Free A Life for a Life by Andrew Puckett Page B

‘Call the police, Ian, now. If you don’t, I will.’
    By now, several other faces were peering in through the door – Robert, Sophie, Terry Stroud.
    ‘Oh, Jesus wept,’ said Ian despairingly. He phoned the police.
    They came and took statements. Fraser was told he could go home and was advised to stay there. He knew he had to tell the British Medical Association, the doctors’ trade union, what had happened, and thought about doing it from a phone box, so as to avoid worrying Frances or Mary, then realised they would have to know sooner or later anyway.
    Both women listened slack-mouthed to his account. Frances knew about their relationship, so it wasn’t quite so much of a shock for her, but Fraser didn’t care for the way Mary’s look became increasingly askance.
    ‘I have to say that Dr Flint struck me as the last kind of person who would do such a thing,’ she said.
    ‘Well, it doesn’t surprise me,’ Frances said. ‘She’s a complete bitch underneath all the charm.’ She sighed. ‘I wish you’d told me where you were going, Fraser.’
    ‘So that you could have stopped me, I suppose?’
    ‘Too damn right.’
    He pressed his lips together, then said, ‘Well, so do I, now.’
    ‘It’ll sort itself out,’ she said.
    But after Mary had gone, she said, ‘It’s a mess, isn’t it?’
    ‘I’ll not be allowed to go on working there.’
    ‘No, you won’t. Would they let you go to one of the other hospitals in the region to finish your contract?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘D’you think Ian believed her?’
    ‘I don’t know that either. Why?’
    ‘Would he give you a reference?’
    ‘He might,’ Fraser said slowly. ‘It’s in their interest to get rid of me as quietly as possible.’
    They talked over their options during the rest of the afternoon. Fraser couldn’t help noticing that his problems had, paradoxically, seemed to lift Frances’ mood, so much so that they went out for a meal that evening. Later, though, she became spiky and unstable again and it took all his diplomacy to avoid another row. At least she agreed to take the sedative, which helped her to sleep – that night, and over the weekend.
    On Monday, after a visit to the Trust HQ where an administrator told him he was suspended on full pay, he went to the small office the BMA had in the city.
    ‘You realise, Dr Callan, that as an organisation we represent both you and Dr Flint?’ Dr Smith was earnest, bespectacled and, underneath his elderly medical student image, rather shrewd. ‘So it’s in our interest to find a compromise, one that suits both of you. What is not in our interest is the public spectacle of two professionals fighting. You do see that, don’t you?’
    ‘Sure I do,’ Fraser said. ‘But I will not, cannot, compromise my position on Alkovin. It’s a dangerous drug.’
    Smith considered him, then said, Tell me about it again – how, exactly, did it come to be used in your department?’
    He listened carefully while Fraser went through it in detail, putting in questions now and again.
    At last he said, ‘I’m going to give you the phone number of some people in London who may be able to help you provided you forget it was me who gave it you.’
    Fraser rang it as soon as he got home and was put through to someone with the unlikely name of Tom Jones.
    ‘Can you come up on Wednesday?’ Jones asked after Fraser briefly told him what it was about. He had a marked London accent.
    Fraser asked Frances who shrugged and said, ‘All right.’ She looked so miserable after he put the phone down that he went and put his arms around her.
    After a few moments, he said quietly, ‘Why don’t we get married?’
    ‘We are, in September.’
    ‘No, I mean this week. Get a special licence and just have your mother and maybe one or two others.’
    Her expression went from astonishment to delight. ‘What a lovely idea…’ She thought about it, savouring it for a while, then sighed. ‘We’ve told everyone