“Mum,” she said to her mother’s back.
“Mm?”
“Do we know what happened to Joe’s organs?” Her mother froze. “I know you signed them away,” Rebecca went on, “and I’m OK with that now. I’ve worked through it. But do we know what happened to them? Who got what?”
Judith Blackford turned round. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.
“You may have worked through it,” she said. “I’m not where you are. Why do you always want to talk about it?”
“Because it keeps Joe with us, Mum,” Rebecca said. “I hate the way we have to talk about everything except Joe. The three of us sit down of an evening – what are we all thinking about? Joe. Joe, and how much we miss him. But what do we talk about? Anything else. It’s stupid. And I’m sorry if it upsets you, I know he was your son and that’s not the same as being a brother, but he deserves to be talked about. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
Judith Blackford just stared ahead. It was impossible to see what she was looking at.
“I’m going back to London next week,” Rebecca went on, “so you won’t have to deal with me being difficult. It’s been great being here and I’ll come back soon but I need to pick up the pieces of my life.”
“I know,” Judith said sadly.
“But can you please just tell me about Joe’s organs? I really need to know.”
Judith Blackford sighed.
“We could’ve known,” she said. “But your Dad and I talked about it and we decided we didn’t want to know. We were told at the hospital that sometimes recipients of donated organs like to be able to thank the families in person. We didn’t think we could bear that, so we said to the hospital that we didn’t want to know who they were and we didn’t want them to know who we were. I’m sorry we didn’t ask you. But the thought of somebody turning up on the doorstep and saying thank you for Joe’s kidneys or Joe’s heart – how could I look at a person who had Joe’s heart beating inside them without wanting to tear it out because they weren’t Joe?”
“It’s OK Mum,” Rebecca said, going to put her arms round her. “I understand. I guess the hospitals still keep records though.”
“I suppose. Why? Do you want to know?”
“I might one day.”
Judith Blackford shuddered, and mother and daughter held each other in a moment of shared grief.
Rebecca started to make plans. She would go back to London. Not to her course, because they’d given her the rest of the year off, but she’d get a job as a waitress or in a bar somewhere, and that would give her the days free to try and find – or at least find out about – the eye girl. She had already had countless imaginary conversations with her; had lain awake half the night talking to her. She knew that really eyes were just eyes, that Joe’s eyes without Joe’s brain behind them were not really Joe or even a part of Joe. But the chance to see them again had become a burning need in her. She wouldn’t be able to rest easy again until she had looked this Miranda Leman in the face.
An email was under discussion in an office at the British Association for the Blind.
“He wants to back out.”
“Which we can’t allow.”
“Luckily, we’ve got him over a barrel.”
“But no more emails. They’re traceable.”
“I’ll speak to him.”
“No. I will. You monitor our other problem, if you can spare the time.”
“Of course.”
Had Miranda heard the conversation she would have recognised one of the voices as stale treacle pudding.
“So, Hugo, how does this work then?” With the help of passers-by Niall had purchased an Oyster Card, and was now attempting for the first time to insinuate himself and Hugo through the barriers at Finsbury Park Underground Station. His internet researches had revealed that Manston Redfearn had their offices between Fenchurch Street and Tower Hill. Determined that he was going to prove that he could use public transport, Niall established that the Victoria or Piccadilly line would get him as far as King’s Cross. A change there onto the Circle line would bring him – eventually – to Tower Hill. From there he would have to rely on goodwill, but it was something that had to be done. He had resisted all Faith’s offers of help, not least because he didn’t want her to know what he was up to. He had asked her some deliberately misleading questions about Victory, whose centre of operations turned out to be near Regent’s Park, and he let her assume that he was going sniffing around there. He had allowed her to point him in the direction of Finsbury Park Station, but no more.
It didn’t take Niall long to realise that the Underground was a very unfriendly place for the blind. Sound was mangled by the hollow misdirecting acoustic and opportunities for getting on the wrong platform or the wrong train were legion. Hugo seemed to be spooked by the subterranean nature of it all as well.
People on the Underground were either in far too much of a hurry or far too wrapped up in their own affairs to be helpful. It took seven ‘Excuse me’s before a woman stopped and guided them to the platform for King’s Cross.
“If in doubt follow the crowd,” the woman said. “Everybody tends to go towards town from here.”
“Cheers,” Niall said.
The train itself was the easy bit. Getting out at King’s Cross and congratulating himself on having come so far, he rose from the bowels of the earth and became totally disorientated in his attempt to find the Circle line, especially going the way he wanted to go. He wasn’t someone to confess easily to stomach-churning fear, but he wondered if any sighted person could begin to imagine what finding your way round the tube blind was like. He made a note to himself to try the buses next time.
Miranda lay in her hospital bed staring at the ceiling. Here she was again. Her life had become a game of Snakes and Ladders. The first time she had got up to the second row before slithering back down to Square One. Now she had got up maybe to row four or five, and the resulting snake had been all the more depressing. They had played Snakes and Ladders as children, she and Amelia, with Amelia describing the board, although, with hindsight, she thought Amelia probably cheated, as she never seemed to win. Easy to cheat a blind opponent. ‘Oh dear, you’ve got on another snake!’ And maybe she had or maybe she hadn’t. So now it was a case of throw the dice and start again.
She was surprised by the sound of a newspaper page turning, and looked to see who was in the room. She had assumed she was alone. Duncan Clark was sitting on the chair at the end of the bed, apparently reading the Mirror.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
“I was just catching up with your latest adventure in the paper. Didn’t want to miss it. I wouldn’t want you to think this was my newspaper of choice.”
Miranda said nothing in response. Then decided this was Susannah-type behaviour, so said,
“I just want to see. I don’t want to be famous. I don’t want to be in the paper. I don’t care whether you believe me or not. I know you saved my sight last night, so thank you. I wonder why you did.”
Duncan Clark smiled.
“I wonder why I did too,” he said. “Or rather, I wonder what it was I was saving.”
He paused, and then added, “You know your relapses could be psychological.”
“You’d like that,” Miranda said.
“No I wouldn’t,” Clark rejoined quickly. “Last night would have been a complete waste of my time.”
This time Miranda couldn’t think of a response.
“It’s not uncommon,” Duncan Clark continued. “People lose the use of their eyes or legs because in some twisted psychological way it brings them attention. I’m not belittling it. It’s no less real because it’s psychologically induced. Just damn near impossible to treat.”
“I was born blind,” Miranda said.
“I know,” Clark replied. “And it seems from what I know of your case which admittedly isn’t much that you were a quiet, retiring creature until Jamal came
along with his operation.”
“Susannah was a doormat,” Miranda said.
“Yes. Yes. Susannah,” Duncan Clark mused.
“Why are you suggesting to me that I might be doing it to myself?” Miranda asked. “I actually really want to see.”
“There are things that don’t add up,” Clark said. “Your body was rejecting the eyes. Why? Obvious answer, because the anti-rejection medication wasn’t working. That’s twice. Two strikes. And yet when you’re in here it seems to work perfectly. Which suggests to me that for some reason it’s not being taken properly when you’re not here. Who is the one person in the best position to manipulate your medication? You.”
“I have never missed or not taken my medication,” Miranda said. “I know that for a fact. You’re in a very comfortable position because you can just dismiss everything I say as lies or delusion.”
“I can, but I don’t want to,” Clark said. “You don’t like me, and that’s fine. But I am a professional, and whilst you are accidentally in my care you’ll find I leave absolutely no stone unturned in my attempt to get to the bottom of what has happened to you. You say you want to see. I see it as my professional duty to do everything in my power to help you to see. So we are actually on the same side.”
“Thank you.”
“So tell me about your medication. You take it religiously. Where does it come from?”
“Dr. Clarke brings it in something called a dose-it box every week. He insisted. Said that way there could be no mistakes.”
“Damian Clarke,” the consultant surgeon said. It might have been a question.
“I don’t know,” Miranda said. “He’s just Dr. Clarke to me.”
“Yes, yes. Good man. Nice man,” Duncan Clark said. “What would you say if I suggested that you felt guilty about seeing because your boyfriend can’t, and you’re afraid that you being able to see might change the dynamic or even completely ruin your relationship? It could be a psychological driver.”
Miranda laughed.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said. “I only met him just before the operation. And I think that’s rubbish.”
“OK,” Clark said. He got up. “You don’t have to stay in bed,” he said. “I just don’t want you going outside the hospital. I know it’s going to be boring, but – it’s winter outside. You’re not missing much.”
He left the room without ceremony.
It is very easy to follow a blind person. Perhaps not in the silence of night or on a quiet country lane, but in the bustle and noise of London no amount of heightened compensatory senses – if such things were not in any case a myth – can detect you, and you can stand behind, or even next to your quarry without being seen, other than by an unsuspecting guide dog. Child’s play. Almost unfairly easy. You can even pretend to be helpful, respond to a request, point them in the right direction and find out exactly where they are going. Then you can actually get to their destination before they do and wait patiently for them to emerge, the faithful dog making them impossible to miss.
Niall and Hugo entered Manston Redfearn. Niall was prepared for Hugo to create fuss and open doors, but he was not prepared for his dog’s new celebrity status. The receptionist he spoke to had watched This Is Now. Of course she had: Mr. Leman’s daughter was going to be on it. And she had seen Hugo, and if Hugo had possessed the ability or been in the mood to sign autographs he could have run through the whole office. Never mind, Niall thought wrily, that it had been him that Melissa McEvoy had spoken to, him that Miranda had talked about. Hugo had got on camera and upstaged him totally.
Dogs.
What it did mean, however, was that – without any questions asked and without any ‘There’s a Mr. Niall Burnet here says he has an appointment with you’, which could have gone badly and would have warned Roderick Leman of his imminent arrival, they were both ushered directly to the lift and escorted to Roderick Leman’s inner sanctum.
“Be careful Hugo,” Niall admonished him as they rose in the lift. “There’s probably going to be models and fragile stuff we might crash into and break, and we don’t want any trouble.”
The receptionist laughed.
“This way,” she said, leading them out of the lift. The floor they had reached sounded as though it was open plan – a large space with few clear points of reference. Difficult to escape from in a hurry, should escape become necessary. On the plus side, there were countless casual witnesses to all conversations, so again Roderick Leman would be forced into civility.
“Niall Burnet. What an extraordinary surprise.” He had been spotted. Niall would have given anything to know what thoughts were passing through Roderick Leman’s mind. “I thought you’d be hovering at my daughter’s bedside in guardian angel mode,” the architect went on.
“Touché,” Niall said amicably.
“Let’s have coffee and a seat,” Leman continued.
“I don’t do coffee,” Niall said. “But if by any chance anyone’s got any raspberry tea – ”
“Beverley,” Roderick Leman cut in, “how are we in the raspberry tea department?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Leman – ”
“You’re a resourceful woman. There must be six hundred people working in this building. It’s a little morning challenge. Track down a raspberry tea bag.”
“It might be quicker to go across to the supermarket,” Beverley suggested.
“Whichever,” Leman said. “I leave it entirely in your hands.”
He was playing to the crowd, Niall realised. This was his work persona, and he was going to employ it while ever they had an audience. That could potentially make their conversation interesting.
“Seat just to your left,” Leman said after guiding them through a maze of desks and tables. “Impossible to get out of but actually quite comfortable.” Niall sat, and agreed. “Now just a pane of glass between you and a fifteen-storey drop to the street,” Leman said pleasantly.
“That would be architect humour, I guess?” Niall supposed.
“I love glass,” Leman said, surprising Niall with his candour. “It’s solid and yet transparent. There and not there. We are quite safe and secure here, but if you suffered from vertigo there’s no way you’d be able to sit where you are.”
“How do you know I don’t?” Niall said.
“Can blind people get vertigo?”
“You had a blind daughter.”
“Doesn’t make me an expert,” Leman said. Niall cursed his mouth. He felt shutters coming down, and he couldn’t go back to the place they had been just a moment before. “So, pleasantries aside, why on earth are you here?” Leman went on.
“I’d never seen the inside of an architect’s office,” Niall said. “I didn’t have anything else lined up for the day. And there are things I need to know.”
“Need or want?”
“Need.”
“OK.”
“But I’ve got all day,” Niall added. “If you want to give me a guided tour first – ”
“Sadly I can’t give you the whole day. There’s a lot to do here. I’m flying to Doha on Sunday.”
“Nice work if you can get it,” Niall reflected.
“So what is it you need to know?” Leman asked.
“It’s all to do with how and why,” Niall said.
“Spare me the riddles,” Leman said. “I’m an architect, not a poet.”
“OK. As a blind person, and speaking, perhaps, for the blind community as a whole, I really need to know how it was that Susannah – as she then was – got to be selected for the transplant. Not,” he hastened to add, “because I don’t think she should have had it or anything like that, but if there’s a next time, another operation, you know, I’d like to think I might be able to get myself into the running.”
Roderick Leman laughed.
“Is that funny?” Niall asked.
“It’s the first thing you’ve ever said to me that’s actually made sense,” Leman answered. “Of course you want w
hat she’s had. I can understand that.”
“So?”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
“Because?”
Roderick Leman didn’t answer immediately.
“Let me help you,” Niall said. “You’re daughter’s an attractive girl. I’m not. I’m a guy and I’m probably pretty ugly. From a publicity angle a girl is good. But maybe a kid could be even better.”
“What makes you think it’s about publicity?”
“Because everything’s about money in the end, Mr. Leman. Let’s not insult each other by pretending we don’t both know that. The operation must have been expensive. The research required must have been even more expensive. Whoever put up most of that money is going to want some kind of return on their investment. Publicity can bring in money. Especially if BAB put up most of it, which is what the general perception seems to be. Good publicity equals donations. Somebody at BAB told me they were getting loads of donations every time there was anything about the transplant in the media.”
“BAB?”
“The British Association for the Blind.”
“I hadn’t thought of it in those terms,” Roderick Leman said. “But I suppose you’re right. But don’t you think a lot would depend on what eyes they got?”
“No,” Niall said. “I don’t think so. I think they chose your daughter and then waited for the right eyes. Unless you can tell me differently.”
“I can’t tell you differently,” Leman said, “but that’s because I actually have no idea.”
“So how did it happen, Mr. Leman?” Niall pressed. “This is the mystery. This is what’s intriguing. Granted it was always going to be a girl, granted it was going to be someone under the age of twenty-five. Granted it had to be someone whose eye condition was not systemic, so the new eyes would end up going the same way as the originals. That probably narrows it down to – I don’t know – maybe five hundred to a thousand girls. How did it get to be Susannah?”
Eyes of the Blind Page 17
