There was no back exit. She asked. With no choice she emerged blinking in the noon day sun. Ahmed stood up, smiled and opened the back door.
‘I’m calling the police,’ she said loudly so passers-by couldn’t help but hear. Most hurried on, not wanting to get involved but one or two turned to look, one man even slowed. ‘Are you all right Miss?’ She nodded because by now Ahmed had his hands held high and was backing towards the driver’s door. The man walked up the street slowly, turning back once to check she was safe.
‘The crowd outside the police station,’ Ahmed said waiting until the passer-by was out of range, ‘I watched how you got away. Very clever. I thought you might need a lift home, so I followed you.’
‘You were outside the station? You’ve been waiting … how dare you—'
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
‘Are you trying to be funny?’ Jess asked.
‘From the hospital — two years ago. You were my mother’s doctor.’
His reference to a life which seemed so long ago, caught her off guard. That life belonged to a different person. She hesitated, lowered her phone and studied his face. There had been so many patients. She couldn’t honestly say she remembered him or his mother. His surname, on his Uber ID. Prakash, that did ring a bell now she thought about it.
She was back in the emergency department, but it wasn’t two years ago. More like eighteen months. October 2017. She remembered it because it was Diwali. His mother was forty-seven, and plump; her long-dark hair was streaked with white, and tied in a plait which lay limply over one shoulder and across her chest. Her sari had been damp with sweat, the crimson fabric contrasting dramatically against the white hospital sheets. Her skirt lay open across her belly when Jess pulled back the curtain of the cubicle. Jess introduced herself and apologised for not seeing her earlier. It had been a busy shift, and as Mrs Prakash’s vital signs were stable when she arrived, she hadn’t been considered urgent.
A spasm of pain had flashed across the woman’s face. She stopped groaning and lay rigid on the bed, her eyes staring wildly at the ceiling, her fist in her mouth stifling a groan. Jess waited for the pain to go away. Grey and drenched in sweat Mrs Prakash acknowledged Jess by raising her hand off the bed, then she closed her eyes and let herself breathe out. Three people were standing around her. They looked frightened, but there was no time for Jess to do anything other than nod in their direction as she examined the woman’s abdomen. Something was seriously wrong and Jess swung into action. It took five minutes for the ultrasound machine to arrive and in those five minutes Jess inserted an IV line, took blood for analysis and paged the vascular surgical team to come to the emergency department. The ultrasound confirmed her diagnosis. If Mrs Prakash didn’t get to theatre before her aorta ruptured, she would die.
Things moved even more quickly after the surgical team arrived and took over the case. Jess had last seen Mrs Prakash being pushed hurriedly through the doors at the end of the corridor, her trolley laden with IV lines and beeping machines. Three people followed behind, as confused as they were terrified by what was happening. She tried to picture their faces now, but she had paid them no attention, her focus had been on the woman, not the people with her.
A couple of days later, Jess heard the surgeon had got to the aneurysm in time. Mrs Prakash was doing well and was grateful to be alive. Good to know. Jess had thought no more about it. Saving lives was her job. It was what she had trained to do. Maybe it didn’t happen so dramatically every day, but it happened often enough for her not to dwell on it. She had forgotten all about Mrs Prakash — until now.
‘You saved my mother’s life. The surgeon told us after the operation. ‘Without Dr Gordon’s quick diagnosis, your mother would be dead.’ His words. We tried to thank you, but you had moved to a different part of the hospital and no one would tell us where. I recognised you the first time I picked you up at the airport. I wanted to say something then, but you looked so sad.’
Jess looked across the roof of the car into his brown eyes. Ahmed held her gaze. In truth it was a relief to be with someone who remembered her as she had been once — a doctor who tried and often succeeded in doing good for others. Someone who people trusted, whose actions weren’t being interrogated for evidence of a crime.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I know you don’t mean any harm and I’m pleased your mother is better.’ She glanced at him. ‘Is she still alive and well?’
‘My mother is so well she has gone back to Pakistan to see her family. I messaged her about you. She was happy I was finally able to thank you in person for what you did.’
‘I’m pleased Ahmed, but …’ she hesitated then blurted out, ‘you’re following me. It’s creepy.’
Before he could reply his phone beeped and he leant inside the car and picked it up. ‘Headquarters want to know why I haven’t moved,’ he said. ‘I have to go. I’m sorry.’ He paused. ‘I can see how it looks. I won’t bother you again.’
‘I’m glad you understand.’ She turned and walked away as he got into the car. When she reached the corner at the end of the block, she heard footsteps running towards her. A hand grabbed her arm, and pulled her around. It was Ahmed, he was out of breath and puffing.
‘You have to be careful, Dr Gordon.’
Jess raised her eyebrows. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I overheard two men. I picked them up outside your building, the day after I brought you home. They were not saying nice things. One of them is a tall man. You know him. I saw you talking to him one day in the foyer.’
It could only be Henry. ‘The other man? What did he look like?’
‘Bald, ugly. Strange eyes. Thick eyelashes. When he caught me staring at him in the mirror, he swore at me … not nice words. One star — he gave me. The boss wasn’t happy. His name is Murray I think.’
Ahmed had described the man she remembered from Andrew’s memorial service. The man who had stood at the back, studying her as she spoke, and who left without speaking to anyone —no wait — he said something to Henry. She remembered now, because Henry suddenly went very pale.
‘What were they saying?’ Jess asked.
‘It was not nice. A man does not repeat such words to a woman. Afterwards, I read about you online. You need to know that these men mean to harm you. That’s why I have been following you Dr Gordon. To keep you safe. You saved my mother’s life. I can maybe save yours in return.’