‘This reporter seemed to know it was Simone who’d found the baby,’ muses Oliver. ‘I’m not sure how.’
‘There would have been a record, although good sleuthing on their part as the hospital has been closed for years. My name might have been there too, as we reported it together.’
He frowns and rubs the back of his neck. ‘They didn’t mention your name. They seemed only to be interested in Simone. Now I’m wondering if it was a ploy to try to find out where she was.’ His mouth is set in a grim line. ‘And she’s never tried to get in touch with you?’
‘Never. While I was trying to find her I contacted the electrical company from the clipping and they’d never heard of Simone. But judging by the photograph in theSalisbury Journal, it’s obvious she’d worked there. You said she was using a different name?’
‘Ah, yes. Natalie.’
‘Natalie?’
‘Yes. Natalie Grant?’ His eyes narrow as a small noise escapes my lips. ‘Why, does it mean anything to you?’
I haven’t allowed myself to think of that pale-faced girl in a long time. A lump forms in my throat and I can feel tears stinging my eyes. ‘Yes. Natalie Grant was a patient. At the hospital. Simone delivered her baby and … it was so sad. Natalie … died.’
48
HENRY
November 1994 London
Marielle was seated next to him on a park bench, wrapped up in a long houndstooth coat, a purple beret and matching scarf. Her cheeks were stung pink by the cold and her eyelashes spiky with tears. They had just come from the hospital where they’d sat with their hands clasped, while a grave-faced specialist had told them that the odds of them conceiving a baby naturally were very low. They’d had a bunch of tests in the preceding months to check his sperm, her eggs and reproductive organs. Tests he hated having but knew were necessary if he wanted to stay married to her. It was Fate, he realized. That was why they were unable to conceive. He’d always known they shouldn’t be parents and he was right. Not that he’d said any of this to Marielle. He hated seeing her like this but he had to stop the corners of his lips curling up with relief when the doctor told them the news.
Henry had had to make a decision that day when Marielle told him she wanted a baby. Marielle had givenhim an ultimatum. No baby, no marriage. And he couldn’t face losing her. He didn’t know who he would become without her, so he’d agreed, and secretly hoped and prayed nothing would happen. His prayers were answered when nothing did. After the first eighteen months Marielle had wanted to go to the GP for tests and he had persuaded her not to. ‘These things can take a while,’ he’d said, trying to sound as if he knew what he was talking about. But as she hit thirty-five, then thirty-six, she told him she was going to seek out a specialist, and he had no choice but to go along with it. He had even considered getting a secret vasectomy but he knew the specialist would be able to tell, so instead he had to hope there was something fundamentally wrong with one or both of them to stop them reproducing.
‘They did say there’s still a slim chance,’ she said, looking up at him with big, hopeful eyes, taking out a cotton hanky and dabbing at her face. ‘There is no reason why it couldn’t happen apart from your sperm being a bit sluggish, and he said IVF might work.’
He didn’t want to try IVF. He didn’t want any more tests or interference or small, stifling rooms with adult magazines and plastic cups. But he knew Marielle would try to convince him, and he loved her so much that of course he felt bad for her and hated seeing her upset. He couldn’t pretend to be disappointed, though. This obviously annoyed her because she snapped, ‘This has worked out exactly how you wanted it, hasn’t it, Henry? You never wanted a baby …’ The tears started again and he could do nothing but wrap his arms around her while she cried into his scarf.
He knew that Marielle felt the same deep down. A baby would be catastrophic. She only wanted one because she couldn’t have one, just like she behaved if a dress she liked wasn’t available in her size: it made her want it all the more.
But she wouldn’t give up on the IVF idea until, in desperation, he found someone who could help him: a doctor friend was willing to convince Marielle that IVF wouldn’t work for them. She’d sat, dead-eyed and stock still, as the doctor explained how limited their options were.
Eventually she gave up talking about babies, instead throwing herself into work at the university.
And then, just as he began to relax and to believe they could get on with their lives blissfully baby free, she came to him with the worst possible news.
49
LENA
The sky is limpid and the sun creates a dreamlike shimmer on the horizon as I drive home from meeting Oliver. By the sound of it, Simone hasn’t changed. Oliver and I had spent several hours talking over what her radio silence might mean, and when we left things, he still wasn’t sure whether going to the police might put her in more danger. He hugged me goodbye as he said he’d let me know what he plans to do and made me promise to leave it to him.
I’m sickened to hear that she’s using Natalie Grant’s name. That poor girl. Her terrified face will be etched in my memory for ever. The day she died was the beginning of the end for my midwifery career. It was when I first suspected what Simone and Hugh Warrington were up to, but even they couldn’t have known that Natalie had an undiagnosed heart condition. She suffered a cardiac arrest just hours after giving birth. I wasn’t in the room when it happened, but I was devastated when I heard about it. Natalie’s mum was left to care for the little boy, and even now, all these years later, and especially since having a childof my own, the thought of it brings me to tears. Natalie’s death wasn’t enough to put them off, though, and I can just imagine them trying to convince themselves that they weren’t at fault because they hadn’t known about her heart condition. Yet if they’d paid more attention to Natalie and her vital signs, instead of wondering how they could siphon off the medication, if they’d been watching her more closely, seen her unnatural pallor, her breathlessness and long early labour, the swelling in her hands, they might have been able to save her. Simone was an experienced midwife and Hugh Warrington a doctor with nearly fifteen years’ experience. I never forgave them. I read in the newspapers that he was also found guilty of prescription fraud. My biggest regret is not having informed a senior member of staff when I first spotted it, but I was terrified I wouldn’t be believed over someone as eminent as the godlike Dr Hugh Warrington.
I’d started watching them more closely after Natalie died, but they were clever and secretive, and I noticed that I was rarely put on a shift with them. I think Simone suspected I knew something because she continued to keep me close, hanging out with me in our spare time whenever she could. Dan’s comments about her being involved in some hospital scam kept running through my mind. I was convinced about the drug fraud but I had no proof.
I remember the night I told Oliver my suspicions about Simone. We were spending the weekend together in Manchester. By this time, I was detaching myself from Simone. Every time she tried to arrange a night out I’d sayI was busy, and I tried to avoid her at the end of our shift so that I could get the bus back on my own.
It was a Sunday in the middle of February when the grey days and dark nights blended into one another. I’d been putting off telling Oliver all weekend, but it had weighed so heavily on me that he’d asked me a number of times what was wrong. We were in his room and I was packing my bag, ready to catch the train home, when I eventually told him. I’ll never forget the look on his face. Utter disbelief and judgement. ‘Why would you say that about my sister?’ he’d snapped. ‘There’s no way she’d do that! It’s illegal. You can’t go around accusing her of stealing drugs from the ward and neglecting her patients. You’ll ruin her career. She could go to prison.’ I’d never seen him so angry. His eyes were like pools of black ink in his colourless face. He called me a troublemaker. A liar. He kicked a chair over and thumped his fist on his desk. One of his housemates knocked on the door to make sure everything was okay. I’d taken that opportunity to grab my coat and bag and leave. He’d never tried to call me after that. Not even when, six months later, Simone and Hugh Warrington were charged with various offences relating to theft, possession and intent to supply controlled substances. I’d been glad to leave London and get away from both of them, despite my heartbreak over Oliver. I spent a few aimless years in East Sussex working in retail and learning to touch-type, which I hated. I eventually moved to Bristol after visiting my old housemate Kerrie, who was doing a PhD at the university and falling in love with the city. I was working in a shop when I met Charlie and washappy to give it all up to follow him and his career. After all, it wasn’t like I had one of my own.
When I arrive home I notice that Henry’s car isn’t parked in its usual spot. I’m relieved. I dread bumping into him after the way he talked to me in the street. As soon as I let myself through the front door Phoenix comes rushing out to greet me, his whole backside wagging, happy to see a friendly face. I bend down to make a fuss of him, then go upstairs to empty Rufus’s laundry basket. As I’m tipping the contents onto the floor my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Jo.
Hey, lovely. Is it okay for Paul to come over later to finally install that camera in your garden? He’s been working away from home a lot this week or he’d have been over before. I’ll come too and you can tell me how it went with Oliver today xx
Yes, please. That would be amazing, I reply.
Great. 7 p.m. okay?
