by JL Merrow
“Don’t worry, I got all the details already.” Phil put his arm around my shoulders.
“Right. Okay.”
God, I hate hospitals. Spent a bit too much time at the business end of one when I was seventeen, and the fact that, this time, I was only there to wait for news of my sis didn’t make things any better. She’d been moved out of A&E and into another set of initials I’d forgotten already, which at least meant we didn’t have to sit with all the poor drunk sods with head wounds they wouldn’t remember getting in the morning.
The orange plastic chairs in the waiting room, which anywhere else would’ve been a corridor, seemed like they’d been designed to drum up trade for the physiotherapists, and there was that hideous hospital smell of disinfectant and death.
Well, maybe not actual death. I’ve smelled that before, and it’s something you don’t forget in a hurry. But sickness, definitely. And despair. Even the lights were getting on my tits. Cold, clinical and headache-inducing. And although it wasn’t all that warm, the air was so bloody stuffy I could hardly breathe. I jumped off my seat and paced around the room for the umpteenth time.
Phil stayed where he was, his legs stretched out in front of him like he was at home in front of the telly, the git. “You know your limp’s got worse since we’ve been in here,” he said.
I sent him a silent invitation to swivel on it. He huffed out a sigh and pushed himself to his feet, coming to meet me in the middle of the hallway. “Look, I know it’s not easy, but just try and relax, okay? There’s nothing we can do except trust the doctors are doing their job.”
“Would it bloody kill someone to give us a progress report? Do they even know what’s wrong with her? Is it some kind of poison, or was Richard just talking out of his middle-aged-spreading arse? Is she going to be okay?”
Phil grabbed hold of both my wrists, which at least stopped me flapping my arms around like a Muppet on steroids. “Ow,” I said, because I was damned if I was going to make it easy for him.
He didn’t let go. “They’ll tell you when there’s anything to tell, all right?”
“And how come Greg gets to be in with her, anyhow? He’s not even family.” I was starting to regret having let him go in the ambulance.
“Yeah, well, maybe she asked for him? They just got engaged, remember.”
“As long as he doesn’t just want to measure her up to see how much wire he’s going to need—” I buttoned my lip quick as the man himself came in through the door. He looked like he’d been to hell and back and had forgotten to pack a comb, but he was smiling.
The first thing he said was, “She’s going be all right.”
The relief hit me so hard, I think I’d have keeled over if Phil hadn’t been holding on to me. “Thank fucking God. Uh, sorry about the, um…”
Greg waved it away. I could feel the draught from three feet away. “No, no. Quite understandable, in the circumstances. We all have our own ways of calling upon the Lord.”
“Did they say what it was?” Phil asked.
Greg didn’t answer for a moment. He’d produced a large white handkerchief from a pocket and was scrubbing it over his face like a flannel. I hoped it was clean. When he’d finished, he folded it carefully back into its original creases and put it away again. “They told me they would have to do some tests. But she’s responded well to the treatment, and there shouldn’t be any lasting effects.”
I frowned. “Yeah, but did they give you any clues about what caused it?”
Greg shook his head. “The doctors asked all kinds of questions, such as whether Cherry was a heavy smoker, or trying to give up, but that was all.”
“Cherry? She’s never been near a fag in her life. Present company excepted, of course.”
“Actually, she used to smoke a little in her university days. But only socially.”
“My big sis? Never. How would you know, anyhow? You didn’t go to Durham, did you?”
“Heavens, no. She told me, of course.” His eyebrows softened. “No doubt she feels you see her as someone to look up to. A role model, if you will. One doesn’t like to admit one’s little peccadilloes in such circumstances.”
I blinked at the idea of me having Cherry as a role model. Couldn’t see how he thought that one was working out. He probably had a point about the rest of it, though. I was pretty sure I’d never admitted a peccadillo in my life. I frowned. “So, what, it’s a lung thing, is it?”
Phil huffed beside me. “Sounds to me more like they’re thinking of nicotine poisoning.”
“What?”
“You see it in kids, mostly. Toddlers. From eating mum or dad’s cigarettes.”
Greg nodded like he knew what Phil was talking about. “And in years gone by, of course, it was used as an insecticide. But I really don’t see how anything like that could have affected Cherry. I’m sure I should have noticed if she’d taken to chewing tobacco.” He gave a tired little laugh. “At any rate, they tell me she’ll need to be kept in here for a few days. We should probably all go home and get some rest.”
“Can’t we see her first?” I asked.
Phil took my arm. “She’s probably not feeling her best right now. Best to leave it until tomorrow, right, Gregory?”
“Indeed. But your concern is much appreciated.” He took out his handkerchief again, looked at it like he’d never seen it before, then put it back in his pocket.
I was glad I hadn’t let out my first reaction of Oi, she’s my bloody sister, of course I’m concerned. Greg looked totally done in. “Come on, we’ll give you a lift home,” I said instead.
Chapter Ten
We dropped Greg back at the Old Deanery, which seemed silent and forlorn now all the guests had gone home, littered with half-empty glasses and lonely sausage rolls. I didn’t much like leaving him there with only the “family” of stuffed animals for company, but he assured us the Lord would be his shepherd so we said our good-byes and headed back to St Albans. I gave Richard a quick ring on the way to let him know what was up.
“Surprised you didn’t go along to the hospital yourself,” I said at the end.
“Doctors make terrible patients and even worse relatives of patients. I thought it’d be better all round if I let the hospital get on with things without my intervention.”
“Yeah, fair enough.” Still seemed a bit cold, mind. “You going to see her tomorrow?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Right, maybe I’ll see you then.” I hung up and turned to Phil. “You coming in for a bit when we get back to mine?” I tried not to sound all needy.
“Yeah. God, yeah.” Phil rubbed the back of his neck with his gear-changing hand. “I could do with a drink. Thought I might stay over. That all right with you?”
“You’ll have to excuse the mess, but yeah.”
“Seemed all right earlier.”
“Yeah, but a couple of lazy tossers have left pizza boxes all over the shop since then.” I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes, but all I could see was Cherry on the floor, so I opened them again quick.
We were almost back to mine by then, thank God. After we got in, I grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, opened them and handed one to Phil. Merlin yowled at me. “You can shut up, you’ve already had your tea.” He flicked his tail at me and went to rub up against Phil’s leg. Traitor. “So what did all that mean, back at the hospital? All that talk about nicotine.” I bent down to stroke Arthur, who at least still seemed to know which side his bread was buttered.
Phil leaned on the counter. “It means the police are going to be treating this as attempted murder.”
“That’s just crazy! Who’d want to hurt Cherry? I mean, I might have felt the odd urge to strangle her myself, sometimes, but God, I didn’t bloody mean it.”
“Coo-ee Bonio?”
I stared at him. “You what?” Maybe he shouldn’t have had that beer after all. “I haven’t got any dog biscuits. Only cat treats.”
He had the nerve to look
at me like I was the mental one. “Cui bono? It’s Latin. Who benefits? As in, say, who’s first in line to inherit your sister’s money? Which it sounds like she’s got a fair bit of—lawyer, nice house in Pluck’s End—”
“Hey, not everyone in Pluck’s End is loaded.”
“No, but I bet your sister isn’t living on the council estate. Do you know what’s in her will?”
“I don’t even know if she’s got one. I haven’t bloody got one, and she’s not that much older than me.”
“She’s a lawyer. Course she’s got a will.” Phil took a long swig of beer.
I was about to follow suit, but then I frowned and put my bottle back down. “I dunno. What’s the old proverb about cobblers’ kids?”
“They come from a long line of old cobblers? I don’t know, do I?”
“They’re supposed to be the worst shod, aren’t they? Like, their dad makes shoes for a living, he can’t be arsed when he comes home.”
Phil looked unimpressed. “So on that logic, your bathroom leaks and half your pipes are about to burst?”
“Course not! I keep my plumbing in good nick.”
“There you go, then. She’ll have a will.” He nodded and downed the rest of his beer. Smug git.
“What, because me and Cherry are identical in every bloody respect? Anyway, even if she has done a will, she’ll be leaving her stuff to family, won’t she? Want to go bug Richard’s gaff? Or maybe you should be asking me a few searching questions?”
“Don’t be a twat. Maybe she changed her will recently. She just got engaged, remember?”
“A whole five minutes before she keeled over.”
“So? It’s not like she’d have had to wait for an appointment with her lawyer, is it?” Phil shrugged. “Maybe it’s something to do with her work. She deals with criminal trials, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, but…this is the Home Counties, not bloody mob-era Chicago.” I threw my arms out wide in frustration.
“Think nothing ever happens around here? You’ve got a short memory.”
I rubbed my arm. “I remember all right. But this is Cherry we’re talking about.” She was just too, well, boring—sorry, Sis—for all this stuff.
“So? Just because she’s your sister doesn’t mean she doesn’t deal with serious cases.” He picked up his empty bottle, frowned at it and put it back down again. “What sort of cases does she specialise in?”
I paused in opening up the fridge. “Dunno. What? Don’t look at me like that. I’ve hardly seen her since I left home, you know that.” And maybe careers had been a subject I hadn’t really wanted to bring up, what with hers being all high-flying and mine more involved with drains, but I wasn’t going to mention that.
“It’ll say on their website. Borrow your laptop?”
“It’s in there.” I nodded in the direction of the living room, and Phil levered his bulk off the counter and went to find it, Merlin trotting at his heels like an undercover police dog. I grabbed another couple of beers and followed them. Arthur stayed in the kitchen, the ungrateful so-and-so.
Phil was sitting on the sofa, tapping his fingers on his leg while he waited for my laptop to boot up. “Is this thing steam powered?”
I sat down next to him and put his beer on the coffee table. “Nah. Just give it a mo, the valves need to warm up.” I leaned back.
He huffed impatiently. “You’d better not have dial-up,” he muttered as the screen finally flickered on.
“Works on carrier pigeon. You going to use that thing or just sit there and insult it?” I mean, it wasn’t like I was particularly attached to my old laptop, but it’d done me fine the last few years or six.
“Finally,” Phil said as the Ver Chambers website loaded. “Right. Cherry Paretski…specialism: criminal cases.”
I sat up to take a peek. Sure enough, he wasn’t telling porkies. “Huh. I always thought she did divorces and speeding tickets and stuff. Think it’ll say anything about cases she’s handled?”
“Nope. Think about it. If you got done for, say, ripping off the customers, would you want your case used as advertising by your defence lawyer?”
“Depends if she’d got me off. Nah, s’pose not. Are you going to ask her about it?” I yawned, leaning back again.
“Who’s my client?”
“What?”
“No, I’m serious. If I’m going to be investigating this, who am I working for here?”
I put my beer bottle down on the coffee table with a clunk. Arthur hissed. “So my sister’s only important to you if you’re getting paid?”
“Oh, for—I’m not after your sodding money, you prat.” Phil gave me a patronising look. “But if I haven’t got a client, it’s just me poking my nose in, and the police are going to be even less happy about that than they usually are.”
“Fine. I’ll employ you to look into Cherry’s…case.” Saying “attempted murder” made it seem too real. “Payment to be in the sexual favours of your choosing. Happy now?”
“Bloody ecstatic. I’ll draw up a contract.”
I was fairly sure he was joking. “So now are you going to ask her about her clients?”
Phil shut down the lid of my laptop. “Nope. Now I’m going to relax on the sofa with my boyfriend and drink my beer, because I don’t know about you, but I’ve had one bloody long day.”
Too right. I switched on the telly. Sky Sports was showing some Spanish football match. I let the sounds of the crowd chants and the hyperactive commentators wash over me as I tried to wrap my head around the thought of someone deliberately trying to kill my big sis. I must have dozed off at some point, as I woke up to find the footie was over and Phil was gently manoeuvring his arm out from around me.
“Come on, sleeping beauty. Time for bed.”
“Going to wake me up with a kiss in the morning?”
Phil laughed quietly, more a hitch in his breath than anything else. “I can do better than that.”
He did too.
Gary was on the phone first thing next morning. Or what he called first thing on a Saturday, which was halfway through the day for anyone who didn’t get to work at home in their jammies. Actually, to be fair, I wasn’t even sure if Gary worked on Saturdays. I’d always struggled with the idea of Gary buckling down and getting serious work done any day of the week, but I supposed he must do something to keep Julian in raw steak and Bonios.
Phil was long gone by then, off to do whatever private investigators did, and I was crouching under the kitchen sink at Mrs. L’s in Sandridge with water dripping into my hair. Mrs. L had popped out to catch her neighbour—ignorance being bliss and all that, I hadn’t asked what she wanted to catch her doing—and left me to it, so I took the call, glad of the excuse to unkink my shoulders and legs.
Look, I know maybe it seems a bit heartless, me just going to work as normal with my sister in the hospital, but Cherry was going to be all right, which was more than you could say for Mrs. L’s carpet tiles after she’d gone away for a week and come back to find the place flooded. And it wasn’t like I could have done anything at the hospital, except get on her tits when she wanted some time alone with the Demonstrably Reverend Greg. I’d pop along later this morning, take her some flowers or something.
Probably not grapes, what with the dicky tummy and all.
“How is she?” Gary demanded. That’s what I like about Gary: he may seem like a total self-obsessed queen, but deep down he’s got his priorities right.
“Fine. Well, not fine, fine, but she’s going to be okay.”
“Thank God.”
“Yeah, I think Greg’s got that bit covered.” I had a bit of a root through my toolbox for the sealant I was going to need in a bit. Hmm. Getting low—I’d better remember to stock up.
“Was it a miraculous recovery? Do we suspect divine intervention?”
“More like stomach pumping and activated charcoal, from what I heard.”
“Ugh. Poor her.” There was a pause. “How does one even acti
vate charcoal?”
“Buggered if I know, but it seemed to do the trick. Anyway, I reckon Greg did some serious God-bothering last night, so maybe you were right on the divine-intervention thing.” I’ve never been totally sure how Gary actually feels about the church. I mean, he’s a bell ringer, but that doesn’t have to mean serious religion. Far as I know, they don’t actually make you get down on your knees and swear allegiance to the Archbishop of Canterbury before they let you up in the tower. Knowing Gary, he probably caught sight of one of those thick, furry sausage things they have on the end of the ropes one day and just couldn’t resist giving it a tug.
“Well, if a canon of St Leonard’s can’t put in a good word for the one he loves, who can?”
A drip of water trickled down my forehead, and I wiped it away with my sleeve. “Isn’t that nepotism or something?”
“Ooh, did somebody eat a thesaurus for breakfast?”
“Don’t be daft. Even I know those have been extinct for millions of years. Listen, I ought to warn you, you might get the police wanting to talk to you. They were going on about her having been poisoned, last night at the hospital. They were doing tests and stuff. Didn’t tell me anything more when I rang up this morning, so it might be nothing, but I thought I’d better give you a heads-up.”
“Poisoned? You mean, with malice aforethought? Like Lucrezia Borgia, or Dr. Shipman? Why on earth would anyone want to do that to poor little Cherry?”
“Phil reckoned it might be some pissed-off client. He’s looking into it. You know, someone who got banged up and didn’t reckon she did a good enough job of defending him.”
“Or it could be a victim, distraught at her attacker walking free from jail?” Gary was getting into this, I could tell from his voice.
“Maybe. Anyway, we don’t know anything for certain yet.” I heard the front door open. “Look, I’ve got to go. Speak to you later, yeah?”
