A Life for a Life (3 page)

‘Pretty much as you’d expect – nausea and vomiting, hair loss, some tissue necrosis on extravasion.’

‘What about neurological and psychotic effects?’

‘There is some neuropathy, as there is with all—’

‘That wasn’t what I asked,’ Somersby interrupted.

‘Perhaps I’d better explain,’ he said, looking round. ‘I’ve had a report of severe psychosis with this drug.’

‘May I enquire from where?’ Leo asked, suddenly alert.

‘A colleague in America. He’s observed depression, delusions and paranoia in a number of his patients.’

‘Depression can’t be uncommon in leukaemia patients, surely?’

‘This was clinical, as were the other symptoms.’

‘I assume this was in combination with Prednisolone?’

‘Yes.’

‘A drug that’s known to have neurological effects.’

‘Indeed, but not to this extent.’

There was a short pause, then Connie said, ‘Can you check this out from your end, Leo?’

‘I’d be glad to. It would help if I could have the name of your source, Dr Somersby…’

Somersby shook his head. That’s confidential, Mr Farleigh. But do check what I’ve said with your American colleagues. I’d be most interested in their reply. Meanwhile I’ll have another talk with my colleague… and perhaps we could meet again in a couple of weeks?’

Ian looked as though he was about to say something, but a look from Connie stopped him.

Leo said, ‘Well, thank you for your time, Dr Somersby. I’ll come back to you when I know more.’ A perceptible tightness in his voice betrayed the fact that he’d been expecting more from the meeting.

After he’d gone, Connie said, ‘Would you tell us who your source is, John?’

‘He specifically asked me not to, so I think I’d better respect that. Sorry.’

Ian said, ‘How much credence do you give it, John? I mean, Leo has a point about leukaemics tending to be depressed.’

‘Enough credence to make me want to know more before using it here.’

‘OK, John, I accept that, but ninety-five per cent… it’s a breakthrough… I think most of our patients would jump at it, depression or no.’

‘I take it you hadn’t heard about these side-effects?’

‘Of course not.’

Somersby nodded. ‘Then I wonder whether Mr Farleigh has been a shade less than ingenuous with us.’

‘Oh, surely not—’ Connie began, but Somersby overrode her:

‘I think we’ll leave it there for now. I’ll have another talk with my colleague and we’ll see what Mr Farleigh comes up with. The other item I want to discuss,’ he continued, ‘is the laboratory…’ He explained how he’d become worried by the recent grumbles about the lab.

‘I think we’ve all been aware of it,’ said Ian, ‘but to be honest, I think it’s a fact of life, something we have to put up with.’

‘Can I say something?’ Mark asked tentatively.

‘Of course,’ Somersby said.

‘With all due respect to Dr Saunders, I think it’s worse than that. Some of the housemen and ward sisters have been telling me how unhelpful the lab’s become lately.’

‘Then why don’t they put in a complaint?’ Ian enquired, less than impressed by Mark’s due respect.

‘They say it’s never quite bad enough for that.’

‘Well, then—’

‘The fact is,’ Somersby interposed, ‘I asked Fraser to look into it discreetly. Perhaps you’d like to share your observations with us, Fraser.’

Fraser repeated what he’d told Somersby earlier. There was a slight pause when he finished, then Connie said, ‘I’m sorry to sound cynical, but couldn’t Sean’s comments be down to the fact that he wants Terry’s job?’

‘That wasn’t my impression,’ Fraser said.

Connie shrugged. ‘All right, I accept that Terry can be difficult, but I tend to agree with Ian – that he’s a cross we have to bear. For the moment, anyway.’

‘But it isn’t us that does the bearing, Connie,’ said Somersby. ‘It’s the GPs, the staff on the wards and in the lab and, ultimately, the patients.’

They talked round it, but hadn’t reached any conclusion by the time they had to break up for the clinic.

‘You feel quite strongly about this, don’t you, John?’ Connie observed as they got up to go.

‘I do, yes. I think he should be retired.’

‘Well, we’d all better give it some serious thought, then.’

Fraser had wondered at the time whether there had been a note of calculation in her voice, and a fortnight later, when Somersby turned down Parc-Reed’s offer, Connie and Ian raised so many objections to the retirement of Terry that the idea was dropped.

However, in the weeks that followed, Terry moderated his behaviour slightly, but at the same time favoured Fraser with looks so malevolent as to suggest he knew what Fraser and Somersby had been planning for him.

3

May 1999

He woke on the sofa parched and cramped at around four, drank some water and stumbled into bed. It was probably this that saved him from a worse hangover than the just-about bearable one he had when he woke in the morning.

He showered, washed some paracetamols down with coffee, then backed his MG out of the garage and drove to the hospital.

As he walked to the main entrance, a blackbird sang from a tree whose leaves were so green they seemed to fluoresce, and he was taken by a feeling of such profound surreality that he had to sit down on one of the red metal seats by the main door before his legs gave way.

I’m Fraser Callan
, he told himself.
I’m Fraser Callan and I’ve come to see my fiancée…
He began taking slow, deep breaths.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ said an old lady with a Zimmer frame.

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘But thank you for your concern.’

‘Seeing someone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you’d better have these, they’re no use to me.’ She tossed him a bunch of flowers wrapped in cellophane and stumped on her way without any further explanation.

He made his way up to the ward and found the sister.

‘She’s expecting you,’ she said. ‘Before I take you in, you know she’s under reverse barrier?’

‘Yes.’

‘I know you’ve just come back from America, have you had any infections—’

‘No, sister.’

‘—no matter how trivial?’

‘No, sister.’

‘Even a cold—‘

‘No, sister.’

‘I suppose it’s no use asking you not to touch her?’

‘Not one whit, sister.’

Filtered air hissed as she pushed open the door.

Frances was sitting up in bed with a magazine she obviously hadn’t been reading.

‘Hello, Fraser. You look terrible, were you drinking last night?’

‘I’ll leave you,’ said the sister.

‘And you look beautiful,’ he said, going over to her.

‘No I don’t.’

But as he said it, he realised it was true; she’d had her hair cut short in an attempt to delay losing it, and the drugs had somehow heightened her normally pale colouring, so that her cheekbones stood out like those of a girl in a Pre-Raphaelite painting.

‘I’ve got some flowers,’ he said, holding them up.

‘They’re lovely…’

‘An old woman gave them to me.’

‘Ever the Scotsman… Aren’t you going to kiss me?’

He put his hands on her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her; their lips touched, brushing gently, and he wished he could distil the moment…

‘I can taste the whisky,’ she said at last, shakily. ‘Did you drink the whole bottle?’

‘About half. I couldn’t sleep, I was that worried.’

‘Oh Fraser, I’ve been so scared,’ she said, her fingers digging into his shoulders. ‘Better now. You’re not angry with me, are you?’

‘Why did you no’ tell me? I’d have come straight—’

‘I know. I didn’t want you to.’

‘But
why
?’

She looked down for a moment, then up into his eyes. ‘I know how you feel about Alkovin and Connie, but don’t you see? This is how she wants to get back at you – by curing me and proving you wrong. She’s the best friend we’ve got, Fraser.’

He didn’t say anything. There was no point.

‘Hey,’ she said, ‘it’s me, remember? I’m not going to get depressed or paranoid, not now that you’re here…’

*

Since it was Saturday, the department was almost empty. Fraser raised a hand in reply when someone called out to him, then made his way down the corridor to Connie’s room. The door was open.

‘Fraser! Come and sit down.’ If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she was pleased to see him. ‘When did you get back?’

‘Late last night,’ he said as he sat. ‘Very late.’

She said, ‘You know about Frances?’

‘I’ve just been over to see her.’

‘I’m terribly sorry, Fraser. We all are. You know we’ll all do our best for her.’

He nodded, unable for a moment to speak. She called up Frances’ file on the computer and showed him the results of all the tests they’d done so far.

‘She’s young and she’s healthy, Fraser – I honestly think we’ve got a good chance of a cure.’

He looked at her face; it was a smooth, impermeable mask, showing proper concern and sympathy, but no clue as to what was going on behind it, no opening for what he had to say.

‘I wasn’t very happy to find you’d put her on DAP,’ he said. ‘I’d have liked to be consulted.’

‘That was out of my hands, Fraser. I did ask whether there was anyone she wanted to phone, and she said her mother.’

‘Nevertheless…’

‘Nevertheless what?’

‘I think I should have been consulted.’ He tried to keep his voice calm.

‘It’s not as though you’re her husband, Fraser – besides, I’m not sure I’d have been under any obligation to contact you even if you had been.’

‘You know how I—’ he began, but she overrode him.

‘So far as I and this department are concerned, DAP is the drug combination of choice. Neither Frances nor her mother made any objection when I explained this to them. Really, Fraser, I’d hoped you’d come back with a more positive attitude.’

‘I have, Connie. While I was in America, I did some research and found John Somersby’s original source.’ He leaned forward, ‘He’s assembled more data now and is about to go public with it. Alkovin is a dangerous drug, Connie.’

‘Can you give this mysterious source a name?’

‘Yes. Dr Sam Weisman, haematologist at Stanford General Hospital, New York,’

Her expression didn’t change. ‘Have you seen this data for yourself?’

He took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘I made a copy.’

She extracted some sheets of paper, unfolded them and put on her glasses…and he found himself thinking,
She’s looking older – is it the glasses, or the stigma of being in charge…?

She quickly scanned the paper, then went through it again more thoroughly before looking up.

‘I’d need more than this to convince me,’ she said. ‘I haven’t noticed anything like this level of disturbance in my patients.’

‘Why don’t you phone him?’

‘I think I will.’

‘You notice his findings are in accord with my own observations? In that the effects often don’t manifest themselves until after consolidation.’

‘Your own observations, as you term them, were based on an insignificant number of patients.’

‘But that’ – he indicated the sheets of paper – ‘is a significant number.’

She regarded him in silence for a moment before saying, This isn’t really getting us anywhere, is it? Will it satisfy you if I speak to Dr Weisman myself and then raise the matter with Parc-Reed again?’

‘It’d make me happier, certainly, but there’s still the question of Frances.’

‘We’ll keep a look-out for any signs of depression or any other neurological disturbance, and if they should appear, we’ll treat her with antidepressants.’

‘By which time it could be too late.’

‘Too late for what?’

‘The disturbances Dr Weisman describes are profound and can make permanent changes—’

‘What are you suggesting then, that we stop the treatment?’ Her voice became shrill as her patience gave out.

‘No, that would probably do more harm than good at this stage.’

‘I’m glad you realise that at least…’

‘Dr Weisman suggests prophylactic antidepressants, preferably Prozac.’

‘I don’t see any sign of that here…’ She scanned the sheets again.

‘Those are his observations. If you look—‘

‘I’m not happy about prescribing antidepressants without a good clinical reason. Perhaps some counselling would help.’

‘If you’ll just speak to him on the phone, he’ll—’

‘Certainly I’ll speak to him, but I’m not prescribing antidepressants just on his say-so.’

He gazed back at her, felt his own control slipping… ‘Tha’ is the most blinkered, obdurate piece of—’

‘I think you’d better leave, Fraser, before you say something you regret.’

He got slowly to his feet, his pulse dancing wildly in his temples. ‘I’m sayin’ this, I’m holdin’ you personally responsible if anythin’ happens to her—’

‘Are you threatening me, Fraser?’

‘If you care to put it like that, yes, Connie, I am threatening you.’

She laughed, a wild, unpleasant sound. ‘With what? What could you possibly do to me?’

He gazed back at her impotently.

‘There’s nothing, is there, Fraser? Only violence. Dig deep inside yourself and that’s the only answer you can find, isn’t it?’ She leaned forward, spoke softly, almost conspiringly. ‘So what are you threatening me with, Fraser? A beating? Or are you threatening to kill me?’

‘If anything happened to Frances because of your stupidity,’ he said slowly, finding his voice at last, ‘I believe I would…’

Now she smiled, her eyes flicked over his shoulder and he turned to see Terry Stroud in the doorway staring at them.

*

What the hell am I going to do…?

As though by way of answer, the small flock of sparrows that had gathered round him when he’d sat down in the scruffy little park flew off in disgust at his meanness.

The answer, in normal circumstances, would be to come to some sort of accommodation with Connie, even if it meant apologising to her – after all, she was his boss, and his career depended on her blessing. But now, even the most abject of apologies was not going to persuade her to change her mind about treating Frances with antidepressants.

How serious was it? He searched his memory banks for the words Sam Weisman had used… ‘There’s a better than evens chance of getting through the treatment without any symptoms at all…’ But for the rest that did have symptoms, there was no way of predicting how serious they would be, or whether the damage they caused would be permanent.

His best chance was to phone Weisman himself before Connie did, explain the situation and hope
he
could persuade her to change her mind… He looked at his watch – ten thirty. Was that all? Which meant it would be 5.30 a.m. in New York… He’d try him at half-past two.

He leaned back on the tired old bench… How had things gotten (he’d been going native) so bad between him and Connie?

Then he smiled with one side of his mouth as the answer, part of it, anyway, came back to him: the conference in Birmingham they’d gone to together almost exactly two years before…