The Country Doctor's Choice (13 page)

Once the intravenous drip was running, Alfred Hartley visibly improved, and he was admitted to Male Surgical with a provisional diagnosis of internal haemorrhage from an unknown source, possibly
a ruptured spleen. When Grace’s brother arrived, McDowall told him that his sister could go home in his car, and straight to bed; his brother-in-law would have to stay in hospital, and so would his daughter, just for one night’s observation.

Shelagh felt thankful for the family’s sake that Cathy’s miscarriage need not be disclosed; her elder sister, now at twenty-two weeks’ gestation, was carrying twins.

By six o’clock the casualties had all been seen and assessed. Sister Oates reported that there had been two deaths and one not likely to survive. The miscarriage won’t count as a death, thought Shelagh, for only live births, however premature, have to be registered as births; even so, Shelagh had been strangely affected by the lifeless, undeveloped fetus, already recognisable as a human being, which she had placed under the couch, out of sight. Seven men and ten women, including three children, had been admitted to wards, while a further nineteen had been discharged home with minor injuries. The outpatients department had been cleared of extra trolleys and wheelchairs; the examination rooms had been cleaned and replenished, and the floor mopped over with a detergent that was also a disinfectant. The staff were now drinking cups of tea dispensed by the Women’s Royal Voluntary Service who had come in specially to reopen the refreshment bar.

‘Oh, Dr Hammond, that North girl has been sent home with her aunt,’ said Sister Oates. ‘Sister Kelly on Gynae says that they’re full to overflowing with surgical cases, and so I said she had better go home.’

Shelagh could hardly insist that room be found for Cathy; but she feared that the parents would be more likely to discover the truth if Cathy went home now, without a chance to calm down and conceal a pregnancy that had ended due to trauma.

She knew that she should now go back to Maternity to see if there was anything happening that would need her to be there, but for the moment her knees felt weak, and she sat down heavily on one of the plastic chairs of the OPD.

‘Shelagh! There you are! How can I ever thank you for turning up to attend to that abortion? You were an angel sent from heaven!’

There was not much of the angel in the look she gave him. ‘I think the less said about that, the better, Dr McDowall,’ she said with ice in her eyes.

His shoulders slumped apologetically. ‘Yes, I know how you must feel, Shelagh, and I’m never going to forget missing out on that girl,’ he confessed. ‘I’m thankful that you came in when you did, and I just want to acknowledge the fact, that’s all. And let’s face it, it
was
a lucky break for her!’

Shelagh thought this remark uncalled for, but knew it to be true, so let it pass. She stood up and faced her junior house officer, tight-lipped and unsmiling.

‘I can forgive you for missing a fairly obvious abortion, Dr McDowall, but I object to your general attitude – your total indifference and impatience towards that girl, who was clearly very distressed. And your infuriating compulsion to crack feeble jokes on every occasion, no matter how inappropriate, is
not
appreciated in such a sensitive field as obstetrics and gynaecology.’

‘Oh. I see. Good of you to let me know how you feel, Shelagh. Thank you. But look, we’ve got to go on working together for another four months, so we might as well be friends, don’t you agree?’

He held out his hand to her, but she ignored it and said, ‘Just remember that we are doctors, and not stand-up comedians. I’m not much good at one-liners.’

All of a sudden her voice broke, and tears stung her eyes. Good grief, she mustn’t cry in front of this man! She quickly rose and turned her back on him, walking briskly towards the lower corridor and the lifts up to Maternity. She might be needed in the Delivery Unit.

When Jeremy, his sister and his daughter arrived home in Jeremy’s car, Fiona at once seized Catherine in her arms.

‘Whatever happened to you, darling? Was it very dreadful? Oh, thank heaven to see you home again and safe!’ It was left to Jeremy to welcome his sister into his home.

‘Oh, hell, Grace, this has all been our fault, after you’ve kept Catherine for so long!’ he said in self-reproach. ‘If she’d come home earlier—’

‘No, don’t blame yourself, Jerry, it was time for her to come back to you.’

‘Well, you’ll want a hot bath, I expect, and then go to bed. We’ll put you in Roy’s room. And tomorrow we’ll visit Alfred.’

‘It looks as if we’ll have Grace here for a time, Fiona,’ he said a little later. ‘While Alfred’s in hospital. How’s Cathy? She seems a bit subdued.’

‘Well, can you wonder at it, after all the child’s been through?’ Fiona retorted. ‘I’ve put the poor girl straight to bed, with a hot drink.’

‘The same for Grace, I’d guess. I’m putting her in Roy’s old room.’

‘And what if our son turns up needing his room, may I ask?’

‘He can’t have it. He’s got that flat with his boozing buddy, and he’s not going to come back and live here, as I’ve told him and you. God knows my sister and Alfred have done us a good turn for taking Cathy off our hands for so long.’

‘My Cathy has just told me that she’s wanted to come home for weeks, so it couldn’t have been
that
marvellous with the Hartleys, being put to work at that old people’s home. She needed her mother!’

Jeremy did not reply, but went to see if his sister needed any assistance with her bath. Here at
least he was appreciated. He’d had to cancel choir practice this evening, and felt the lack of it.

Shelagh answered the phone in the antenatal ward office. It was Paul.

‘It’s no good, darling – the hospital’s chock-a-block with all these accident casualties. Fielding’s going to be around all weekend, and I have to be here, too.’

‘Of course, Paul, I understand, we simply have to call it off. It’s a big disappointment, but – how’s Diane Devlin?’

‘Only so-so. That tib and fib are well and truly smashed at the ankle. Fielding will do what he can for her, working with the orthopaedics, but she could be left with a limp.’

‘Poor girl. At least she’s survived. Does she know about—er—?’

‘Not yet. We’ll wait until she asks about him. Better ring off now.’

‘Of course. Bye, Paul.’

She replaced the receiver. Disappointment? But she would not have to deceive her mother again.

‘Catherine’s staying in bed today,’ said Fiona the next morning. ‘She’s got her period, and it’s unusually heavy and painful. The accident must have brought it on early.’

‘Poor kid. I’ll pop up to see her before I go to school.’

Cathy was sitting up in bed. ‘Hi, chick, how’re we doing? Got over the shock yet?’

‘I don’t feel at all well, Daddy. I’ve got the most awful period pains.’

‘Oh, poor you,’ he said with a smile, noting her pallor. ‘When was it due to come on?’

‘I don’t know, in a couple of weeks. Daddy, can you get me a cup of tea and a couple of paracetamol?’

‘OK. And when exactly did this one start?’

‘When I was taken into hospital, after being thrown from one side of the road to the other – Daddy, can’t you stop asking questions, and get me tea and paracetamol, please?’

‘Sorry, chick. D’you think we ought to ask Dr James to call?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,
no
! There’s no need for
him
to come round asking me a load of questions! After all, it’s only a period.’

‘Hm. All right, I’ll send your mother up with the tea and tablets. I’m off to school now. Bye, chick – hope you’ll feel better when I come home.’

He sent Fiona up to her, and decided to walk to school and enjoy the warm spring weather after the long and snowy winter. He also decided to have a word with his sister.

Alfred Hartley’s operation was performed on the night of his admission, a laparotomy to examine his internal organs. Mr Fielding told his wife and brother-in-law
the next day that there had been severe bruising of muscles, and some trauma to the liver and spleen, though not severe, and it should heal spontaneously. The only treatment had been to aspirate out the stale blood and clots from the abdominal cavity, and to start a course of antibiotics. They were told that he was to stay in hospital for rest and a light diet until the course was completed, and then if satisfactory to be transferred to a hospital in Basingstoke. Grace Hartley recovered well from the shock and minor abrasions; a long gash across her forehead at the hairline had to be redressed, cleaned and bandaged by a district nurse. Although she had pain from this and a persistent headache, she made no complaints, so great was her relief at the outcome of Alfred’s injuries.

But on the subject of her niece she was not very forthcoming. ‘All went well up until Christmas,’ she told her brother. ‘In the New Year she started to be moody, said she was fed up with working at the old people’s home. Alfred and I urged her to stick at it, and he told her that if she gave it up she would have to return to you.’

‘And did her moodiness improve?’ asked Jeremy.

‘Not really. She was irritable and off her food – and I thought she didn’t look well.’

‘Gracie, tell me the truth. Did you suspect that she might be pregnant?’

‘It crossed my mind, Jerry, but I couldn’t ask her outright – that’s for her mother to do. This week I
asked her if there was anything troubling her, and could I help – but she rounded on me and told me to mind my own business. That’s when Alfred said she must go home.’

‘Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry. And it’s led to all this—’ Jeremy was conscience-stricken at what his sister and brother-in-law had suffered because of his wilful daughter.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Jerry. If Cathy
was
pregnant, she isn’t any more. There was a lady doctor who was attending to her, but I couldn’t think of anything but my Alfred. There was certainly a lot of blood around, and the doctor sent a nurse for a special injection which she gave to Cathy. It
might
have been a miscarriage, Jerry, but that’s all I can say.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Jeremy.

‘Look, Jerry, as soon as Alfred is ready to transfer to Basingstoke, I’ll go with him, and get out of your way.’

‘Good God, Gracie, you’re not in anybody’s way here.’

There was a pause while they looked at each other, and then Grace spoke again.

‘Jerry dear, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, what with Denise and Roy, and I only wish I could help in some way, but – well, you know how it is with other people’s marriages. Outsiders just must not interfere.’

He sighed deeply. ‘Bless you, sis, you’ll be glad to
get away from here. And glad that your marriage is so different from ours.’

‘Yes, but we didn’t have children, Jerry, which was a big disappointment to us.’

He laughed shortly. ‘And now you realise what a lucky break that was!’

It was coffee time in the doctors’ mess two days later. Paul Sykes was in a towering rage. ‘I’m absolutely incandescent!’

‘Why, what’s up?’ asked Dr Fisher.

Sykes spread out the
Everham News
on one of the tables. ‘Look at that!’

Right across the front page was the headline:

There was a photograph below it, showing Diane Devlin peeping over a mountain of flowers, cards and letters from well-wishers.

‘Wow! I say, that’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?’ one of the doctors remarked.

‘And that isn’t all. Look, here, inside!’

He turned a page, and there was Diane again, looking tragically into the camera. Two nurses stood one on each side of her, their hands upon her shoulders. The caption ran:

There was a murmuring among the onlookers, and glances exchanged.

‘Who took the pictures?’ he was asked.

‘It must have been that damned photographer who clicks on the newborns in Maternity, what’s his name, Roger somebody. God only knows how he got in. If I see him, I’ll strangle him.’

Dr Leigh McDowall studied the photograph. ‘What a villain, Paul, to force his way in to upset the lovely Diane – though I must say, she’s beautifully made up.’ He turned and left the mess before Sykes could come up with a rejoinder, and made his way to the antenatal ward, where both patients and staff were having mid-morning coffee.

‘Has anybody got an
Everham News
?’ he asked, and found that Tanya and Laurie were already poring over the pictures in a newspaper borrowed from a patient.

‘It must have been an inside job, one of those two nurses let him in, probably at night,’ said Tanya. ‘Oh, good morning, Dr Sykes! Coffee?’

Sykes, who had followed McDowall over from the mess, ignored her invitation, and said he was looking for the baby photographer. ‘And if those nurses were responsible for letting him in, I’ll have them reported to Daddy Brooks.’

Shelagh Hammond, quietly sipping coffee in a corner, asked him how Miss Devlin had taken the news of her fiancé’s death. He replied angrily,
‘That’s another reason why I object so much to this heartbreak stuff. The fact that he was still – er – married to somebody else, but was going through a divorce, should be entirely private. What a nerve, plastering details of her life all over the newspaper! The national tabloids will take it up next. I’ll throttle the bastard.’ He looked to Shelagh for support, but she put down her cup and beckoned to Laurie. ‘We’d better get on with those two ARMs, Nurse Moffatt.’

‘They’re all ready for you, doctor,’ replied the staff midwife. Artificial rupture of the membranes was an uncomfortable and quite painful procedure for the mother, but labour usually started within the next twenty-four hours, especially if the woman was overdue.

And it got Shelagh out of the office.

Elm Grove was a handsome, five-storey Edwardian house on the Everham Road, just south of the town. A hundred years ago it had been the residence of a wine merchant and his wife and five children which had increased to eight, with a hierarchy of servants.