The Secret Within: A totally gripping psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist

by Lucy Dawson

  ‘That doesn’t make you a bad person, Tan. It makes you human.’

  ‘They are both in this together – you understand?’ He barely seems to have heard me. ‘Nate lets Hamish receive the films. It’s not just examinations: Nate has relations with women there and Hamish watches. He calls himself Fat Uncle Ham. He knows these are not women he would attract himself. It is disgusting. They have been doing all of this for a long time. There are things that…’ he pauses suddenly, seems to change his mind about what he was going to say. ‘You heard that arguing upstairs?’ He looks at me and I nod. ‘Nathan’s going to America; you know that too, yeah? But you watch… now that Hamish has died? Nathan will say it was Hamish doing the filming, not him.’

  ‘I know that’s not true. He knew the cameras were there. He told me it was to protect himself legally.’

  ‘That won’t matter! He’ll deny it. He will say it was Hamish, I guarantee you. There is no loyalty in death.’ He stands up suddenly. ‘And that’s another thing – so Hamish just dies like that? I mean, OK, he is not healthy, but he collapses where nobody else but Nathan sees? You’ll think I’m crazy, but I’m not. I swear to you!’

  He looks around us urgently and bends down to whisper to me. ‘Nathan is a very dangerous man. He is unhinged. He doesn’t have boundaries. He is used to doing what he likes, he doesn’t know where to stop. He took your son to a hotel. He bound his legs and arms! That’s a man you’ll wake to find standing by your bed in the middle of the night, watching you. He terrifies me. Say nothing to anyone. Let him run away to America. This is so much bigger than you realise, Julia. Let him go because you do not want him looking at you anymore. For my part, I am so sorry for the pain I have caused you, and I hope you won’t tell anyone else now, because I don’t want him looking at me and my family either. The shame I live with every day is my punishment. I just want to protect my loved ones. Thank you for listening to me.’

  He walks back towards the hospital, head down. I watch as he approaches an anxious elderly woman paused outside the double doors, leaning heavily on a frame, while she works out how to navigate stepping off the kerb. He notices her, stops and helps guide the frame down carefully, taking her body weight as she leans on him too, until she finds solid ground. She gratefully says something and he stops to listen, nodding politely and making time for her, like he isn’t falling apart inside. Eventually he goes back in through the doors. She continues on her way, but she now is smiling, relieved – grateful for the kindness.

  I understand what Eleni meant perfectly now.

  He is a good man.

  And a wise one.

  When the news breaks first in the local, then national press, Tan’s prediction comes to pass:

  Local plastic surgeon Hamish Wilson died from a subdural hematoma yesterday at the EM hospital, Exeter following a confrontation with a colleague over the alleged sexual assault of a staff member. Allegations have also emerged that Mr Wilson had secretly been filming patient examinations, conducted at private plastic surgery premises owned by the Wilson family. Images were discovered on Mr Wilson’s laptop by the executor of his will, Mr Nathan Sloan, who referred his findings to the General Medical Council. A spokesperson for the GMC has confirmed an investigation is underway into Mr Wilson’s ‘potential professional misconduct that may have compromised patient privacy, resulting from the collection and storage of images without patient consent’. Police have also confirmed that they are investigating an alleged breach of the Human Tissue Act after a collection of human bone fragments was discovered at the property Mr Wilson shared with his wife and stepson.

  Michelle is not named, but it quickly becomes common knowledge that she’s the ‘staff member’ in question. I’m devastated for her, and as for the human bone fragments? Rumours begin to circulate that Hamish liked to keep private mementos of some of his patients, which confirms – if it were needed – that he was very much, in his own right, a narcissistic psychopath.

  But what can we now do about Nathan? Tan was aware that the filming happened, but he was not directly involved. He has no evidence or proof that Nathan was responsible for the installation and use of the cameras. And he is very frightened.

  ‘What if Nathan uses the image of me? I would be risking everything when I’m not sure it would achieve anything. That’s bad enough, but,’ he looks at me, terrified, ‘Hamish is dead. They won’t have spent money on an expensive Home Office post-mortem when it looks obvious what happened. They’ll have just done the standard hospital one, and any subtle bruising on his chest from being pushed, or marks on his wrist from being pulled down so that his head hit the desk will have been missed; but this was not an accident, whatever Nathan says. And even if an examination was conducted to the “highest” standard, I wouldn’t trust the conclusion. The truth would be covered up. Hamish had human bones at his house. You are talking about dangerous men, Julia. I just want Nathan to go away, as far away, as soon as possible. I want him away from my children and my wife!’

  I won’t argue with that. It wouldn’t change Tan’s mind if I did, and I’m starting to worry about his mental health in all of this. Tan is worth a million Nathan Sloans… but it doesn’t mean watching Nathan get away scot-free doesn’t cause me considerable distress: it does; the only positive outcome is at least we never have to see him again.

  Until he denies us that too.

  Cass comes rushing into the kitchen after school on Friday, to tell me that Ben has messaged her. After a week’s absence he will be back in school on Monday after all! No America! No broken heart! She is ecstatic. Ewan and I are horrified.

  He waits until she’s disappeared back up to her bedroom then turns to me. ‘You don’t believe for a second that this was all Hamish and not Nathan, do you?’

  I shake my head. ‘Nathan told Joan, the clinical nurse specialist at work, that he didn’t know the cameras were in the office until I spotted them. He’s somehow managed to make it look like I helped him, rather than whistle-blew on him. The way he manipulates everything and everyone is astounding. We’re going to have to leave though, if he’s now staying. You know that, right?’ I take my husband’s hand. ‘I can’t work alongside him like nothing has happened, watching him treat patients who have no idea what he’s like – and that’s before I even think about what he persuaded Alex to do. Tan’s terrified of him. He thinks—’

  I stop talking as Alex walks in, happily clutching the new phone that Dom bought him. ‘Mum, Ewan – is it all right for a couple of friends to come over tomorrow afternoon? We’re going to do a survival assault course in the garden!’ He grins, looking delighted when I nod. ‘We are all systems go!’ He holds the phone to his ear. ‘If you’ve got a camo net too, I think that would work.’ He legs it and we hear him thundering upstairs to his room, still chattering away.

  Ewan sighs heavily.

  ‘I know. Don’t,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t want to have to do it to them. Of course I don’t. They’re never going to forgive me, but we don’t have any choice.’

  I leave them all sleeping in the morning and slip out as soon as it’s light enough, for a quick 5k along the estuary path. I know my knees will complain, but I want the mental space. It’s not what I’d hoped for – a damp rather than crisp, chilly winter morning. The tide is in, and I’m running under the cover of a cold mist that feels oppressive. I don’t mind that all I can hear is the thud of my feet on the track at the water’s edge and the sound of my own breath. I’m not bothered by the rustling in the reeds to my right and the ripples that spread across the surface of the otherwise flat water as a result of some animal or bird moving about nearby, but I am unnerved by the sudden appearance of another runner heading in my direction out of the gloom – an unmistakably male shape. I glance behind me. We are alone. There is no one else to hear or see us. It’s a split-second thing, but I suddenly turn on the spot without even knowing that my feet are going to do it, and start racing away from the stranger, picking up my pace, pushing my body int
o a sprint until my muscles are screaming and I’ve no choice but to stop completely, unable to take enough oxygen on board. I glance back over my shoulder into the fog, gasping, he must now be some distance away – and as soon as I can, I resume a gentle jog over the bridge, towards the level crossing.

  I am safe but now I feel foolish… and suddenly very angry… What the hell was that about? Now I just abandon everything on a whim, just because some random man is there? I need to calm down. I need to not see threat everywhere. I head back to the house, but at the last moment I change my mind and turn onto the main road instead, running into town.

  I keep my head down as I pass the new-build housing sites. I pound past the crematorium, the golf and country club, where men of a certain age are already arriving in their large gleaming Jags, clubs carefully packed in the boot for an early morning round. I head over the roundabout, past the barracks and swing right, as if I am making my way up towards the hospital, only instead I turn left at the crossroads and into St Leonards, arriving at what estate agents might breathily refer to as one of Exeter’s most desirable addresses: the home of Mr Nathan Sloan.

  I hesitate in the driveway, hands on my hips, chest rising and falling as I try to get my breath back – but my rage is already getting the better of me. I crunch over the gravel, past both cars and ring the bell. It is not right that he faces no consequences. It’s not right!

  The door opens and it’s him. I haven’t actually seen him since Monday, when he was standing over Hamish, looking down at his friend’s body in disbelief. In place of his usual shirt and chinos he’s wearing a faded, misshapen sweatshirt over baggy jogging pants. The casual look doesn’t suit him, neither does it appear age-appropriate. Fittingly – he looks like he’s trying to be something he’s not.

  ‘Julia!’ He seems genuinely astonished to see me. I appreciate I must look slightly manic… but I don’t care.

  ‘You said before Christmas that someone like me could save you, so that’s why I’m here,’ I announce, my voice shaking. ‘I’ve come to respectfully ask you to leave after all.’

  ‘Leave?’ He looks astonished. ‘You haven’t come to apologise to me then? For incorrectly reporting me filming my patients when, in fact, it was Hamish?’

  ‘Apologise? Me?’ It’s all I need him to say for my fury to bubble over completely. ‘YOU have lied about everything, to everyone. I know it, you know it. I sat there in your office and you told me that you’d installed those cameras to “protect yourself”. You knew they were there. Just like you told me to my face that you’d put six letters in six of your living patients. We both know that happened too!’

  ‘Oh no, no.’ He holds up his hands. How is he so calm? ‘I lied about that. There were never any “clues”. I said some things in the heat of the moment that I shouldn’t have. I’m very sorry, Julia.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘It’s true! I’m trying to be honest with you!’

  I laugh incredulously. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word! I know who rescued Alex. I know that my son was taped up and locked in a cinema. You are a dangerous, compulsive liar, Nathan. You have fooled everyone – even yourself – and congratulations, because somehow you’ve managed to get away with it all. You’ve kept your reputation intact. You can still practise medicine, which is horrendous – both for you and your future patients – because you are incapable of seeing women as anything but sexual objects. You will say and do anything to have your own way.’ I take a breath and wipe the sweat from my eyes. ‘In an ideal world, I’d like to see you admit your crimes and take responsibility for all of the—’

  ‘Crimes?’ He interrupts.

  ‘Yes! Watching female patients for your own sexual gratification, without their consent, is a crime. It doesn’t go away just because you pushed the blame onto Hamish. You need to stop! You can’t work in an environment where you’re in control and women have to trust you, because you abuse that. God – you can’t even see it, can you?’ I watch him lean on the door frame as if he’s intrigued but confused by what I’ve just said. ‘Walk away from surgery! Don’t practise anymore. Just STOP.’ I exhale and try to calm my breathing. His deliberately relaxed stance is both insulting and utterly enraging.

  ‘Please consider it,’ I try again. ‘At least then you would have learnt something from the damage you have caused so many people.’

  ‘People meaning you?’

  ‘I’m one of them, yes. Alex is another. I don’t want any of us around you – not knowing everything that you’ve done, what you’re capable of and the company you were keeping,’ I think of Michelle, the bone fragments at Hamish’s farm and shudder. ‘Leave and go somewhere else, because if you don’t, I’ll have to and I want to stay – despite everything, Alex and Cass are settled here now. It’s the least you owe Alex.’

  ‘Alex is happy now!’ He straightens up and takes a tiny step towards me. ‘He’s popular because of what happened.’

  ‘He only survived because someone saved him! He—’

  ‘Oh come on! No one “saved” him; he was never in any real danger!’ He is becoming exasperated. ‘Ben’s told me Alex has come out of this a rock star! And what about Ben? Doesn’t he matter as much as Alex and Cass? He doesn’t want to leave Cass any more than I want to leave you. He loves her – like I love you. No, don’t look like that, I mean it! I love you with all my heart.’

  ‘You’re not capable of love!’ I say it without hesitation.

  ‘That’s a dreadful thing to say!’ He looks devastated. ‘Of course I am. I haven’t always been the man I should be, you’re right, but I want to clean my soul, so help me do it!’ He inches forward again, closer still. ‘I’ll leave if you come with me. Please.’

  ‘Clean your soul?’ I repeat in disbelief. ‘Nathan, that son you just mentioned and your wife love you. You start again with them!’

  ‘Storm and I are done. We’ve been done for a long time. There’s nothing there anymore, it’s all imported Italian baths – you’ve seen it for yourself. She knows it too – in her heart of hearts.’

  Exhausted, I close my eyes briefly. He is going to keep on and on…

  ‘It’s you I want! It’s you I need!’

  ‘No, Nathan.’ I open my eyes and immediately notice Storm, standing at the back of the large, dark hallway behind Nathan. She very slowly lifts her finger to her lips, urging me to keep her presence secret.

  ‘You’re the love of my life,’ he insists, oblivious to his listening wife.

  Storm turns and silently vanishes back into the house.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come here,’ I say eventually. ‘I’m sorry, but please think about what I’ve said. Stop practising medicine. Leave. Go as far from all of us as you possibly can. And don’t come back.’

  I turn and walk away. He has learnt nothing. I, on the other hand, feel something close to despair as it dawns on me that I am saying this to him twenty years too late. That is the real problem here. It is too late to re-educate men of his age. They cannot change; it’s just lip service on their part. I am shouting into the wind. He can’t see it but watching him break Storm like that – so casually dismissing his own son and wife, squashing their needs down to meet his own – is almost more than I can bear.

  Forty-Eight

  Nathan

  Having completed my Sunday morning worship at the temple of pain otherwise known as the seven a.m. HIIT class, I’m putting my sweaty gym gear straight into the washing machine, in the chill of Storm’s impossibly neat and gleaming utility room, when the grief is there again. It’s been following after me like an old dog. I turn around in the middle of something ordinary, like making a cup of tea, to find it’s suddenly off its bed and wanting a walk after all. In these moments, it seems extraordinary that Hamish is no longer here and I will never see him again. I keep hearing him laughing in my head – which is just like him, the irritating arse.

  When Storm – years ago now – suggested I have counselling for my paren
ts’ death, I patiently pointed out they were both very much alive, so it seemed a little premature.

  ‘I just worry about what’s going to happen to you when one of them eventually does go.’ She’d stroked my hand. ‘The loss of the possibility of the relationships you’ve never had is going to hit you hard, I think – far more powerful than losing the person themselves. If you’re determined not to contact them again, and I understand you don’t want to keep being rejected and pushed away, I think it would be sensible to take some preventative measures to protect yourself. There are only so many compartments that one person has to shut things in.’

  So I’ve been encouraged to discover that my response to losing Hamish has been very normal. I’ve felt profoundly sad and empty at times, but I suspect this is because I don’t really have anyone to talk to about him, and also because I haven’t been working. When I return tomorrow and get back into the routine – giving me physically less time to think – I know I will find things easier, although it will be very, very odd to be at the EM without him. In truth, I’m a little frightened of it. I miss him very much. I take a deep breath and start opening all of the head-height cupboard doors, looking for the washing powder.

  I wonder what Hamish is making of my having turned the spotlight from my own face to shine it directly onto his cold and immobile features. Zip up the body bag because the case is closed; he was a fucking idiot not to get rid of his collection, I did tell him, but it’s also helped me out no end. Add that to sexually assaulting a colleague… and now secretly filming my patients. I know it’s morally dubious of me to bolt it all together, but does it make me a bad person to take this second chance? Hamish’s genuine assault of Michelle would not be made any the less without the other charge. It was an unfathomable thing for him to have done to her. Deeply, deeply shocking. He crossed a completely unacceptable line. I truthfully never touched any of my patients inappropriately, or without consent; not once did I engineer intimate examinations of them. I only looked again at what I had already been voluntarily shown. I accept that the context of the subsequent viewings is not irrelevant, but a huge part of me just wants all of it to die with Hamish. His death has freed me. I can be the person Julia says I ought to be, now. Surely it’s better that something good comes out of this? I see Hamish taking the blame for the filming as the last, posthumous gesture of our friendship. I’ve cleaned everything up.