Читать книгу: «The Doctor», страница 3
Chapter Nine
‘Fifteen minutes, that was all,’ Emily told Ben as they sat at the dinner table that evening. Robbie was in his highchair.
‘You made a good impression then,’ Ben laughed.
‘I wondered if it was Robbie, you know, reminding her of the son she lost, but I don’t think so. She seemed on edge from the start and when I suggested I went over there next time, she blanked me.’
‘I don’t think she wants to be your best friend Em,’ Ben said dryly. ‘At least you tried. Would you like to hear my news now?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I’ve been talking non-stop since you walked in. I’ve been a bit short of conversation today.’
‘I’ve got the promotion – marketing manager for the whole of the South East. It comes with a decent pay rise.’
‘Well done!’ Emily cried, delighted. ‘That’s fantastic. I’m so proud of you.’ Leaning across the table, she planted a big kiss on his cheek. Robbie chuckled.
‘It’ll mean more travelling, but I’ll keep it to the minimum. I don’t intend to leave you and Robbie alone any more than I have to.’
‘We’ll be fine, don’t you worry. I’m just glad the company has recognized your worth.’
‘I thought we could celebrate at the weekend. Go out for a meal somewhere nice, if your parents are free to babysit.’
‘Great. I’ll phone them just as soon as we’ve finished dinner. All we need now is for Tibs to return and my week will be complete.’
Ben’s smile faded. ‘Em, you realize Tibs might not come back. I mean, if she’s been run over. She’s been gone some time now.’
‘I know, but at present I’m staying with the hope she’s in someone else’s house.’
He nodded and wiped Robbie’s mouth. ‘Where would you like to go to eat? You decide.’
‘There’s the new Italian on the High Street, or The Steak House – that’s always reliable. Or we could drive out to The Horse & Carriage …’
Twenty minutes later, Emily had decided on L’Escargot, a French restaurant they’d been to once, prior to having Robbie, and had been wanting an excuse to return. Having cleared away the dishes, she went through to the living room to phone her parents to see if they were free to babysit at the weekend, while Ben took Robbie upstairs to get him ready for bed. Her parents’ answerphone was on, as it often was now they’d both retired and were out enjoying themselves. Emily left a message. They’d return her call either this evening or, if they were back late, first thing in the morning. She could rely on them; they loved babysitting Robbie, their only grandchild.
As she replaced the handset, she heard the letter box snap shut. Seven-thirty, too late for regular post. It was probably a circular. Leaving the living room, she crossed the hall from where she could hear Robbie chuckling loudly in the bathroom as Ben changed him. There was a brown envelope lying face down on the mat. She picked it up. It held something – something firm, more than just paper. Turning it over, she read the writing on the front. Ms King, I found this in the road. I think it belongs to you. Signed, Dr Amit Burman.
The formality was weird and why not knock and give it to her in person? Emily assumed it was a small item of Robbie’s. He was always jettisoning his belongings from the pushchair as she wheeled him along the pavement – small toys, socks, mittens and boots in winter. Sometimes she spotted them straightway, other times she found them on their next trip or a neighbour returned them, and sometimes they just disappeared. She supposed it was good of Dr Burman, although it didn’t feel like a sock or toy of Robbie’s. Opening the envelope, she saw straight away what it was. Her stomach churned; she felt sick with fear. Not something of Robbie’s, but Tibs’ red felt collar. Her mouth went dry and her heart raced. No mistake, there was her mobile number engraved on the metal tab and the bell was missing. Tibs had lost the bell a while back and Emily had never got around to replacing the collar.
‘Ben!’ she cried, running upstairs. ‘Ben!’
Hearing the panic in her voice, he came onto the landing with Robbie in his arms half-dressed. ‘What is it?’
‘Look! Burman has just pushed this through the letter box.’ She held out the collar and envelope for him to see, her voice unsteady and her hand shaking. ‘What does it mean and why didn’t he knock?’
‘Perhaps he didn’t want to disturb us. It must have come off Tibs. Cat collars are designed to come off if the cat gets caught so they don’t choke.’
‘I know, but it says he found it in the road. Does that mean …?’
‘I’m sorry, Em, love, but it was decent of him to return it.’
‘But we’d have seen her body. Perhaps she slipped it and is still alive, but why hasn’t she come home? I need to know where and when he found it. I’m going to see him now.’ She tore downstairs.
Ignoring her coat in the hall and wearing her slippers, Emily rushed out the front door and down the drive, still clutching Tibs’ collar and the envelope. A damp November mist had descended, thickening the darkness. The alarm box just below the eaves of the Burmans’ house flashed like a warning beacon. Throwing open their front gate, Emily slowed her pace and walked to their front door. It was very dark here, the light from the street lamp mostly blocked by the large evergreen trees and shrubs at the front.
She pressed the buzzer and waited, the cold and damp seeping into her. The downstairs lights were off and only one shone from an upstairs window, faint behind closed curtains and the opaque film now covering all the glass. She pressed the buzzer again. Someone must be in. Alisha never went out and Amit’s car was on the drive. She glanced up at the CCTV camera trained on the front door and shivered. She should have grabbed her coat.
A light went on in the hall, a door chain rattled and a key turned in the lock. Amit Burman opened the door, the top button on his shirt undone and his tie loosened at the neck. She felt a familiar stab of unease, something in his expression, although she couldn’t say what.
‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ she began, trying to meet his gaze. ‘You pushed this through our letter box just now.’ She held up the envelope and collar.
‘I did. It is yours?’
‘Yes, but where did you find it?’
‘In the road outside my house.’
‘But you didn’t see Tibs, our cat?’
‘Clearly not, or I would have told you.’ His eyes narrowed to a patronizing smile. It was then Emily realized what she found so unsettling in his expression. His eyes were completely different colours. The iris in one eye was brown while the other was green. ‘The correct term is heterochromia,’ he said. ‘My vision is normal.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered, embarrassed and trying not to stare.
‘It’s not a problem. We’re all different, aren’t we? You told my wife your cat was missing, so I thought you’d want its collar back. She’s resting. She’s exhausted from visiting you.’ He held her gaze, his green eye seeming to bore into her. ‘Of course, she would tell me of her visit. We have no secrets. I’m only concerned for her health and well-being.’ The tone in his voice made it feel like a threat. ‘Is that everything?’
‘When did you find Tibs’ collar?’ Emily asked.
‘About an hour ago, when I came home from work. Now, if that’s all, I must go. I have to see to my wife.’
‘Yes of course.’
Emily supposed she should have thanked him, but the door had already closed. She walked back down his path, looking left and right and into the foliage for any sign of Tibs. Then in the gutter. She must be dead. If she’d been alive and had slipped her collar outside the Burmans’ house, then she was close enough to find her way home. The most likely explanation for her collar being in the road was that she’d been run over, perhaps separating from her collar in the accident. If someone in the street had found Tibs’ body there was a chance they may call, as her number was on the leaflets she’d pushed through letter boxes. Otherwise she might never know, for she doubted anyone would bother to take a dead cat to have its microchip read. If there was still no sign of Tibs by the weekend, she’d have to accept she was dead.
Chapter Ten
‘I disagree,’ Amit said forcefully. ‘The process of cryonics has already been shown to work on animals in laboratories. They have survived three hours using existing medical technology. Even longer periods if the preservation solution is continuously circulated.’
Mr Barry Lowe was staring at him, as was the student doctor.
‘You seem well-informed,’ Lowe said. ‘But three hours isn’t a hundred years. It’s a fantasy playing on peoples’ fears of death. Humans have been searching for immortality since they became intelligent enough to realize that one day they would die. It used to be just religion that offered immortality, but now this pseudoscience has got in on the act.’ He paused to concentrate on what he was doing – a hernia operation. The discussion had begun after he’d asked if anyone had seen the documentary on television the night before on cryonics, and had quickly become heated.
‘You can’t put religion and cryonics in the same category,’ Amit retaliated. ‘And it doesn’t matter if it’s three hours or a thousand years. At minus 190 Celsius there is no cell degeneration.’
‘And you can be sure of that?’ Lowe asked sceptically, glancing up at him. ‘There is no proof whatsoever. Those frozen bodies could be mush when they are thawed.’
‘Also, cell degeneration will have already occurred,’ the student doctor put in. ‘My cousin is a doctor at Saint Claire’s where that fifteen-year-old boy died. It was over an hour before he was put on ice.’
‘That’s appalling!’ Amit cried passionately, unable to hide his feelings any longer. ‘It’s a breach of our code of ethics.’
‘That’s a bit strong,’ Lowe said. ‘The boy was dead.’
‘Temporarily, and his wishes were that he should be frozen. The system failed him.’
‘Why the wait?’ Lowe now asked the student, as he began to close the wound.
‘My cousin said the instructions were not to touch him as it needed someone trained from ELECT who knew what to do.’
‘Who knew how to stabilize him,’ Amit clarified.
‘His mother phoned a member of ELECT,’ the student continued. ‘But he got stuck in traffic.’
Lowe laughed cynically. ‘The traffic always gets you in the end!’
‘I assumed the boy was put on a heart-lung machine during that time?’ Amit said.
‘No. The staff didn’t realize he should be. He was dead and his organs weren’t going to be used for transplant.’
Amit shook his head. ‘Appalling. What a waste. When I …’ he stopped. ‘It’s crucial the patient is kept on a heart-lung machine until intravenous lines can be put in and protective medications administered.’
‘You know a lot about it,’ Lowe said. ‘Is bringing people back from the dead a hobby of yours?’
The theatre staff laughed.
Amit fought to retain control. Ignorant lot. What did they know? But he had expected better of Lowe, a surgeon. He’d be laughing on the other side of his face one day when he showed them what could be achieved. Just you wait and see, he thought.
Chapter Eleven
‘Let go of me!’ Alisha cried in pain as Amit’s fingers dug into her arm. ‘You’re hurting me.’ He was half pushing, half dragging her out of the living room and through the hall. ‘What are you doing? I haven’t done anything wrong. Where are you taking me?’
‘The cloakroom,’ he snarled.
‘No! I don’t like being shut in there. I’ll be good. Please. No.’ The room didn’t have a window and Amit had changed the lock so it could be locked from the outside. Alisha knew from experience what it meant to be shut in there – sometimes for hours at a time. She struggled and tried to free her arm, but his grip tightened. ‘Please,’ she begged.
‘If you’re good and stay very quiet, I’ll let you out after he’s gone.’
‘Who? No, don’t, please. I can go upstairs and be quiet if you want.’
He dragged her the last few paces and pushed her in. Slamming the door shut, he locked it.
‘Amit! Let me out. Please, I promise I won’t look.’ She banged on the door.
‘Shut up now or I’ll leave you in there all night.’
Alisha bit into her bottom lip and tried not to cry.
Perspiration stood out on Amit’s forehead as he hurried to the back door, let himself out and then rushed down the sideway. He unpadlocked the gate. The lorry was just parking outside, half an hour fucking early! If it had arrived when it was supposed to, he’d have had Alisha sedated and out of the way in plenty of time. He had taken the day off work to receive the delivery and a couple of minutes ago the driver had texted to say he’d be with him shortly. There was no way he could risk Alisha seeing – the size and shape would raise her suspicions. He hoped the nosy cow next door wasn’t watching. He needed to get the cylinder down the sideway and into his lab as quickly as possible.
‘Delivery for Dr Burman,’ the lorry driver called from the pavement, reading from his e-Pod.
‘That’s me, but you’re early.’
‘Do you want me to come back later then, mate?’
For a second Amit thought he meant it and was about to say yes.
‘Where’s it going?’ the driver asked. ‘It’s big.’
‘The building at the very rear of my garden. It will fit down the sideway.’
‘I’ve heard that before; I’d better take a look.’
Amit led the way down the path.
‘It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I’ll give it a go,’ the driver said. ‘What’s plan B?’
‘Through the house,’ Amit said. ‘But it will fit down here. I know, I measured it.’
‘With the packaging?’
Amit felt his stomach sink. He should have thought of that. How stupid! He’d taken the dimensions of the cylinder from the website and had checked them against the width of the sideway. He could have kicked himself.
‘If it won’t fit down here, it will have to go through the house and out through the patio doors,’ he said. But with Alisha not sedated that ran the risk of the driver hearing her if she began screaming and shouting again.
Amit followed the driver out to the front and then watched nervously as he climbed into the back of the lorry. He reappeared a few moments later with his precious package balanced on a hand truck. It was huge and, clad in padding, overhung the edges of the truck, but at a glance it could pass as a very large hot-water cylinder, Amit thought. His heart raced as the driver slowly lowered the tailgate and then pushed the hand truck off, then paused and waved up at the neighbour’s house. Amit followed his gaze. The bloody woman next door was holding her son up at the window to look!
‘All kids like big lorries,’ the driver said amicably as he pushed the truck up the drive.
Amit hurried down the sideway, which thankfully was on the opposite side of the house to Emily, and out of her view. He watched and waited, his breath coming fast and shallow as the driver began inching the package in through the side gate. Pressing the cladding in to ease it through, it just fitted.
‘Thank god,’ Amit said, relieved once it was clear, and hurried ahead to the outbuilding. The driver followed.
‘You want it in there?’ he asked, surprised.
‘No. Leave it outside.’ Amit pointed to a spot to the left of the door.
‘You sure, mate? It’s not so heavy, but it is bulky. I can put it inside if you like.’
‘No. It’s fine there.’
The driver manoeuvred the cylinder from the trolley and stood it where Amit pointed, then passed him his e-Pod to sign for the delivery.
Glancing anxiously at his neighbours’ houses, Amit quickly saw him out and padlocked the side gate behind him. He returned down the garden path to his lab and unlocked the padlock there, then took out the two sheets of hardboard he’d previously cut to size to use as ramps. He’d had it all planned days ago. He placed them either side of the step and then, encircling the cylinder with his arms, he began walking it forward. Small measured steps, as if dancing with a partner, up one side of his makeshift ramp, over the top, down the other and into the security of his lab.
Relieved, he quickly closed the door. He’d done it. The most important item he needed to continue had been safely delivered.
Chapter Twelve
Inside the house, Alisha sat on the floor in the cloakroom, cold and sick with fear, willing Amit to return and release her, but at the same time dreading having to face him. His behaviour was becoming more and more alarming with each passing week, frighteningly so now. She no longer recognized the man she’d married. But had she ever really known him, even back then? She doubted it. She’d had to trust him and, as far as she’d known, they’d had no secrets, but now most of his life excluded her. She was sorry she’d failed to give him healthy children, but did she really deserve the punishment he meted out? The abuse – verbal and physical. It was frightening. She spent most of her time terrified of him. And the grim determination on his face when he’d locked her in here said he would stop at nothing to make her do as he wanted.
She rubbed her wrist and looked at her upper arm. Bruises were already forming under the skin. She bruised easily now, just as their son, Daniel, had done as the disease progressed. His tissue breaking down, blood capillaries rupturing, his skin sloughing off. Even when she bathed him and was so gentle, he still bled.
It was a cruel disease and she could understand why Amit had become obsessed with finding a cure, just as other parents of children with rare genetic conditions had. Michaela and Augusto Odone had produced Lorenzo’s oil. She’d seen the film of the same name. Years of research and then a breakthrough. Perhaps Amit might find a cure, but there was no excuse for treating her as he did. He was so unpredictable and violent.
She knew he had a right to blame her for the compromises he’d had to make now she’d fallen ill too. Once she died he would be free to marry a healthy woman who could give him normal children, for she doubted he would find a cure in time to save her. She thought he doubted it too. Hence all that nonsense about freezing her until a cure had been found. What a macabre thought! She’d been shocked that he’d even considered it. It made her skin creep. She couldn’t imagine anything worse – replacing her blood with preserving fluid and then suspended upside down in a cylinder when she should be at peace in the earth. It was the stuff of nightmares. Yet many had signed up to it and had paid huge amounts to be stored. Thankfully Amit had finally taken no for an answer and had put away the literature and stopped talking about it.
But his behaviour was even worse now. Sometimes injecting her to sedate her or locking her in. But why? Why was she in here and for how long? It was the third time he’d shut her in the cloakroom. She wished she had someone to confide in. Estranged from her parents, she knew they wouldn’t sympathize. Not after everything that had happened between them and Amit. She could hear her mother’s admonishing voice: you’ve made your bed, so you’ll have to lie in it.
It had crossed her mind that maybe Emily next door would be a good confidante. She wondered if she might even suspect that Amit didn’t always treat her right. She seemed perceptive and, being at home with her child during the day, had perhaps seen things the other neighbours hadn’t. And the way Emily kept inviting her into her house, and when she’d finally accepted, she’d asked if Amit looked after her and treated her well. A pity she hadn’t had the courage to admit that Amit treated her badly and she was petrified of him, for she doubted Emily would invite her again, not after staying such a short time and leaving so abruptly. Her behaviour had been rude, but she couldn’t tell Emily the real reason she had only stayed fifteen minutes. Pity. It would have been reassuring, comforting, to have her knowing, even looking out for her.
