Chapter 2
Meanwhile, in London
On any normal day, Dr Rick Mahon of Five Oaks Surgery would never contemplate jumping from a first-floor window. Especially not in the middle of clinic. Today was not a normal day. Today had gone pear-shaped in a bizarre, alternate-reality type of way. For once, the thought of seeing patients in the traditionally accepted manner – one after another, while nodding and listening, and then trying his damnedest to find a way to help them – was beyond him.
Hell, even skipping naked through Trafalgar Square handing out random prescriptions might be on the cards today. On second thoughts, maybe not naked. I’m not that young anymore.
His phone pinged several times from the inside pocket of his blue woollen jacket. Ignoring it, he opened the sash window. Traffic sounds, sirens and the hectic fug of city life spilled in. He leaned out and eyed the raised flower bed between the foot of the building and the car park. Can I make it down in one piece?
He glanced over his shoulder at the door. It was locked from the outside. Surely no other doctor on the planet had ever suffered the indignity of being locked into his own consulting room? Were this a movie, he would merely throw a shoulder at the door, splinter the wood with ease and escape.
Huh! Writhing on the floor in agony with a fractured collarbone, more like . Then again, two broken legs from jumping out of the window wouldn’t be any better . Rick wasn’t hero enough for either option. Damn it all to hell . He hated not being in control. And having nothing to do was even worse. Too much time to think. Keeping busy was the only thing keeping him sane. Another flurry of muted pings called out from his pocket, just as a click sounded and the door opened.
Abandoning the window, he crossed the room. ‘Gita, thank God.’
‘Calm down.’ Gita – short grey hair and brisk mannerisms – shot him a look that would stop a herd of charging bison. What she lacked in height, she made up for in sheer force of will. It was one of the reasons he’d known she’d make such an excellent business partner. But she wasn’t supposed to use her superpower on him.
‘I am calm. Or I’m as calm as I’m ever going to get, given that you locked me in.’ He stepped towards the door. She blocked his path. Unwilling to use his physical size against her, he stopped. A crash reverberated along the corridor from the waiting room. Gita didn’t move. ‘Let me past, Gita. Sam needs help.’
‘He’s fine.’ She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. ‘You know as well as I do, he considers himself practice security as well as reception manager.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘It’s exactly the point.’
‘But what about the patients?’
‘Apart from Mrs Clutterbuck and her dodgy hip, there aren’t any patients out there. And she’s opened popcorn. She’s thoroughly enjoying the sight of reporters baying for blood.’ She sighed and pushed her small round glasses further up her nose. ‘I’m trying to protect you.’
Rick slumped back against his desk. ‘I know, I just don’t know what’s going on.’
‘You’re all over social media, for starters.’
That explained the insistent pinging. ‘But I haven’t posted anything.’
‘You didn’t have to.’ Gita gave a bitter laugh. ‘Turns out Dean Markwell’s mother is Cora Diamond.’
‘Who?’
‘Cora Diamond. Z-list reality TV star.’
‘Never heard of her.’
‘Well, she’s heard of you. And first thing this morning, she announced on all her channels that she’s suing you.’
Nausea puddled in his belly like molten lead. Every doctor knew they were one consultation away from a lawsuit these days, but you could never tell which one. Rick closed his eyes. His heartbeat thudded in his ears and the room began to spin.
How the hell has it come to this?
Five years at medical school, two as a house officer, three more as a GP trainee, followed by twenty more as a community practitioner had taught him a lot, but he must have missed the session on how to handle rabid paparazzi chasing a story. The two reporters who’d hammered on his apartment door last night – no, hang on… not reporters… what had they called themselves? Social media commentators. That was it. Bastards, the lot of them. Asking all those questions. How dare they? Dean’s situation was none of their business. Rick had never broken patient confidentiality and he was damned if he’d start now. He pushed himself to his feet. ‘I’ll go and give them a statement.’
Gita planted her hands on her hips. ‘Over my dead body.’
‘I’ll just say “No comment” a lot, then they’ll go away.’
‘They bloody won’t. You need to keep your head down and let me handle it. You are not what’s important here.’
‘I know that. What do you take me for? The only important person in all this is Dean.’
Gita shook her head. ‘All our patients are important. It’s bad enough we’ve got the General Medical Council breathing down our necks, thanks to you. Now, you’re splashed all over social media and the national news! This could destroy us as a practice. And if we close, what happens to our patients? None of the other local surgeries have the capacity to take on extras.’
Rick bowed his head. GMC investigations were a necessary part of medical practice. There had to be accountability. Even so, they were hard on all involved. If he’d known before what he knew now, he’d have handled that whole consultation with Dean differently. Balling his hands into fists to stop them shaking, he wrapped his arms across his chest. ‘I can make this right.’
‘No. You’ll make it worse. I’ve already been in contact with the British Medical Association. Their support team suggest you take some sick leave.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m fine.’
‘You’re not. Seriously, Rick. Just look at you. You’ve lost weight; your clothes are hanging off you. You’re pale and jumpy as hell. The bags under your eyes are big enough to pack for a family of five on a trip to Lapland.’
‘I said, I’m fine.’
‘Do you think I don’t see you working yourself into the ground? Or know that you’ve been giving up your weekends to help shift the waiting list for the dementia assessment clinic over at St Marks? You never stop.’
Rick kept his eyes lowered and his mouth shut. Gita wouldn’t understand that, for him, seeing a new patient every ten minutes and helping other people to solve their problems kept him from dwelling on how empty his life was. Ironic that the solution to one dilemma could be the cause of another much bigger one.
‘What happened with Dean… it… look, given the current situation and the pressure you’re under, Rick, it’s my opinion that you’re not fit to work.’
‘I disagree.’
She lowered her voice. ‘I… no, we need you to go.’
‘Go? Go where?’ Dear God, please don’t say to go home.
‘I don’t care. Anywhere that isn’t here. Somewhere no one will expect you to be. Off grid. Under the radar. Whatever. Just lie low for a bit. A couple of weeks, at least, until we get the GMC report through. Then, depending on whether they exonerate you or not, we can take it from there.’
Rick rubbed his temples. There was somewhere he could go. Thanks to Uncle Charlie, God rest his soul, leaving him his house. What with work and everything, Rick had not had a chance to see the property since the will had been settled. Goodness only knows what state it was in. Who cares? A few days kicking his heels in the New Forest might be a good idea. Especially if the alternative was his apartment, where the emptiness and isolation were a permanent reminder of what a failure he was at the things most people could accomplish with ease, like relationships and families. ‘If I go, I need to see Dean first.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘There might be something I can do to help. Let me talk to his mother, at least.’
‘No! What part of “she’s suing you” don’t you understand? Any lawyer worth his salt would tell you to stay away.’
‘But—’
‘I’m begging you to stay away. If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for the practice. Heaven help me, Rick; if you approach Cora Diamond, then it’s all over. This place will be finished. The reputational damage alone… it doesn’t bear thinking about.’
He stared at a stain on the carpet, his thoughts tumbling over themselves.
‘Please go, Rick. Think of it as a vacation. Heaven knows you’re due one. Get some sleep. And, for God’s sake, eat something. We need you to look after yourself. Then, come back in a fit state to help us look after everyone else.’ Her gaze softened. ‘Michaela agrees.’
If Michaela – the senior partner – agreed, then there was no avoiding this. I can’t remember the last time I took a holiday . ‘Fine. I’ll go. Two weeks. Then I’ll be back.’
‘Great.’ Gita dug the key out of her pocket. ‘Right. Stay in here, while I deal with the circus outside and, when the coast is clear, I’ll come and let you out. You can disappear off somewhere quiet and keep your head down until the dust has settled.’
She was gone before Rick could move. The click of the key turning in the lock made his stomach lurch. His inside breast pocket pinged again and then buzzed. Pulling out his phone, he scanned the news headline.
Cora Diamond launches legal action against Dr Rick Mahon for malpractice, while son, YouTube gaming star Dean Markwell, clings to life after medication mistake.
Ping, ping, ping. X was going berserk. #DrDeath, #DeanMarkwell, #malpractice – all accompanied by a photo of Rick, lifted from the Five Oaks Surgery website.
Bloody hell.
His stomach heaved again. The walls closed in. There was no air. Got to get out. Now. He stumbled to the window and plonked his backside on the sill. The drop didn’t look that bad. Swinging both legs out, he wobbled briefly, feet braced against the wall, hands clutching the window frame. Without giving himself a second to think, his bum left the sill and he launched himself out into thin air.