Chapter 13
Later that afternoon, Rick took advantage of the fact that power had been restored to the barn and took a long, hot shower. Afterwards, he changed into jogging bottoms, a T-shirt and a thick sweater from his gym kit. That awful video was still playing on his mind. He pushed it aside and logged onto his work email. His heart sank when he saw the sheer number of messages waiting for him. Gita had sent several, two of which had subject lines that stood out – and not in a good way.
He double-clicked on the first, headed “Legal Papers”.
Rick,
I hope you’re okay. These arrived for you. I took the liberty of opening them and scanning the contents for you – attached here – because I don’t know where to redirect your post and this way is probably more secure anyway.
Long story short, Cora Diamond is definitely suing you for damages on Dean’s behalf.
Please DON’T try to contact Cora.
DO contact your Professional Indemnity Provider. (I can’t do it for you. You have to ring them.) There’s no point in you paying for insurance all these years and then not using it now that you need it. The number is below.
Ask for Mark Freeman. He’s good.
You will have to come back eventually to go to court and fight this. But not yet.
Stay where you are and keep your head down.
Things will settle.
Gita.
Rick shook his head. Is there any point fighting it? Civil cases were based on successfully demonstrating a loss and – thanks to Sal and Ade and social media – the whole world knew Dean had suffered a loss. No wonder Cora was suing the person she thought was responsible for her son’s situation.
He opened the next email.
Rick.
The GMC report is back.
I’ve attached a copy.
You need to read it.
Please don’t overreact.
You haven’t been struck off.
A warning isn’t the end of the world.
Let me know if you need anything.
Take care.
Gita.
A warning! Damn. Rick closed his eyes and fought an urge to throw the computer across the room. The investigation had started months ago and he’d cooperated fully. He’d given a written statement. He’d even agreed to be interviewed in person, which wasn’t strictly necessary, because he had wanted to be open about what had happened. And he’d desperately hoped to be exonerated. A warning wouldn’t stop him practicing medicine but it would remain on his GMC record moving forward. Until that moment he hadn’t realised how much having a clean record meant to him. He’d always believed that he was a good doctor. But… maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this was a sign. Or, maybe he was overreacting and maybe he should just be grateful that he hadn’t been struck off.
Damn it.
He’d followed the National Institute of Health and Care Excellence guidelines to the letter. He was sure of it. The medicine he’d practised was sound. Yes, he’d made mistakes, but not… He couldn’t face reading the report. It made no odds, anyway. If that was their decision, the damage was done. There was no way he’d be allowed to help Dean now. Or anyone. Bile rose in his throat.
Don’t think. Just walk.
He lurched to his feet and hurried outside, blundering down the lane. At the main road, he turned off into the forest, head down, hands deep in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. It was getting late. He kept walking, ignoring the dusk as it morphed into the blackness of night, and focused on putting one step in front of the other. His mind chewed over that one critical consultation with Dean. It replayed in front of his eyes as if he were back there, right now, and not stumbling around the forest.
*
It was a normal morning in clinic. He’d just ushered the Clutterbucks from the consulting room and saw that the next patient on his list was someone he’d not met before. He pressed the intercom. ‘Dean Markwell to room 3, please.’ Taking a swig of almost-cold coffee, he pulled up a fresh consultation template on the computer. There was a strange popping sound and the screen went blank. Strange. Rick frowned. The printer was dead, too.
The door opened. ‘Am I in the right place?’ A stocky young man in black leisurewear, with short, dark hair gelled into stiff spikes, stood on the threshold.
‘If you’re Dean, then, yes, you are.’ Rick smiled a welcome. ‘Come in. Grab a seat. I think we’ve had a power cut.’
‘Yeah, the telly in the waiting room just went off.’
‘Did it? We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way, then.’ Rick rummaged in his desk drawer. His fingers closed around some blank Lloyd George patient notecards – the sort used before NHS notes went digital. Just the job for situations like this. ‘So, what can I do for you, Dean?’
‘Well, thing is, Doc. I just moved here, yeah? And I’ve run out of my anxiety meds.’
‘Have you officially registered with this practice, yet?’
‘Nah. No time. I’ve been busy. The move and all. Mega stressful.’
‘Not to worry. I can see you as a temporary resident until you register properly.’
‘That’s what the fella on reception said.’
‘Sam? Did he give you a temporary resident form to fill in for me?’
Dean nodded and handed it over.
‘Great. Now, I just need to run through some basic questions about your health and then we’ll get on to your medication.’ Dean’s answers helped Rick piece together a picture of his general health. He seemed to be a relatively fit twenty-one-year-old man with a history of mild anxiety and depression. ‘That all sounds fine. Which medication are you on?’
Dean reached into his pocket. ‘I brought the empty box.’
Rick checked the label. The box was battered and the printing was smudged, but he could just about make out Dean’s name, the drug – a standard anxiety medication – and the dose. Everything else was illegible. ‘What happened to this?’
Dean’s cheeks flushed. ‘Dropped it in the bath, didn’t I.’
‘And you’ve run out completely?’
‘Yup.’
It wasn’t the sort of drug a patient should go cold turkey on. The side effects of sudden withdrawal could be nasty. There wasn’t much time to waste. Rick bit his lip. ‘Hmm. I’d prefer to do a full assessment before prescribing more and I’d like you to see a counsellor.’
‘Oh man, that’ll take ages. I need those tablets.’
‘Look, I’ll issue you a two-week supply, but, in that time, you must have a follow-up consultation. I’d like to review where you’re at and have a think about what else we can offer you. Does that sound fair?’
‘Sure, Doc. Whatever.’
‘Good. By then, the power will be back and I’ll have access to your notes.’
Dean’s eyebrows twitched. ‘You mean, like all the stuff my old doctors have said?’
‘Yes. Don’t worry. It will be on the system. The only reason I can’t see it today is… well… technology, eh? Great when it works.’
Dean sat back in his chair. ‘Uh, yeah. I guess.’
Rick grinned. ‘Apart from your tablets, are you looking after yourself? Making sure you eat a healthy diet and getting plenty of exercise?’
‘Yeah, man. All of that.’
‘Do you drink alcohol?’
‘The odd pint at the weekend.’
‘What about recreational drugs?’
Dean shifted in his seat, stretched and shook his head.
Rick jotted Dean’s replies onto the Lloyd George form.
‘Is that the prescription?’
‘No,’ said Rick, laughing. ‘I’m making a record of what we’ve discussed. Normally, I’d type straight into your computer notes, but, for now, I’ll use these instead and transfer the information later when the power is back.’
‘Oh, right.’
Rick observed the young man. He was well presented, had no obvious signs of addiction and he’d produced evidence that he’d been prescribed the drug before. There was no reason not to issue a temporary script. Rick pulled a blank prescription form from the tray of the powerless printer and filled it in by hand. ‘Take this to the chemist and, remember, you absolutely mustn’t mix these tablets with any other drugs.’
‘I said, I don’t do drugs.’ An exasperated edge had crept into Dean’s tone.
‘I believe you, but I have to say it. It’s in the rules.’ Rick signed the script and then added a sentence to the Lloyd George record. ‘Look, I’ve documented that I’ve warned you. If you just initial that to show you understand, then the script is yours.’ Rick held out a pen.
Dean gave him a long stare, before taking the pen and placing a squiggle where Rick indicated.
*
The forest floor was uneven. Tree roots and ditches lay in wait, ready to trip anyone not paying attention, and Rick’s leg was aching. He slowed his pace, forcing himself to pay more attention to his surroundings. Getting injured out here wasn’t a good idea. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened in the weeks after that consultation.
GMC investigations were hell, but they were a necessary evil. Patients needed to know they were getting good care and a formal route for them to report concerns was essential. Even so, it was a nightmare process to go through as a doctor – relentless questions and the sensation that you were guilty until proven innocent. And he hadn’t been proven innocent. Yet Rick knew in his heart that he hadn’t made a mistake.
He hated getting things wrong. Acid burnt his stomach.
Why didn’t they exonerate me?
There was only one thing to do. Read that whole damn report. He stopped walking and squinted through the trees. Where exactly was he?
A long, mournful howl rose into the icy night air.
Rick shivered, his skin tightening under a thick crop of goosebumps. Convinced something was moving in his direction at speed – something big – he broke into a run. His foot caught on an exposed root. Suddenly, he was falling, the world spinning. He threw his arms up to protect his head and rolled down a steep slope, coming to a halt on a thick carpet of fallen twigs, moss and desiccated leaves. Gasping for air, he stared up at stars winking through bare branches that reached overhead.
Heavy panting sounded nearby. It was getting closer. Before he could regain his feet and escape… oomph… a solid weight landed on his middle, forcing what little breath he had left from his lungs. Expecting sharp teeth to descend any second, Rick opened his mouth to yell, but his cry was cut off when a rough, wet tongue rasped his cheek. The creature on top of him whined, gave an apologetic woof and snuffled at his ear.
Fending off slobber, Rick sat up and pushed the big dog off. ‘Tiny?’
Tiny gave an answering whine, creeping back to lean against Rick.
‘You scared me.’
The answering woof was subdued.
Rick slumped down onto his back with a short laugh. ‘Are you lost, too? Never mind, stick with me and you’ll be alright.’ It was fairly sheltered where he’d landed and he didn’t have the energy to get up. ‘Let’s stay here for a bit. I need to rest this leg.’
The dog wriggled closer and a waft of meaty canine breath mingled with the rich smell of fresh earth. Rick put an arm around the furry bundle and lay still, listening. Light rustles sounded from small, unseen creatures in the bushes and gentle gurgles suggested a nearby stream. An owl hooted way up high. Warmed by the dog, Rick forced himself to relax. To be nothing more than himself; an emotionally broken human, lying on a forest floor. Soon enough, he drifted off to sleep.
*
Something soft tickled Rick’s cheek. It wasn’t Tiny. The dog was on his other side. Staying very still, he opened his eyes and saw a big pair of twitchy pink-and-grey nostrils mere inches from his face. Behind the nostrils loomed a pair of large, brown eyes fringed by the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen. Beyond them was a mass of shaggy white fur and two long, banana-shaped ears that stood to attention.
The strange animal inspected Rick. Rick returned the favour. Tiny whined, lifted his head and wagged his tail in greeting. A noise sounded in the distance; the huge shaggy head pulled away and the creature was gone. Rick sat up, his back stiff from a night on the ground.
Did that really happen?
Tiny headbutted his chest for attention.
‘Morning.’ Rick rubbed the dog’s ears.
The noise came again, closer. Someone was calling.
Rick scrambled to his feet. ‘Reena?’
Reena’s voice spilled down the slope before she came into view. ‘Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been worried. I woke up and Tiny was gone.’
‘I was lost. Tiny found me.’ Rick brushed twigs off his sweatshirt.
Reena picked her way down the slope and clipped a lead to the dog’s collar. ‘I’m glad you’re both alright.’
Rick looked around. The stream he’d heard the night before skipped through the sheltered hollow, edged by flat silver-grey boulders and gnarled oak trees with squat, knobbly brown trunks wrapped in dark layered skirts of green ivy. ‘Where are we?’
‘One of the oldest parts of the forest. Proper ancient, broadleaf woodland. Locals call it “King’s Spring”. Rumour has it, Charles II hid here after the Battle of Worcester, on the run from the Roundheads. Superstitious folk would have you believe the spirit of the forest kept him safe until he could escape to France.’
‘Do you believe that?’
‘Meh. It’s a load of codswallop. Although, I can’t dismiss it entirely.’
‘It does feel kind of special.’
‘Most folk don’t take their eyes off their electronics long enough to see the true beauty of the forest. Like the fabled white stag. Now that’s a sight to behold, I can tell you.’ She turned to scramble back up the slope.
Rick hurried after her. ‘I saw a white stag the day I arrived.’
‘Did you, now? It’s considered good luck, you know.’
‘It stepped out in front of my car and damn nearly killed us both.’
‘Then you’re lucky to be alive, aren’t you?’
Rick laughed. ‘I can’t argue with that.’
‘Anyway, you said you were lost. Where do you need to be?’
‘The barn on Old Farm Lane.’
‘Charlie’s old place? Are you a relative?’
‘No, but my dad, Alan, was a friend of his.’
‘Alan, yes. Gosh, I knew you looked familiar.’
‘You knew my dad?’
‘Of the two of them, I knew Charlie better. Such a big character. Alan was quiet, more reserved. Poor Charlie was devastated when he died. But that was more than twenty-five years ago. You must have been young to lose your father. I’m so sorry.’ Reena put a gentle hand on his arm. Then her manner changed, becoming brisk. ‘I have to go past the barn on my way home. Come on. I’ll show you the way.’
‘Thanks.’ Rick fell into step beside her.
‘Are Beth and the kids helping you settle in?’
‘Beth? The warri… I mean, the woman next door with the red hair?’
‘That’s the one,’ said Reena. ‘Look out for her, won’t you? Only, don’t say I said so. She’s got a lot on her plate and refuses to ask for help.’ Tiny whined. Reena patted the dog. ‘Thanks for looking after my baby. She must have been terrified.’
Rick laughed. ‘She wasn’t the only one. I heard her chasing me and couldn’t run fast enough. I thought I was a goner.’
Reena stopped and gave Rick a steady stare. ‘It just goes to show that not everything we run from is as bad as we fear.’