into his office and told him to sit down, while Fiona went to get the other doctors.

  Ben swallowed. Refusing to meet Jonathan’s eye. This was unprecedented – asking the doctors to abandon their consulting rooms during busy clinic hours. Precious minutes would be lost, patients would continue to arrive, the waiting room would be full to overflowing.

  Ravi and Dmitri arrived. Glancing at each other. Deferential, but smug. Like boarding school prefects in the know.

  Jonathan sat down in his leather chair and pushed aside some papers that were screening something in the top of his in-tray. Fiona went over to stand beside him, like she was his second in a duel.

  “Oh, it’s alright Fee. You can leave us now.”

  Ben could see that Fiona didn’t like that, but she had no choice but to do as she was told. She left the room noiselessly, leaving the door ever so slightly ajar.

  “I’m sure you know what this is about.” Jonathan began. The others nodded. “As I’m sure you do, Benjamin?”

  Ben sighed. Shook his head. Not in denial, exactly. Just waiting for the storm to break.

  Jonathan laid a patient’s file down in front of Ben.

  Layla Gilbert. His patient, Layla Gilbert. Ben looked at it, lying there on the desk. There was a long silence. The other two doctors stood, uneasily, over by the wall. Ravi folded his arms.

  Jonathan began. “Is Layla Gilbert your personal crisis?”

  Ben couldn’t answer. He just stared at Layla’s file.

  Ravi came forward and spoke to Ben. “You can’t deny it. She was the girl you took to the Charity dinner, right? I met her. I shook her hand.”

  Ben looked up, confused. “I know. But I asked her to change doctor, before we got involved.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Jonathan tapped the name into his own computer, and then swung the screen round so that Ben could see for himself. “Look. Patient’s name: Layla Gilbert. General Practitioner: Benjamin Stein.”

  Ben paused, and stared. He couldn’t quite take it in. “I don’t understand. She transferred. She requested another doctor. I asked her to.”

  Ravi sighed. “She’s registered as one of your patients, Ben.”

  “She can’t be. I saw her sign the paperwork. I dropped off the form here myself.”

  “There isn’t any paperwork. There’s nothing in the file about changing to another doctor. Not that you could get out of this as easily as that. The General Medical Council takes a dim view of situations like these. Even former patients are off limits in most cases. And she’s listed here, and here, as your current patient, Ben.”

  Ben stared in disbelief at the file. “Christ.”

  Jonathan, the senior doctor spoke. “According to her file you’ve seen her twice, here at the clinic. Presumably, you’ve seen a quite a bit more of her, off the premises, is that right?”

  That rankled. It had begun. The innuendo. The accusations. The recriminations. The laughter in the corridors. The letter from the medical council… Ben rose to his feet. “I haven’t got time for this.”

  “Sit down!” Jonathan barked. “You’ll have to make time. For me. For the GMC, and for a disciplinary hearing.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Jonathan gave Ben a hostile stare. “Why is there no trace of this form? And do you imagine, even if we found it, that you’d be off the hook?”

  Ben was in agony now. “Look. I don’t expect you to understand my relationship with Layla, but−”

  “Relationship? Relationship? There can be no equal relationship born in the surgery or consulting room. It’s exploitative, unethical, and wrong.”

  “I’m not exploiting her. I’m in love with her. And there’s nothing wrong with falling in love.”

  “Oh, God, Ben. That’s what they all say. The middle-aged psychiatrists and the university doctors with wives and kids waiting at home. They all claim to have been in love. That’s a pathetic defence.”

  “I don’t care what you think.”

  “You will care. At the tribunal. You took advantage of a young and vulnerable patient. And she’ll say it too when the affair’s over. That’s what always happens when it ends. The whole sorry thing gets dragged through disciplinary hearings and into the morning papers. And everyone has a good laugh at Doctor Idiot who swears blind that it was consensual and he really, really loved her. Unless he’s fool enough to pretend his stethoscope slipped and she misconstrued his intentions. Benjamin! What the hell were you thinking?”

  That I’d rather lose my career than lose the chance to be with her.

  Ben didn’t say it, though. He stood there, like he was back at prep school in the headmaster’s study. And if caning was still legal. He’d be getting it.

  Jonathan sighed. “This is a prime example of how transference can occur in a primary care setting.” He glanced around at his colleagues to make sure they knew he was exuding superior wisdom now. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Transference?” said Ben. “What the fuck?”

  “Ben, you were a brilliant scholar. You must have come across transference before. The poor girl thinks you’re God and Daddy and James Bond all rolled into one. Confuses you with every other authority figure in her life. And of course, she’s too young and naïve to know what’s really going on. And when she finds out you’re just a man – a pathetic, mixed-up excuse for a man who doesn’t have a clue how to solve any of her problems, then what do you think is going to happen? It’ll turn sour and the dream will be over. Wake up, Ben. You’re acting like a fool.”

  And somehow, that was the thing that caused Ben to lose it, completely – hearing Jonathan insulting his own and Layla’s intelligence. Like everyone did.

  He rounded on him, savagely. “You slander her. She understands things that you’ll never understand. She’s an intelligent girl and she knows I’m a flesh and blood man with plenty of flaws – some of them likely to be fatal. But she is the only woman I’ve ever met who has accepted me, flaws and all. And maybe she doesn’t know what the fuck transference is – I’m not sure I do – but who cares? It’s nothing but a cock-and-bull idea that’s floated around for a hundred years since Freud came up with it in a haze of cigar smoke in Vienna. I will not have the ghost of Dr Freud telling me that the girl I love can’t tell the difference between me and her father. Christ, Jonathan. You haven’t met Layla. If she was here now she’d tell you what to do with your manky old psycho-babble!”

  And Jonathan sat there in his chair with his mouth open like a goldfish.

  So Ben didn’t stop. He let rip, in a voice loud enough for the entire waiting room to hear. “We flatter ourselves that our female patients think we’re Gods. They’re smarter than that, Jonathan. They know what we are. We’re just ordinary men. Set in our ways. Predictable in our passions. And full of self-important shit about our place in the world as doctors. We’re not holy healers, Jonathan. We’re just men. Some of us are good men, some of the time. And some of us are not. It’s a standing joke that we make bad husbands, inattentive fathers and we’re usually too damn tired t
o fuck.” He looked at Jonathan, savagely. “Don’t you think your wife would agree with me?”

  Jonathan blanched. “Have you been talking to my wife, you son of a−”

  “No, Jonathan. I have not been talking to your wife,” Ben yelled. “I’ve been far too busy trying to get Layla to sleep with me!”

  The door of Jonathan’s consulting room was standing ajar. Sally and Fiona were outside in the corridor, practically wetting themselves. They stood, staring at each other, wanting to hear this – and worried that the patients in the waiting room were listening too. Fiona turned her head and peered through the archway and into the waiting room – you could have heard a pin drop out there today. Thirty-eight people – attentive as would-be astronauts before the selection committee. Sally covered her mouth with her hand.

  Ben needed to get out of the clinic and find out what had happened to Layla. “I’m not listening to any more of your bullshit, Jonathan. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Not here. You’re on leave – as of today.”

  “Good. I need every second of my time, to look for Layla. She’s been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” Jonathan repeated. “Kidnapped?”

  But there was no time to explain that now. Ben stormed out of the meeting. He ignored Sal and Fiona, and went into his consulting room to get any personal possessions he had left there.

  It had finally happened. He was suspended.

  He’d left very little of himself in consulting room three. No photographs. No personal mementos. Nothing, really. Only the post-it note that said ‘I love you, too’ stuck to the top of the computer. He took it and put it in his wallet. He looked in the top drawer to see if there was anything else, and on impulse he took his prescription pad with him. He tucked it into the pocket of his black coat and stalked out of the building.

  * * *

  Ben drove like a madman to the prison where Layla’s father was being held. The visiting session was almost over, but Ben begged for the chance to speak with Eddy.

  The poor man was surprised to see Ben, in a blue chair, with no Layla by his side. He was almost in tears when Ben told him where she was. “They’ve got my Layla? Those bastards? And you were pissing about in Hawaii while it was happening?”

  Ben felt desperate. Just like Eddy, whose face was white and drained. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Eddy’s eyes were wide with shock. “You will be. When I get out. Oh, to hell with good behaviour!” He stood up, fist clenched, grabbed Ben’s lapel and pulled him up too, levelling his fist up with Ben’s face.

  The guard saw and started crossing the room towards them, reaching for his truncheon. “Everything alright?”

  “Please sit down, Eddy,” breathed Ben. “We’re fine, officer, we’re fine. Eddy’s a little emotional that’s all. I’ve just told him I’m going to marry his daughter. Isn’t that right?”

  Eddy stared. And nodded. Forced a smile, even. And sat down opposite Ben.

  “Congratulations,” the guard said, cynically. And then he went away.

  Ben leaned forward. Begging Eddy to cooperate. “I love her. I’ll do anything for her. I’ve already lost my job for her, most likely. And I promised her I’d protect her. So I need you to tell me where to find Jimmy Warren.”

  “I don’t know! I’m out of the loop now. I never did like Birch and his backroom boys.”

  “But you were part of his gang, weren’t you?”

  “No. Who told you that?”

  “Well, I just assumed…” Ben was surprised. Confused.

  “I had a flower stall. In the market, sonny. Mr Birch was supposed to be ‘protecting’ me. Instead he fitted me up for armed robbery.”

  “Oh, Eddy. I’m sorry.”

  “Not half as sorry as I am.”

  There was a pause. But Ben was getting desperate. “You must know some names. If you don’t know then tell me who to ask. I’ll go to them directly and make them talk. I have to find her, and I have to do it fast.”

  “Nobody’ll tell you. Not if they work for Birch. They don’t give a shit about you and your so-called love affair with Layla. Why should they?” Then Eddy’s face crumpled. “How come they imagine she’s untouched, if you know what I mean?”

  “She wanted time. She wanted to wait. I honoured that.”

  “You poor stupid fool. And Poor Layla. She’ll be wishing and wishing you’d done it - after what they do to her.”

  Ben couldn’t bear to think about it. “She wasn’t ready. She was only eighteen.”

  “I’ve seen this happen to girls of twelve.”

  Ben swallowed. “No.”

  “But she was tough, my Layla. And my wife Tara, she protected her too, while she could.”

  The bell rang signalling that visiting time was almost over.

  Ben was desperate. “Tell me who to go to, and I’ll get her back, I swear.”

  “I don’t know. None of them will talk to you, doctor. You’ve gotta have some kind of leverage.”

  “They’ll talk, Eddy. Just give me a name. I’ll do the rest. I’ll get the necessary leverage.”

  Eddy looked like he was terrified of uttering a name. And Ben neither knew nor cared why, he just had to get the information out of him, before the final bell rang. “Please! For Layla’s sake.”

  “Okay. Try Glenn. Glenn Hallam. Very young when I knew him. But even then he was a loose cannon. You might get something from him. If he’s not too stoned to answer the door.”

  “Glenn Hallam. Does he live at the Rookeries?”

  “Yeah. He’s a pusher. If he hasn’t gone up in the world.”

  The last bell rang, and all around them, visitor and prisoners got up and said their goodbyes. Ben got up too. “Thank you, Mr. Gilbert. I won’t let you down.”

  “You already have.” The man shook his head and stood up, blue eyes all watery with tears. “And Layla. You’ve let her down, badly. And she really believed in you.”

  Ben felt harrowed, hearing that. “I’ll get her back.”

  “And what if they’ve already had their fun with her? Will you want her back after that?”

  Ben looked at Eddy. “Yes. If she’ll have me.”

  They shook hands though, firm in comradeship just for one brief moment, before Ben let go and left the room.

  * * *

  He drove like a lunatic back to London, parked near the Rookeries, and asked around until someone told him which concrete fortress Glenn Hallam occupied.

  A sniffing, blue-veined boy in a hoodie told him, for the price of a tube of glue. “Three floors up. Number 48.”

  He hammered on the door until a woman in a grubby towelling bathrobe came to the door.

  Ben said, “I’m looking for Glenn Hallam. I was told he lives here.”

  The woman looked at Ben, trying to work him out. “Are you with the police?”

  “No. I’m a friend.”

  She stared at Ben, doubtfully. “He doesn’t have any friends that look like you.”

  “Birch does. Terry Birch. Brother of Leslie. Who died a long time ago.”

  That worked. That name always worked. “Blimey,” she said, pulling her robe around her as if she was cold. “Don’t go calling him Terry to his face, or he’ll shoot you. It’s Mr Birch to everyone, now.”

  Ben didn’t have time to chat. “Is Mr Hallam in?”

  “Y-yes…” she led Ben through to her lounge. It was identical – in size and layout – to Layla’s and Tracey’s and every other lounge in the block.

  Glenn was lying on the couch smoking something mellow and green.

  Ben explained what he wanted. What he needed to know. Where Jimmy Warren had taken Layla.

  The man laughed at him. “Nah. I’m not going to grass on my mates.”

  “Oh, but you will,” said Ben and reached inside his jacket for his prescription pad. “And you won’t tell anyone I asked. Because I can pay you for the information. I can pay you in drugs.”

  Glenn’s face took on the look of
a starving child in Africa as he gazed at Ben’s prescription pad, lying there on his dirty coffee table. “Where the fuck did you get that?”

  “It belongs to me. I’m a doctor.”

  The man ran his tongue over his lips, lusting after what could be got with one of those prescriptions. “A real one?”

  “Yes. A real one. A prescribing physician.”

  The man stared at the prescription pad like he couldn’t believe his luck. “What can you get?”

  “You name it. Opiates, stimulants, barbiturates.” Ben got out his gold-plated pen. “What’s it to be, Glenn? Name your price.”

  “Bloody Nora,” Glenn stared at him. “This has got to be a trick.”

  “No trick. No trouble. No police. But I need to know where Layla is.” Ben looked at Glenn. “Come on. Think about the resale value. What’s popular on the streets? Ritalin, perhaps? Or good old Oxycodone? Christmas is coming, Glenn. Everyone will need some pain relief. If you don’t want it for yourself, you could get some for your friends.”

  Birch Boys

  It took only twelve minutes to drive there, once Ben knew the name of the street.

  About nine o’clock at night, Ben arrived at the place where she was being held. Ilford. The Birch family’s original territory. It was a perfectly ordinary street – small terraced houses that had once been working class cottages, now trending ever upward. Some still had their original front garden – a handkerchief-sized piece of lawn enclosed by a low brick wall – accessed by a wooden gate. Others were open to the road, with the tiny plot paved and turned into a parking space. He put the car into a low gear and cruised slowly along the street, looking at each and every house. It was dark now, and the street lights turned all the colours into shades of coal and amber. It was no longer possible to see which house had a red front door.