High society (19 page)

UNIVERSITY COLLEGE HOSPITAL, W1

A
ngela Paget had been a little surprised when Samantha had accompanied them into Dr Wellbourne’s consulting room. Even in this tense and desperate time she could not help but be aware that the nature of the conversation about to take place was surely one for her and Peter alone to share with the doctor. She said nothing, but her look told its own story.

Samantha recoiled as if stung. ‘Do you want me to…to wait outside, Angela?’

‘Well, Samantha, I don’t really know, it’s all so terribly strange. But I suppose that, yes, I do.’

Instead of leaving immediately, Samantha turned to Peter. ‘Peter, am I to wait outside?’

And in that moment Angela knew that her husband had been making love to his parliamentary assistant.

‘What? Oh, well. Yes. Whatever.’

Peter was far too abstracted by his possible fate to be sensitive to the feelings of either of the two women before whom he had laid his heart. Samantha turned on her heel and left the room. Peter and Angela Paget turned to face the doctor.

‘So far it’s good news,’ the doctor said. ‘Very good news. Robert Nunn, the addict whose needle pierced you, has tested negative to HIV and hepatitis, which, considering the man’s lifestyle, is an immense relief.’

Peter leapt at this nugget of hope. ‘But surely if he’s clean I’m clean. I’m OK?’

‘Not for certain, I’m afraid, although your chances have improved considerably. The current wisdom is that Aids can take anything up to three months to show on a blood test, hepatitis C the same.’

‘Three months!’

‘I’m afraid so. Therefore, it’s entirely possible that Nunn became infected recently and that it’s not yet showing on the test. Unfortunately that wouldn’t stop him infecting you.’

‘Three months!’

‘That is to be absolutely certain, of course. In truth we’d expect the antibodies to show up more quickly, therefore for each week that Nunn shows clean your chances improve dramatically. But we can only be sure that you’re out of danger when we test you in three months’ time.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘As I say, so far it’s so good. I’d say also that the needle prick was on the low side in terms of risk.’

‘How’s that?’ Angela asked. ‘He was stabbed with an addict’s needle.’

‘Well, it’s not great, certainly, but if you imagine a graph, with the highest risk, for instance, that of a nurse in a hospital sitting on a needle full of infected blood and its entirety being pumped into her buttock…’

Angela winced at this. Peter hardly seemed to hear.

‘It happens, believe me,’ the doctor continued. ‘Then if you take the lowest needle prick risk as, say, a discarded needle on a beach, washed by the sea, bleached by the sun for weeks, then I would say that Peter’s accident is closer to that. Nunn had not injected himself when the accident occurred, therefore it had been a number of hours since the needle was in contact with his blood. He had depressed the plunger to expel the air from the hypodermic, and thus any residue from a previous hit that remained in the barrel of the needle would have been partially expelled — ’

Peter interrupted her. ‘Basically, you won’t know for three months.’

‘Not for sure. No.’

Peter got up and left the surgery without a word, leaving Angela Paget to make their farewells as she left.

Outside in the waiting room Samantha simply could not restrain herself. Ignoring Angela completely, she looked straight at Peter. ‘Are you going to be OK?’

‘He might be,’ Angela replied on Peter’s behalf. ‘His chances are much better than we’d feared. Thank you for your concern, Samantha.’

‘Well…We’re all concerned, Angela.’

BBC NEWS DESK

I
n a separate but connected incident the pop star Tommy Hanson was arrested today and a large part of the West End was brought to a complete standstill when the star attempted to stage a secret performance at the Astoria Theatre. News of the show had been deliberately leaked earlier in the day and huge crowds had gathered at the eastern end of Oxford Street, causing rush-hour chaos. Fearing for public safety, police cancelled the show, but claim Hanson deliberately provoked an already dangerous situation by stepping into the crowd and allowing himself to be manhandled amongst them. A number of teenage girls suffered shock and minor injuries in the crush, but fortunately no serious injuries occurred.’

THE HOUSE OF COMMONS BAR

B
loody nice for the public to see that MPs aren’t all the shits they presume us to be. Peter Paget’s done the whole house an enormous service.’

‘God knows what he’s going through now, though, poor bugger. I mean, I saw the needle go in, must have been two inches. I’m still in shock, so how would he be feeling?’

‘He handled it incredibly, though. Just said, ‘Take it out.’ Didn’t scream or anything, he was very calm about it.’

‘Don’t know if I would have been.’

‘Well, there were all those screaming girls, weren’t there?

I suppose he didn’t want to scare them. I mean, if they’d gone hysterical who knows who else might have been stabbed?’

‘He really did save those girls’ lives.’

‘Yes, and don’t forget that needle was still full of scag. Enough to kill an elephant.’

Suddenly the drug debate had become sexy. Everyone was using words like ‘scag’ as if they’d been hanging about on the front line for years.

‘Christ, if that junkie’s thumb had pushed down…It just doesn’t bear thinking about.’

Shaking their heads in wonder and disbelief, the MPs made their way into the debating chamber. The Prime Minister was scheduled to make a statement on the state of Peter Paget’s health. Following this, the Leader of the Opposition intended to express his own party’s sincerest sympathy and best wishes to Paget and his family. The Liberal Democrat Leader had it in mind to suggest that Paget be recommended for a medal.

THE GROUCHO CLUB, SOHO

M
ilton emerged from the gentlemen’s toilet just as Paula was exiting the ladies’. He was delighted to see her; the tiny crystals of cocaine that were exploding against his nasal membrane had put him in just the mood for a bit more crowing over his defeated colleague. Paula, on the other hand, was loath to waste her own cocaine buzz talking to such a loathsome toad as Milton.

‘Paula! Enjoying the Paget story? Not much, I imagine. The man you’ve been vilifying suddenly turns up as the national hero. Must be something of a drag, eh? Going to be a bit galling when you have to change tack, isn’t it? But the editor’s insistent we back Paget! The only man with the guts not only to have an opinion but also to act on it. I’ve recommended that you do a big spread on the family. You know, talk to the wife and daughters. Editor loves the idea but he wants it really lush and glowing. You’ve got to make the whole world love them, just as you must love them yourself, Paula, particularly your old sparring partner, the daughter.’

Paula did not bother to reply. Instead she trotted up the stairs as quickly as she could, leaving Milton smirking behind her. And well he might smirk. It had been a terrible shock for Paula to wake up to the news that the man she wished to ruin had risen so highly in the public’s esteem. To learn also that he might very well have contracted a life-threatening disease in the line of duty. There was no doubt that she would have to put the conviction she had formed while lurking in that hotel corridor aside for a time. Now was certainly not the moment to announce to the world that Peter Paget, famous family man and moral crusader, was screwing his parliamentary assistant. But the time would come. The pendulum always swung. Paula could wait.

EAST LONDON CEMETERY

D
etective Sergeant Sara Hopper rarely cried. Her job was such that if she allowed herself the luxury of tears on anything but the rarest occasions she would find herself crying for most of her working life.

Now, however, she wept openly. Most of the congregation did. Sara had been so sure that Jo Jo would survive. She had seemed to be growing in strength, building a wall between herself and the tragedy. Perhaps that should have been a warning sign for Sara and the other counsellors who had attempted to alleviate Jo Jo’s pain. How could one possibly build a wall high enough to keep out the knowledge of such a terrible abuse?

Certainly Jo Jo could not, for one day, just when it was least expected, Jo Jo took a Stanley knife from her father’s toolbox, ran herself a hot bath, sat in it and opened the veins on her wrists. She left a note, expressing an emotion common to those who have been brutalized, a desperate feeling of guilt.

‘Dear Mummy and Daddy. I’m so sorry.’

Jo Jo had not intended to increase her parents’ agony with her final note, of course, but that was what she did.

With appropriate sombre melancholy, rain began to fall as the sods of wet earth fell heavily on Jo Jo’s white and gold coffin. And with each dull thud the resolve that was forming like a cancer inside Commander Leman grew heavier and more solid too.

Jo Jo was dead. And it was all his fault.

AN OXFAM SHOP, WEST BROMWICH

T
here’s only one way tae give up scag an’ that’s cold turkey. Ah mean, let’s face it. All a methadone programme gets you is an addiction to methadone, am I right? The only way off the junk is tae stop takin’ it. Full stop. Well, as Ah’m sure ye know, it isnae easy. Kickin’ heroin is no picnic, even if you’re curled up under a duvet at your ma’s wi’ nice warm soup left at your bedroom door in case ye fancy it and a clean toilet tae puke in…

‘But, oh ma Goad, you try doin’ turkey in secret, on the inside of a brothel. Try doin’ it sharing an attic wi’ eight junkies, an’ wi’ a gang o’ big bastards pushin’ the stuff onta ye all the time an’ acting right suspicious when ye says no tae a nice big smoke o’ scag. Try doin’ it when you’re workin’ ten tricks a night and you’re supposed to shag ‘em with some element of enthusiasm or at least not curled up in a shivering ball o’ sweat and effluvia. Well, that’s how Ah did it. Ah swear tae ye now as Ah live and breathe. An’ Ah’m amazed that Ah’m still living an’ breathin’ taste swear anythin’ at all. Ah did cold turkey the hard way, aged seventeen, Ah think, while maintaining ma occupation as the working property o’ a whoremaster, an’ were Ah tae try taste bicycle up Mount Everest wi’ ma legs tied together, Ah will never in ma whole life do nothin’ tae match it.’

THE LEMAN HOUSEHOLD, DALSTON

C
ommander Leman had announced to his family that he would shortly be taking some leave.

‘To be quite frank, I think the Chief Constable is extremely pleased. I didn’t set out to be, but I’ve definitely become something of a thorn in his side.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Anna asked. ‘It’s not what Daddy’s going to do, it’s what we’re all going to do. The school holidays are coming up. We’re going to have a holiday. We’re going to have a month in Cornwall.’

Anna was suspicious. Her father normally had to be dragged screaming to take even a weekend off.

‘This is to do with what happened to Jo Jo, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Anna. This has everything to do with what happened to Jo Jo.’

‘You know who did it, don’t you?’

‘No, Anna, I don’t know who did it.’

‘But you know something,’ Anna persisted.

Leman did not answer.

‘If I knew who did it, or who caused it,’ his daughter continued, ‘I’d kill them.’

AN OXFAM SHOP, WEST BROMWICH

T
he worst time was about six days in, Ah reckon.

‘Ah’d just finished ma shift and was doing as best I could taste clean maseP up in the makeshift toilet and shower cubicle that serviced the ablutory needs o’ me and all ma colleagues. Ah wondered whether Ah could bear to carry on. Ah tell ye, the craving was gnawing at every cell of ma body…ma stomach was churning wi’ it, ma skin was crawling wi’ it. The nausea was almost impossible to control and the diarrhoea…well, I expect you’re aware of the bum problems ye get with smack.’ The old gentleman who ran the Oxfam shop had not been, but assured Jessie that he would take her word for it. ‘It seemed tae have come tae some kind of terrible climax within me. I was in no condition tae pass the time o’ day, let alone service a client. Ah knew that it had tae get better or Ah’d die. Ah knew that Ah simply couldnae face much more o’ that pain.

‘Ah couldnae believe what had happened to me. Me. Jessie Ross. Human being. Female. Ah went to school. Ah was the best wee gymnast in ma class, Ah could do a double somersault an’ twist off the asymmetric bars like nobody else Ah knew. Ah had Barbie dolls. Ah worried about ma first kiss. Ah always liked fresh fish even when the other kids wanted McDonald’s. Ah’d been a human being for some number o’ relatively happy years. An’ yet somehow Ah’d become…what? What had Ah become? No’ a human being’, that’s for certain…What? Nothing more than an agonizing collection o’ limbs and organs, nae more than a shriek of pain made flesh.

‘Ah have tae say that Ah’ve since come to the conclusion that it wasnae the heroin that brought me tae the sorry condition Ah found maseP in, although Ah make no excuses for maseP an’ Ah wouldnae touch the stuff again if they gave it away at petrol stations. Nonetheless, Ah know now that it was the fuckin’ law that nearly killed me. The law that not only put me outside proper society but also created a criminal society that was jus’ itchin’ taste scoop me up.

‘The funny thing is that Ah think Ah actually served that proper community tae which Ah was denied access. Oh yes, Ah was a public servant in ma opinion. Ah mean, come on, those ten fellahs a night that Ah kept frae beatin’ their wives or whatever, they all paid their taxes back in the real world, but Ah wasnae part of that world. Ah’d somehow got dumped on the outside along with Goldie and Francois. And poor, poor Maria, buried along with her name, somewhere on the outside, in a river or a ditch. Placed on the outside by failed laws. Hey, they say that justice is blind, well, ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.’