Kelly made her way to the ward where her mother had been for three days. She walked like an automaton to the allotted bed. This week’s bed.
It was empty.
Blind panic set in, and Kelly ran frantically from the room, shouting randomly, looking for a nurse or a doctor. A nurse stepped in her way and caught her by both arms, head on, and she stopped, breathless, and shocked.
‘My…’ Kelly said.
‘It’s alright, Kelly, erm, Miss Porter – she’s fine. We wanted to give her an ultrasound on her heart, before allowing her to go home. Relax. She’s ok,’ said the nurse. The nurse wasn’t tall, but she was solid, and Kelly was thankful for someone to, literally, run in to. Kelly managed a weak smile.
‘Come on,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea, sit down here,’ she ordered, ushering her back to the room where her mother should have been. Kelly was unaccustomed to taking orders, but she did as she was told, and it felt good not to have to think. Her head hurt, as well as her body. She longed to lie down and close her eyes, drifting away, slowly, on a gentle breeze. She was thankful that Nikki wasn’t here. They’d stayed true to their word, and made an effort to visit their mother separately. When they found themselves in the same room, one of them left.
The nurse left her sitting in a hard armchair, adjacent to her mother’s empty bed. Kelly appreciated that the NHS was short on cash, but she marvelled at the lack of comfort and taste when choosing ward furniture. She sat back, willing herself to breathe slower, in an attempt to calm her beating heart.
She was losing it.
She was terrified of failure. If she didn’t catch this sick bastard soon, her reputation would be in tatters and another woman would die. Despite her tan, she had dark circles under her eyes and her skirt felt looser than normal. She hated losing weight; it made her feel weak.
The nurse came back to the room and handed her a proper mug of tea – rather than one from a machine – and she was grateful. The nurse must have a thousand and one things to do, but she’d recognised the need of someone else, and that compassion was the thing Kelly loved most about nurses, most of them.
‘I’m sure I’m holding you up. You must have other things to do. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,’ Kelly said. She wondered if the ruse would work. When a woman uses the word fine, it usually meant WARNING: STORM AHEAD. Kelly joked that fine was actually an acronym for Fucked-up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional. Woman to woman, it meant: please stay a while, I need you.
The nurse put her hand on Kelly’s, and smiled.
‘I know you’re ok. You need to slow down, that’s all. You can’t save everyone,’ the nurse said, and left quietly. Kelly stared at the door for a long time and sipped her tea. It was warm and sweet, and Kelly felt the goodness spread through her body, and she relaxed a little.
By the time her mother was brought back to the ward, Kelly was fast asleep in the uncomfortable chair.
‘Mum,’ Kelly said, dazed and disoriented, rubbing her eyes and stretching. ‘My god, what time is it?’ She looked at her watch and groaned inwardly. She’d been asleep for more than an hour. She needed to get going.
‘Kelly, love. You must have needed it,’ her mother said. ‘I watched the news with the nurses last night; they don’t know what they’re talking about. You just carry on doing what you’re doing. You’ll get him, Kelly, I know you will.’ Her mother’s voice was deliberately impassioned, and Kelly felt her insides stir with gratitude. But the feeling soon turned sour, as she took in the appearance of her mother. For the first time since diagnosis, Wendy Porter looked very slightly yellow. And they all knew what that meant. Her face was slightly sunken, and her eyes lacked vigour.
‘The new medicine worked, I can go home tomorrow,’ said Wendy brightly.
Kelly smiled at her mother’s resolve. Whatever was thrown at her; she bounced back with determination; it was a lesson that most of us could learn from. She went to her mother and embraced her.
Kelly knew she’d have to move into her new house at some point, but was waiting for the right time to announce it. Wendy showed no sign that Nikki might have told their mother about the move out of spite; that was at least positive. Furniture had begun to arrive at the property in Pooley Bridge, and Kelly had browsed new bathroom fittings. As always, this wasn’t a good time. Wendy put her arms around her daughter’s waist and closed her eyes.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about your house?’ she said. Kelly’s heart sank. So she knew after all.
‘Oh Mum, I…Nikki shouldn’t have told you.’
‘Why not? I’m pleased for you, Kelly. It’s the right thing to do. At your age, I had two children and a husband to look after. You need to get a move on, you know, and you’re not going to meet anyone living with your mum,’ Wendy said. Kelly hadn’t really thought about it like that.
‘Now you can stop sneaking around.’ Kelly went to say something, but Wendy held her hand up and shook her head.
‘Promise me you’ll catch this man, Kelly. He’s used his life for awful things, and he’s well and living, and taking and hurting and killing. And I’ve done everything right: been nice to people, respectful, worked hard, and been the best person I could be, and I’m the one who’s laying in hospital having needles stuck into me when I should be out in the sunshine, enjoying myself. It’s not fair.’
‘I will, Mum. I promise.’
‘Well then, off you go,’ Wendy said, and sat down on her bed. ‘I’m not going anywhere today.’
Her mother was giving her a blessing. She was ordering her to go to work. She was saying: it’s ok to leave. Go and make it count.
As she left the hospital, and climbed into her car, she received a message from DS Umshaw, and replayed it.
Timothy Cole, along with his family, had gone missing.