New Year’s Day
Martha’s question wakened him. ‘What’s going on, James?’
He opened his eyes and sighed. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid.’
‘I’m not lying to you.’
‘I think he’s been in an accident. Or a fight. We should call the police.’
Hambley forced a laugh. ‘A fight? Who would Wallace be fighting with? Relax. I’ll speak to him.’
Thank God she couldn’t see his face.
He was exhausted and angry. Martha was expecting answers about where Maitland had been. Last night was a disaster, whatever way he looked at it. A bad situation had suddenly got worse – much worse – and Hambley had no idea what to do about it. Everything he’d worked for could be ruined. And there were other possibilities, too serious to dwell on; he might go to prison. What they’d done was coming back to haunt them.
After a series of miscarriages, Margaret Cooper and her husband, David, were desperate to have a child. During Margaret’s fourth pregnancy, she started to suffer severe back pain and began to bleed. David brought her to Francis Fallon where partial placental abruption was diagnosed. When the bleeding became heavier, this was upgraded to complete separation. Wallace Maitland performed an emergency caesarean section but the baby was stillborn. His next move ought to have been to carry out a hysterectomy. Instead, he elected to try to save the womb. Maitland couldn’t get the bleeding to stop and, deprived of oxygen and Margaret Cooper suffered brain damage.
Neither Francis Fallon nor Wallace Maitland accepted responsibility. Hambley chaired the internal review of the case which concluded Maitland had acted in the best interests of the patient, and while the hospital regretted what had happened to Mrs Cooper, everything possible had been done to save her and her child. Gavin Law was the assisting surgeon. His testimony was disregarded. Soon after, he submitted a letter of complaint about his colleague.
Hambley strode into the bedroom and threw back the curtains. He opened a window. Bright daylight and cold air flooded in. Under the duvet Maitland drew in on himself like a frightened child.
‘Get up. Get up!’
Maitland didn’t move.
‘Stop hiding, and get up.’
Maitland’s head emerged from under the clothes. Martha had cleaned him up but his face was still a mess: both eyes were black; one of them was closed and his nose looked as if it might be broken. Hambley ignored the pain Maitland had to be in and got straight to the point.
‘What the fuck happened to you?’
‘I don’t know.’
Hambley answered his own question. ‘You went to find Law, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Did he do this?’
Maitland started to cry.
Hambley was unmoved. ‘You can cut that out for a start. Feeling sorry for yourself won’t change anything. Tell me what you did.’
The words came out thick, mangled by the swollen lips. ‘All I remember is being in the street, shouting for him to come out.’
‘That’s miles from here. You must’ve got a taxi.’
Wallace Maitland shook his head. Hambley didn’t try to hide his disbelief. ‘You drove? You fucking moron. So you went to his flat and there was a fight.’
‘I honestly don’t remember. I think I was hammering on his door… it’s a blank.’
‘But you got as far as his door?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything.’
‘How did you know where he lives?’
‘His personnel file was open on your desk. I memorised the address.’
Hambley grabbed Maitland’s arm and dragged him up. ‘So you can remember getting his address but not what you did to him. Don’t believe you.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘You bloody fool. Don’t you understand the trouble we’re already in?’
‘I wanted to teach him a lesson.’
‘For what? Blowing the whistle on you?’
‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’
Hambley struggled to keep his voice down. ‘No? Margaret Cooper’s a fucking vegetable. You were the surgeon in charge and I covered for you.’
Maitland hit back. ‘To protect your precious hospital.’
Hambley ran a hand through his hair. This was getting them nowhere. He pulled the bedclothes away; there was blood on the sheets. Maitland’s body was covered in ugly bruises; yellow and purple. Perhaps he had been in an accident. A hit and run the drunk bastard had been too far gone to recall. His clothes – what was left of them – suggested something else; the torn shirt was already in the bin.
Even in this vulnerable state, Hambley had to resist an urge to beat some sense into him for the mess he’d made of everything. Except the director knew he had contributed to this disaster. It would have been wiser to have forced Maitland to admit responsibility and paid the compensation which would make the Coopers’ life more comfortable. Margaret Cooper was paraplegic, and after all, wasn’t that why hospitals had insurance? Surgeons were human. Sometimes they didn’t get it right. Wallace would’ve been demoted with a recommendation he undergo re-training. In a couple of years – having gone as far as he could go professionally – he would retire and they could all have moved on. David and Margaret Cooper wouldn’t move on, but Hambley didn’t dwell on that.
Maitland gathered the bedclothes around him; in a single night he’d aged twenty years. Hambley spoke sounding more in control than he felt. ‘Take a shower. I’ll get you trousers and a shirt. You better get home and tell Shona something she can believe.’
‘Like what?’
‘The hospital called. An emergency. On the way back, you stopped to give a lift to a couple of teenagers, who thought it was fun to beat up a stranger. They dragged you out of the car and mugged you. That’s your story. You don’t remember anything else.’
‘Shona will want to tell the police.’
‘Remind her you were over the limit.’
Maitland nodded. ‘I took the car because I was in a hurry.’
Hambley stopped at the door. ‘You realise we’re still in trouble, don’t you? Getting mugged. Driving the car drunk. It isn’t about that.’
Maitland looked away. ‘I know.’
‘By the way, where is the car?’
‘I’m not sure. Think I left it at my place. I didn’t want Shona to see me like this.’
His brother-in-law didn’t hold back. ‘You’re a fucking idiot, Wallace. A dangerous fucking idiot.’