Chapter 3 – Breaking News
On the ground floor of Brent Valley General, next to the convenience shop, Jasmin Sharma stood looking into the camera and waited for her cue from the newsroom. Members of the public, jaded now to the presence of the media, ignored her as they walked past. As Jasmin looked around the reception area, three other news crews were either setting up or were in the middle of their broadcast.
Her stoic cameraman, Dave Sturn, shifted his weight slightly and gave her a reassuring smile. Jasmin listened to the voice of the news anchor, Rebecca, back in the studio. At 14:28 Jasmin received her cue and started her report.
“Thank you Rebecca, yes, I’m standing here in the main reception area of Brent Valley General Hospital in West London, and it really is hard to tell who there are more of: patients or members of the media, such is the frenzy that has developed over this story. The shock of the dramatic events that took place on Tuesday evening on Hangar Lane has given way to concern over the fate of the surviving children from South Ealing Comprehensive School.” Jasmin took a breath and ploughed on.
“We understand that the hospital is due to officially announce that one more patient – a 14-year-old girl, who at the moment has not been named – has come out of her coma and is no longer thought to be in danger. Hospital bosses and indeed the police are very reluctant to give out too many details to the media as they say that the safety of these victims and their families remains the number-one priority.”
Through her earpiece, Jasmin could hear Rebecca ask if there had been any reaction from the children’s parents yet. If only, thought Jasmin. So far, none of the parents had spoken to the media on the advice – nay, command – of Chief Superintendent Harden, who was leading the investigation for the Metropolitan Police.
“No, Rebecca. So far, not one of the parents or families of those involved has spoken to the media directly. All statements have been issued by the hospital and the police, and we are expecting another update at five o’clock. The police are still refusing to confirm or deny the stories that have been circulating about an unidentified person who helped to rescue survivors from the coach wreckage. They are only rumours, and of course there has been so little information coming out about the bomb blast. We still don’t know how so many of the children were pulled from the blast area before the fire engines and the ambulances arrived on the scene. And of course, as far as we are aware, no group has yet claimed responsibility.”
Jasmin was on a roll now.
“The biggest question of all is still yet to be answered. Why? Why was the bomb planted? Was it a random attack? These are questions that the parents of these children, and indeed the world, will be looking to have answered by the police. This is Jasmin Sharma for 24/7 Interactive News – news at your command!”
Jasmin kept looking at the camera for several seconds until she was sure the feed had been switched back to the studio, and then smiled at Dave Sturn. He gave her the thumbs up. Jasmin liked working with Dave. He was a good guy, very professional, good company and he was a well-built bloke. At six foot one, he was nearly a foot taller than her. He had a bit of a fiery temper, but he always used it in defence of her, or their work. He’d acted as her minder more times than she could count and she was thinking up a few situations where it might be necessary to call on his skills in the very near future.
Jasmin gave him a meaningful look. Dave knew her well enough to know that meant she was about to “work some magic”, as she called it. For his part, he liked working with Jasmin too. She was one of the leading reporters at 24/7, despite being only 23. By being partnered with her, his camerawork got to be seen across the world. She was a lot of fun to be with, could hold her own at the bar with other journalists and she looked stunning. There were a lot worse people he could be working with.
Jasmin smiled at the young porter who was getting a cup of tea from the vending machine near the shop. His name was Tommy and he was in his early twenties. He had a vaguely 1950s look with his Elvis-style hair, white T-shirt and boots. He was quite funny and he had an eye for the ladies, something Jasmin had no qualms about exploiting. She’d never had any problems in attracting attention from guys, so if it helped her in her job, where was the harm?
“Hey Tommy, how’s it going?” she asked, with just the right level of casual flirtatiousness, while still maintaining her television mystique. She’d been developing this little friendship since the first day the survivors had been admitted to the hospital.
Tommy, who’d deliberately timed his appearance at the vending machine to coincide with the end of Jasmin’s broadcast, pretended to notice her for the first time.
“Oh. Hi, Jasmin. Good report, I just caught the end of it.”
“Thanks. Having a well-earned tea break?”
“Yeah. It’s been mental today. Well, ever since you lot turned up here with the cameras and the reporters and that.”
“And there was me hoping I was brightening your day,” said Jasmin, mischievously. Tommy looked momentarily worried that he might have offended her.
“Oh, not you. I didn’t mean you. I meant the others, and that.”
“Like the BBC? I know the feeling. They’re so boring, aren’t they? ITV are as bad. So up themselves. I’d rather talk to the interesting people, like you.” As she finished her sentence she leaned closer and put her hands around Tommy’s, which were cradling his cup of tea. She brought her mouth to the cup and took a sip.
“Thanks Tommy. You’re a lifesaver.”
Tommy looked as though Elvis had just entered the building.
“So what’s going on upstairs? I hear another one of the poor children has come round.”
Tommy nodded. The entire hospital staff had been ordered not to divulge anything about the children or their situation to the media. But Jasmin was just making conversation and it felt like she knew everything anyway, so it couldn’t do any harm, could it?
“Yeah. Samantha Blake. She’s the twin. Parents are up there now. Mind you, I reckon it’s all going to kick off up there soon.”
Jasmin didn’t say anything; she just gave Tommy a look to see if he minded her taking another sip of his tea. He handed her the cup, and naturally filled the silence by continuing.
“Yeah. One of the kids who’s still in a coma – can’t remember his name – well, I was just up there in the ward looking for Dr Soames. The kid’s parents are laying into him about his treatment and the fact he hasn’t got a private ward. And you’ll love this – the parents were telling Dr Soames that they’re going to go to the media and reveal all.”
Jasmin smiled. ‘Reveal all.’ Tommy kept dropping in media phrases when talking to her, which was sweet.
“Poor things, they must be sick with worry,” said Jasmin, looking very concerned. “But I don’t think they should be taking it out on you guys when you’re just doing the best you can under impossible circumstances.” She rubbed Tommy’s arm reassuringly. “Thing is, the police don’t want the parents talking to us at the moment, which is right,” she added pointedly. “But I think they will want to talk to us at some point, and the last thing we want is them coming out and rubbishing you guys to the newspapers.”
Tommy had reached that conclusion too and an idea occurred to him.
“Well, why don’t I get them to talk to you now? Not an interview, just a chat. Not bein’ funny, but at least that way you can get to talk things through with them, and maybe if you do an interview with them later, you can make sure they don’t slag us off and that?”
Jasmin widened her eyes a little like such an idea simply hadn’t occurred to her.
“That’s not a bad idea Tom-Tom,” she said. “We’ll make a journalist out of you yet! Are they still up there?”
“Yeah. But at three, they go to the restaurant on the tenth floor for an hour or so, then go back and stay with the kid till early evening.”
“And when are you on lunch?”
“Well, in about ten minutes?”
“Then I’ll buy you lunch in your restaurant and you can introduce me!”
“Yeah? Not bein’ funny, but you won’t get into trouble will you?”
Jasmin’s eyes opened even wider.
“I’m the kind of girl who always gets into trouble, Tom-Tom. That’s why I need a good man to look after me.” She flashed him a winning smile.
Jasmin’s good mood instantly evaporated, however, when she saw a familiar figure shamble up to her. An overweight, boorish, lecherous oaf called Ryan Hawkins. He was a freelance newspaper journalist. A very successful one, if you defined success as being able to get a juicy story while not caring who you hurt to get it.
“Afternoon, Jazz.” Hawkins had a deep, growly voice. When he spoke, his sentences always came out like a drunken football fan’s chant.
“Ryan. Good to see you,” lied Jasmin, backing away from Hawkins’ beer breath.
“Enjoyed your broadcast. Must get together on a story sometime. You can see how the professionals get the big stories.”
Jasmin smiled grimly, said nothing and waited for the awkward silence to drive Hawkins away. Hawkins chuckled, apparently to himself, looked at Tommy and winked. As he walked off, he gave Jasmin a pat on her bottom. Jasmin resisted the temptation to throw the hot tea into Hawkins’s face. Instead, she took Tommy in her arm and let him escort her to the lifts. A policeman and policewoman stood nearby. The policeman saw Jasmin and smiled, then glanced at Tommy a little enviously.
“Afternoon PC Nelson,” said Jasmin, ignoring the woman. “I thought the lift attendant is supposed to stand in the lift,” she added cheekily.
PC Nelson smiled back. “Health and safety, Miss Sharma. I’m not qualified to press buttons.”
Jasmin gave him a wink, then she and Tommy disappeared into the lift.
The policewoman looked at them, then back at PC Nelson disapprovingly.
A direct order from Chief Superintendent Harden was not one you disobeyed lightly, as all the journalists were aware. But Ryan Hawkins had been a newspaper man all his life and he’d never let the law, or indeed the truth, stop him from getting his headline. He’d watched the fit bird from 24/7 chatting up the porter to get her story. Good girl. He admired her – in all sorts of ways. He could teach her a thing or two. Maybe offer to share his story with her later? Not that he would of course, but an impressionable bird like that, she’d be eating out of his hand.
Hawkins was wandering around on the 16th floor of the hospital. He knew that the patients had been spread out around the hospital, although he didn’t know why. But he had heard that the girl who’d woken up was on floor 16. No harm in just popping his head round the door, get a couple of good photos, maybe a word or two from her. With any luck she’d have some nice juicy injuries. Front-page material.
‘Teen dream torn apart’ was a nice headline that leaped into his head. One of the big tabloids would pay a fortune for these photos.
Ryan needed a pee, so he wanted to get a move on. He’d had three pints in the pub over the road while composing his story, which was where he had decided that it needed some explosive pictures. Harden had warned that any journalist found hanging around the upper levels of the hospital, or entering any of the wards containing the children, would be arrested and personally kicked in the balls by him. Well Harden didn’t scare Ryan Hawkins.
Hawkins tried to look like a visitor. He smartened his tweed jacket, tried not to burp and made sure his flies were done up. Where the devil had they put the kid?
He walked past a room where the door was shut. He peered in through the glass panel. Bingo! This could be it. Despite her injuries, he recognised her as Samantha Blake. Hah! Jasmin Sharma wasn’t the only reporter with contacts, and he didn’t need to sleep with anyone to get his information. Although of course, he would cheerfully do so, if possible.
The kid seemed to be asleep. Acting quickly, Hawkins opened the door and entered. He began taking photos on his small digital camera. He pulled back the covers of the bed so that he could take photos of her legs in plaster. He looked about. Did he have time? He reached into his bag and removed the teddy bear that he had been carrying. He noticed that the girl already had one, but his would look better for the photos. He’d charred it in the cooker this morning, and ripped off one of its arms. He placed it next to Sam’s head, under her arm so it looked like she was cuddling it. The money shot! He clicked away. He took a few more snaps of Sam’s cards and trophies, and hastily departed.
As he closed the door he was vaguely aware of someone else heading in his direction from along the corridor. He kept his head down and walked calmly but purposefully back towards the lifts. No one called out to him, so he reasoned that he was safe. He really needed the toilet now. If only he’d stuck to just two pints. He rounded the corner at the end of the corridor and waited for the lift. There weren’t many other people around. The lift came quickly and Hawkins walked inside. Before the doors closed another figure entered the lift, giving Hawkins a shock. It was a patient, but one with a startling appearance.
The patient was about five foot in height, and Hawkins thought it must be a girl, but it was hard to be sure. The head was completely bandaged, with only holes for eyes, mouth and nose. The patient wore a dressing gown but, again, her arms and legs were completely covered in dressings. It was like looking at an Egyptian Mummy in pyjamas. The girl, if that’s what she was, effectively forced him to step back into the lift in order for her to enter. The doors closed.
“Errr, ground floor please,” said Hawkins. The girl ignored him. “Ground floor,” he tried again.
The girl had her back to him, but he saw her pressing the button for floor 36, the top floor.
Maybe she was one of the mental ones, Hawkins wondered. Best push the button himself. He tried to reach around her, but it was difficult as she moved her body to block him off. He didn’t have time for this! He was busting!
“Look luv, can you just let me–.” He reached forward more purposefully and almost got his finger to press the ‘G’ button. But suddenly the girl’s hand shot out and grabbed his in a vice-like grip. He tried to pull it away but she was phenomenally strong. The girl had a patient ID tag on her wrist. He could see it clearly. ‘Emma Venton.’ Hawkins remembered the name from the list of children on the coach.
The girl twisted his arm viciously. There was a cracking sound and he howled out in pain. The lift jerked as it started moving. Hawkins dropped to the floor, screaming in agony.
“What have you done you stupid–?” He was cut off mid-sentence as, without a word, Emma Venton reached down to the floor and picked him up by his throat. He couldn’t speak, breathe or cry out. His world was rapidly going black.
The lift rumbled on up to floor 36.
Dave Sturn was packing up his equipment. He looked at his watch. Perhaps he could go and get a drink with one of the guys from Sky. He was hungry too. He was almost tempted to buy something from the McDonalds next to the convenience shop. It amused Dave that a fast-food chain should be in a hospital. As he was weighing up his options, something else caught his eye. For a second he almost didn’t consider quite how weird it was. The McDonalds was busy. People were milling about with trays of food, putting coats and bags on chairs and marshalling children or elderly relatives. Two junior doctors sped out of the doors carrying McFlurrys. Amid all those people, attracting only the occasional curious glance, was a patient. A young patient at that. A boy of no more than 14.
Dave recognised him from his photograph. James Blake, twin brother of Samantha Blake. He was wearing pyjamas, had his left arm in a cast and there were bandages on his neck. He looked scared, disoriented and was obviously in some pain. He clearly shouldn’t be down here, for all sorts of reasons. It was like he’d fallen, unnoticed, off a passing hospital trolley as he was being taken to another ward.
Dave was in two minds. He wanted to go and speak to the kid to see if he was ok, but he also wanted to do his job. Almost without realising it, Dave mounted the camera
on his shoulder. James saw him and this seemed to galvanise the boy into action. Dave approached James, steadying himself, and began recording.
The kid was heading towards the lifts. A young policewoman was talking to a doctor close by. James was heading straight for them, with Dave in hot pursuit. His sudden movement had alerted a flock of journalists behind him who were now trailing in his wake. None of them knew what they were running for but they knew it must be important if Dave was charging through the hospital with his camera.
The doctor and the policewoman looked shocked as James approached them. They clearly had no idea how he had got down here either, but their first instinct was to protect the boy and get him out of harm’s way. It was the strangest sight, seeing a young, injured patient running towards them for safety, with a mob of excited journalists crashing along in pursuit. The doctor ushered James into a lift. The policewoman stepped in the way of the pack to form a barrier.
As the lift doors closed Dave Sturn was the only journalist who was able to get some footage of James Blake, looking dazed and confused, as the doctor put his arm round the boy and the lift rose back up to his ward on the 17th floor.
A Class Apart Page 3
