The Healing Knife Read online

  “I’m dazed,” I said slowly. “A few weeks ago I was pursuing my career in familiar surroundings. I had things sorted out the way I liked them. And now it seems I’m going to be some kind of refugee.”

  “Hardly that,” Malcom said. “Think of it as an opportunity – it’ll look good on your CV. A new set of colleagues to dazzle. I’ll be sorry to let you go, but Peter will be crowing. And perhaps it won’t be for ever. This nonsense might blow over, given time.”

  We were all silent for a moment, sipping our coffee.

  “You’re both very kind,” I said, “to take such trouble.”

  “At least think about it,” Bridget said. “Perhaps talk to your friends. See what they say.”

  “Yes.” I paused; there was a lot for me to process. “Yes, I will. I’ll think. And I’ll let you know.”

  On Thursday, my day off, I had Beth and Jimmy’s place to myself all morning. Beth had an antenatal appointment, and Jimmy was seeing his PhD supervisor. I made myself comfortable with a large cup of coffee and a slice of cake made by Beth, and settled down to clear a backlog of emails, mostly routine things.

  Beth came back around midday and collapsed onto the sofa with a groan.

  “I’m glad I’m not an elephant,” she said. “Forty weeks is way too long.” She patted her distended belly fondly. “You’re getting big and heavy, my son or daughter. Nearly time to get born.”

  “Everything going OK?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I think so.” She struggled to get up. “I’ll get us some lunch.”

  “No you won’t,” I said sternly. “I’ll do the honours. Just let me finish this.” I sent the last email and closed down my computer. “Done and dusted.”

  “You know, Rach, I’ve been wondering,” Beth said thoughtfully. “This plan of the Harries’ – how on earth is Malcolm going to swing it? Don’t these things require paperwork and applications and interviews and what-not? I mean, normally people don’t just up sticks and go and work elsewhere, do they? At short notice?”

  “I don’t know exactly what Malcolm has up his sleeve,” I said. “I do know he’s well connected with the powers-that-be at the hospital. He’s on loads of boards and so on. He’s probably in with the CEO. I’ve got a lot of annual leave left as well. But the two hospitals are partners, aren’t they? Along with some clinics and specialist centres and dental practices, I think. So maybe that will make it easier. Perhaps there’ll be some kind of job-swap – maybe one of Brant’s cardiac team will come here. Whatever happens, I’m quite sure Malcolm will find a way.”

  “What it is to have influence, eh?”

  “Indeed. Do you want lunch now? Should I do some for Jimmy?”

  “In a minute, and yes, definitely. I don’t know where Jimmy puts it all! He says he’s eating for two.”

  I smiled. “He would. He’s a good guy, Beth. You’re lucky. But so is he!”

  “Mm, very true.” Beth looked at me, her head on one side. “Don’t you ever feel you’d like to be with someone, Rachel?”

  “No.”

  Beth burst out laughing. “Just like that – ‘No’? Are you sure? I seem to remember a time when you might have thought differently.”

  “Ugh, that was ages ago. And I’m sure I made the right decision.”

  “You were on the point of getting married, weren’t you?”

  I shook my head. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” I said. “Fact is, he asked me if I would. I said ‘yes’, but then after a while I saw it couldn’t possibly work, and I called it off, at which point he went off in a massive huff.”

  “I’ve forgotten his name.”

  “Howard. Howard Franks, and he was a budding obstetrician.”

  “So he was. And you broke his heart.”

  “I think it was more a case of deflated ego, actually.”

  “Didn’t you feel even a bit tempted?” Beth asked.

  I shrugged. “Possibly for about half an hour. But then I saw how it would be. Howard was not the guy for me. Maybe there is no such creature. But even if he was the world’s most perfect partner, he’d still be a huge distraction. I knew that if I went along with his plans, my own would be in the bin.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way, you know.”

  “Maybe not for most people. But I want to be a consultant before I’m forty. I’ve come a long way, and it’s been tough. I love my work. It’s what makes me feel… I don’t know, useful, fulfilled, whatever. And I’ve still got a way to go. A man in my life would just deflect me from that. And I never met anyone who’d be worth shelving my career for.”

  “Aren’t you ever lonely, though?”

  “Nope. Too knackered when I get back from hours of surgery.”

  “Work isn’t everything, Rach.”

  “Mine is, for me.”

  “So what about after you’re a consultant? Don’t you ever want children? What about later, when you’re retired? No family, no one to look after you in your dotage…”

  I laughed. “I don’t plan ever to be in my dotage. And you can have six kids and still be on your own. They have to live their own lives, don’t they? If I ever retire I’ll travel, I think. Anyway” – I jumped up from my chair – “you never know, once I get my consultancy and I’ve enjoyed it all for a year or two, maybe I’ll have a couple of kids. Who knows? Time for lunch? Shall I warm up some soup?”

  Beth heaved herself up and followed me into the tiny kitchen. “That’s all very well, but presumably you need to find someone to have children with, and that doesn’t happen overnight. And you’ll be in your forties, Rach – menopausal, even.”

  I put my arm round her shoulders. “Don’t you worry about me, mother hen,” I said. “If I feel the lack of young company I’ll come over and borrow your little treasure.”

  We’d had a similar conversation before, and I hadn’t changed my mind. Perhaps the Howard fiasco had made me even more sceptical about the prospect of a permanent relationship than I might otherwise have been; but that my work was all-important to me was still very much the case, and I wasn’t going to do anything to damage my upward journey. One thing I wouldn’t say to Beth: it had been harder for me to succeed in cardiothoracic surgery because of my gender, not just because of entrenched prejudice but also because I’d had to fight my own tendency to be distracted – and that, I believed, was the experience of many women. I realized early on that I seemed hard-wired to think about several things at once. In some ways this is important for a surgeon, but total concentration and focus is also essential, and acquiring that has been one of my hardest won skills over the years. I couldn’t afford to be thinking about what to cook for dinner or a child’s illness or having to get the shopping or take my coat to the cleaner’s. I had to keep my life simple and under control so that my ambition might flourish; and I was more than willing to make the personal sacrifices that this involved.

  Beth, however, was clearly not finished with me. I moved my laptop and a pile of papers and we sat at the table in the corner of the lounge which also served as a dining room and ate warm crusty bread dipped in Beth’s home-made soup. “We need people like me to fix hearts,” I said between mouthfuls. “And people like you to make soup and cakes.”

  “Excuse me,” Beth said sternly. “I can do a bit more than that. As you well know.”

  “Just kidding.”

  “Hm. Actually, though, while we’re still vaguely talking about men and so on, Jimmy and I know someone who works at Brant Lyon.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, Jimmy shared a flat with him when they were students. He’s not a medic – he’s an IT genius, I think. Works in hospital admin. Nice guy, and very good-looking as I recall.” She looked over at me and grinned.

  “Honestly, Beth, you never give up, do you?”

  “Well,” she protested, “you might need a friend. You’re starting a whole new chapter. Sometimes it’s nice to know someone when you move to a new place.”

  I groaned. “And the name of
this wonder-guy?”

  “Rob. Rob Harker. Shall I give you his number?”

  “You can, but I won’t be ringing him.”

  “Can I give him yours, then?”

  “I suppose so, if you really must. Now, can we change the subject?”

  Our light-hearted mood evaporated with sobering suddenness when Jimmy arrived home an hour later. He came in quietly, put his bag on the table, and sat down with Beth on the sofa. There was none of his usual clattering entrances and loud hails.

  “What’s up?” Beth said. “Rough supervision?”

  Jimmy put his arm round her shoulders and drew her close, all the while looking at me. “Rachel, not good news,” he said.

  I sat up. Something cold seemed to clench my stomach. “Tell me, Jim.”

  “Coming home just now, there was someone crouching by your car.”

  “What – not her?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “A young guy in a grey hoody. When I challenged him, he scarpered. I didn’t get to see his face clearly.”

  I blew out my breath. “The same kid that delivered the bloody heart, I guess. I wonder who he is.”

  “Who he is doesn’t really matter, does it?” Jimmy said. “The point is, they know where you are – or at least where your car is.”

  “Oh, Rachel!” Beth wailed, her eyes round. “What are we going to do?”

  I got up. “What I am going to do, my dear friend,” I said, trying not to show the dread I felt, “is depart. I can’t stay here and involve you and Jimmy in my troubles any more. I’m really grateful to the two of you for putting me up. But since I have nowhere else to go, I’ll have to go along with Malcolm’s plan. That’s if he’s managed to organize it.”

  “But where will you go now?” Beth said, her voice low and husky.

  “Back to my flat. If my car’s not here, there’ll be no reason for anyone to bother you. I’ll start putting a few things in the car ready to leave, once I’ve spoken to Malcolm. If it’s all sorted I’ll go tomorrow. Even if it isn’t, I can’t stay here.”

  Beth hauled herself up from the sofa, came over to me, and enveloped me in a hug. “Rach, I’m so sorry this had to happen to you. It’s so unfair.”

  “Seems to me it’s just bizarre,” I said, hugging her back. “I’m convinced Eve Rawlins has tipped over the edge. Someone needs to help her.” I disentangled myself, smiling down at Beth. “I’ll go and get my stuff. Don’t worry about me, Beth. I’ll survive.”

  “I don’t like you being in your flat on your own, even for one night,” Beth said. “Jimmy will come and keep you company, won’t you, love?”

  I shook my head. “There’s no need. I’ll let you know I’m OK in the morning before I leave.” A thought struck me. “One thing, though: Jim, could you send on any post? I’ll let you know the address when I get there.”

  “Yeah, sure, Rachel. No problem. I’ll keep an eye on your flat at the same time.”

  “Thanks – for everything. You two have been great.” I paused in the doorway. “And of course I’ll be wanting to know your news. Can’t believe it’s only just over a month, if the baby’s on time.”

  As I drove across town that afternoon, I won’t deny that I was apprehensive. But somehow all the long years of work and self-discipline helped. In the past, when something had gone wrong – when I had messed up, or when someone had behaved badly towards me, or at moments of disappointment, or when some perceived injustice had been perpetrated – I’d turned it all to work, to experience, to building myself up as a surgeon and as a person. Some would say, no doubt, that it had made me hard, and maybe they were right. Now I was glad of that core of stubbornness. I wasn’t going to run away scared; I’d go because I saw the need and I’d go in my own time. Nevertheless, I admitted to myself that I’d be glad when the morning came and I could be on my way, as far from this mess as I could get.

  Meanwhile I decided that a little theatre might help, as much to convince myself as anyone else. I parked outside the flat with no attempt at concealment, slamming my car door shut, even humming with apparent insouciance. I went directly next door and rang the Chiltons’ doorbell. When George Chilton answered the door I spoke to him much more loudly than I would normally do, laughing and joking with him as if nothing whatever was amiss in my life. I told him – and his wife, who came to the door when she heard my voice – that I was taking some long overdue holiday. “If I don’t hurry and use my leave, I’ll lose it. Can’t have that! So I just thought I’d let you know I won’t be around for a while.”

  “That’ll be nice for you,” Mrs Chilton said. “After all the trouble you’ve been having.”

  “Oh,” I said airily, “that’s all over now, I think.” I looked over at my flat, seeing the once-again white front door. “The painter’s been, then. Good. I said I wanted it done as soon as possible. Thank you for handling that for me – I appreciate it.”

  “That’s all right,” Mrs Chilton said. “So where are you off to? Somewhere nice and warm?”

  I’d thought I might be asked this and I allowed myself a small lie. “Not sure just yet. I’ll be touring round in this country for a week or two, and then, as I’ve got so much time owing, I might go abroad. Perhaps I’ll send you a postcard!” I laughed loudly, as if I had made a hilarious joke. “Anyway, if you see a well-built black guy coming round, don’t worry. That’s my friend Jimmy, who’s going to send on any mail. He’ll know how to get hold of me if there’s any emergency, and he’ll deal with any problems with the flat if something comes up – a broken gutter or something.”

  Mr Chilton frowned. “Sounds like you plan to be away for some time.”

  “Quite a few weeks, probably,” I said. “It’ll be nice to get away with the spring.”

  With that, and more thank yous and goodbyes, I let myself into my own flat. It smelled dusty and airless, and I threw open a few windows while daylight lasted. I took out my largest suitcase from the wardrobe, and a rucksack I hadn’t used since student days, and filled them with everything I thought I might need – clothes, shoes, books. I owned very little, and when I’d finished the flat looked bare. As dusk was falling I took my bags out to the car and loaded them into the boot. I looked up and down the road as the streetlights came on. It had always been a quiet area, and there was no one about.

  I went back indoors, washed my hands, and rang Malcolm. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” I said without preamble. I told him about the boy lurking round my car. “That means I’ve got nowhere to go here. I don’t want to cause any trouble for my friends, not when they’ve been so good to me. So what’s the deal with Brant Lyon?”

  “I’m working on it, Rachel,” he said. “Got a meeting the day after tomorrow to thrash out the details. But that needn’t worry you, even if we can’t get you to work straight away. You can take that overdue holiday, get settled in with the Axtons, reacquaint yourself with Brant. One thing, though…” he hesitated.

  “What?” I realized from my sharp response that despite my determination not to let this thing get to me, I was nevertheless on high alert. I unclenched my fists.

  “What would help,” Malcom said slowly, as if with reluctance, “is if you’d visit your GP before you go.”

  “What for?”

  “In the circumstances, you could get signed off for stress. That would account for the need for haste.”

  It took me a few seconds to process this. “Absolutely not a chance, Malcolm. Sorry.” But I wasn’t. I was furious. Not with Malcolm, but with Eve Rawlins. I wasn’t going to let her, or the fear of her, of what she might do next, take over my life any more than I absolutely had to. “I’m not having being signed off for stress on my medical records. It looks bad, weak, as if I can’t cope. Sorry if that is no help to you, but I plan to protect my reputation. Eve Rawlins can go to hell, frankly.”

  “I understand you’re angry, Rachel,” Malcolm said quietly. “But hell is almost certainly where Eve Rawlins is right now.” I said nothing, allowing the heat o
f my feelings to die down. Malcolm sighed. “All right; I’ll do my best to sort things out this end. You just get away.”

  “Yes, I will. First thing. I’ve spoken to the neighbours, and Jimmy’s going to send on my post and keep an eye on the flat. I’ll make sure I keep in touch. And Malcolm – thank you. For everything.”

  If I’d had any doubt about the wisdom of my decision, that night dispelled it. I’d left my car parked brazenly under a streetlight for anyone to see; and I suppose somebody did, along with the lights on in the flat. Who, I didn’t know, nor did I see a living soul.

  I phoned out for a takeaway, and a van duly turned up and delivered it. Having eaten it and thrown away the wrappings, I reminded myself to put the rubbish out in the morning. Sleeping in cramped conditions at Beth and Jimmy’s hadn’t been ideal, and I was tired. I went to bed early, and despite the feverish workings of my thoughts I fell asleep quickly.

  I was woken by the shrilling of my landline. This was a rarity in itself; I hardly ever used it. I surfaced from the fog of sleep, not understanding, for a moment, what the sound was. As I realized, it stopped. I looked at the clock on my bedside table: ten past four. Who would ring me on my landline in the small hours? If it wasn’t a wrong number, there was only one answer to my question. I felt a chill creep up from stomach to throat. Then the ringing started again. I got out of bed, threw on a dressing-gown, and padded to the hallway where the phone was mounted on the wall. Swallowing my surge of dread, I picked the handset up. “Hello?”

  For a moment there was silence, then a quiet click and the dialling tone. I put the handset back with a shaking hand. Immediately the phone started ringing again. I snatched it from the wall, killed the call, and left it off the hook. For a few minutes I stood there, trying to control my shuddering. I was cold, but at the same time sticky with sweat. I took a deep breath, then another, forcing myself to breathe naturally, trying to be calm.

  Chilled, I decided to take a warm shower before going back to bed. At least no one could call me on my landline tonight. I stood under the warm, soothing water, feeling it flow down my body, imagining it taking my troubles with it down the drain. I was stepping out of the shower, reaching for a towel, when I heard a loud bang, unnervingly close. I felt my skin tingle with fright. Quickly I towelled myself down and put my bathrobe back on. Then I opened the bathroom door gingerly, holding my breath. I padded barefoot and silent into my bedroom and stood in the doorway, my stomach lurching sickeningly. My window was wide open, the curtains rippling in the night breeze. Was it possible I hadn’t shut that window properly as darkness fell? My bedroom overlooked a grassy area at the back of the flats. I tiptoed over to the window and twitched the curtain back, standing so that I couldn’t be seen. Here it was darker, the streetlights more widely spaced; but there was nothing, no lurking intruder, no threatening shadow. I closed and locked the window. I went into the lounge, which overlooked the street, and peered out. There was my car, under the streetlight. No menacing figures under the hedge. I checked the window and closed the curtains, letting out my breath – until that moment I hadn’t known I was holding it in.