Janice was explicit; stay away from work. But I can’t. I come and sit in the car park for hours, staring at the hospital entrance like a divorced partner who sits outside the family home, imagining that behind that door, things are still the same as they always were before disaster struck. To avoid detection, I park not far from the disused part of the hospital, a large, derelict block that sits on its own, isolated from the rest of the hospital. A demolition notice has been hanging over it for years, but nothing has been done. Hardly anyone comes to this part of the hospital complex. Except Patrick Walsh it would seem.
I look up at him, trying to hide my scowl.
At first glance, Patrick Walsh’s stringy, grey hair, sunken eyes and cheeks and sticky-out ears put me in mind of an old person who has no one left to care for him. A more penetrating glance throws up the sharp, watery eyes, the crimped, impatient lips and a nose with a tip that seems to wag in the air sniffing out trouble. He’s dressed in a medical gown and slippers with a lit cigarette in one hand. In the other is an asthma pump. Tucked behind his ear is another smoke ready to go. I’m rather surprised he hasn’t got another asthma pump tucked behind the other ear.
‘I suppose you’re here for your disciplinary after you tried to off me?’ he taunts.
Tried to off him? If only!
‘You are aware that smoking is strictly forbidden in the grounds of this hospital?’ I say firmly. ‘Also, with your condition you know that the last thing you should be doing is smoking.’
Smirking, he proceeds to defiantly inhale, greedily and noisily gobbling up the cigarette until he’s satisfied. Flicking the butt, he levels me with a mock contrite stare. ‘Of course, you’re quite right.’
My voice is innocent. ‘Perhaps I should file a complaint about you?’
Malice slinks into his eyes. ‘There’s no need to take my actions personally, Doctor. I’ve got nothing against you as such, but I’m a firm believer that citizens have rights and one of those rights is to not be murdered by the medical profession. Perhaps that’s an alien concept to you?’
A painful sigh leaves me. ‘You can be reassured that your complaint will be dealt with through the usual channels.’
He sneers. ‘No doubt. And it’s no doubt you’ll be found not guilty. You people all stick together. Quacks, coppers, lawyers, politicians, you’re all an organised conspiracy against the public. You’re all covering up for each other. I don’t even know why you’re loitering in the car park. You’re suspended, aren’t you?’
His jibe hits hard. However, I must be careful. The last thing I need is him whinging to the hospital that he saw me on the hospital grounds. ‘On leave actually, and I’ve just been in for a meeting with HR, not that it’s any of your concern.’
Before I give him something else to sue the hospital over, I wind up my window, dismissing him. After a few moments, he shuffles off towards the disused hospital block, plucking the cigarette from behind his ear and lighting up when he thinks he’s out of sight. I stare at him until he’s gone.
I reach into my bag and take out a precious object I carry with me everywhere: the Good Knight. It’s the front half of a marble figurine. I’ve always assumed that the missing back piece is the lady he protected and championed. All that’s left of the lady is her hand on his shoulder. The Good Knight sits triumphantly in a gallant pose on the remaining front part of a black stallion. He wears full armour with wings and feathers jutting from his helmet. Why or how it got broken I’ve never known. Me and the Good Knight have grown up together. I caress the smoothness of the Good Knight, feeling as lost as his lady.
Ping. That’s my phone. Email. My breath catches when I read it.
It’s from FoundFamily DNA. My test results have come.
CHAPTER 5
Hi Eva Harris!
We’re excited to let you know that the results for your DNA kit are ready!
Press the link below to view your DNA results.
Best wishes
The FoundFamily Team The email ends with the coiled serpent logo staring, one-eyed, back at me.
Me and Joe peer at my laptop as if it’s the most dangerous thing in the world. The FoundFamily results email says all good-to-go, but we’re not. We’re holding back. Now my DNA results have arrived we’re not quite sure how to handle it.
The truth is I’m scared. Petrified. I have to cling on to the hard edge of the breakfast bar because I’m quivering like a baby tree in a fierce wind. I’ve tried reverting to the detached coolness of Doctor Eva Harris, where creating an emotional distance is the cornerstone of dealing with patients. I’m the patient this time. The one who is waiting for their results. Joe, surprisingly, is as jumpy as me. When I got home he was pacing the floor of the lounge like a caged creature.