Life Class (22 page)

‘And up my bum!’

‘I’m proud of you. It’s over now.’

‘But it’s not. Fucking waste of time. I’m not doing it again! What’s the point?’

‘Why would you have to do it again?’

‘I refuse! There’s no way!’

‘Calm down.’ Stefan took him by the shoulders. ‘Was it bad news? Tell me what they said.’ But Dom pushed him away. ‘Come on, mate. We’ll deal with it whatever it is. Tell me? Good or bad?’ he tried again.

‘I don’t fucking know, do I? Waste of time!’

Stefan had to clamp his mouth shut. His hands balled into fists and he took a deep breath, desperate to control his exasperation.

‘Look, let’s go into town and have a drink, a coffee? We’ll talk it over. I need to understand –’

‘
You
need to understand? I fucking wish
I
did! I don’t want a fucking drink.’

‘Well, a burger and Coke then, anything you want. We need to talk.’

‘There’s nothing to talk about. I wasn’t given the results.’

‘What do you mean? What the bloody hell was going on in there all this time?’

It was as if his own anger had the effect of defusing Dominic’s. The boy’s hunched shoulders went down and the tension went out of him.

‘Oh, I got the lecture!
If you can’t be good, be careful.
Like I didn’t know that! But …’ His bleak, angry eyes welled abruptly and he looked away, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He cleared his throat. ‘It’s not that easy, is it? And I was given
some
results but not … I don’t know.’ The cracks in his husky voice widened. ‘I wasn’t listening properly.’

Stefan opened the car door. ‘You get in. I’ll try to get some answers.’

As Stefan loped over to the front entrance, freezing drops of rain prickled his face and hands. He slammed through the door and in the brightly lit interior saw the crystalline formation of snow melt instantly on his leather sleeve. The room was empty apart from a woman sitting behind a desk. Before he could speak, she handed him a questionnaire and asked him to fill it in.

‘No! I don’t need … I don’t want this! I’ve come about the … the young man who was just in here. Dominic Barnes. He seems confused. What was he told?’

‘I’m sorry.’ The woman’s welcoming expression hardened. ‘We have to respect the patient’s confidentiality. And you are?’

‘I’m …’ Stefan paused, wondering how to describe his relationship with Dom. He eventually settled on, ‘His friend. Look, I understand you can’t give me the details. I just want to check that he
did
get his results. I don’t think he understood what he was told.’

The woman seemed to consider. ‘Dominic was given
some
preliminary results,’ she said after a moment. ‘From the screening tests carried out in our own lab. But he wasn’t given the full range of results that he was apparently expecting. He made a bit of a scene, I’m afraid, when he realised that the tests for HIV, hepatitis, chlamydia, and syphilis have to go to the Bacteriology Department at the hospital. Given the Christmas holiday it may be ten days, as much as a fortnight, before …’

‘Wasn’t he told this at the start of the consultation?’ Stefan interjected abruptly.

‘Of course he was. But when people come in here, they’re often a bit overwrought. They don’t always absorb everything they’re told.’

Stefan looked down at his shoes. He’d come in here ready for a showdown, but the receptionist’s calm explanation had clarified the situation. He could see it all now. He’d pushed Dom into coming against his will. Dom, having gritted his teeth and gone through with it, had had unrealistic expectations. He’d expected complete and immediate resolution. Stefan slotted his hands into the back of his jeans and looked at the floor. The boy was still so young. He couldn’t bear to live with uncertainty, yet uncertainty was all he’d had all his life.

‘And when those tests do come back,
even if
he is clear,’ the woman continued. ‘It would be advisable for him to be retested. The tests look for the presence of antibodies. However, when the body meets the infection it cannot produce antibodies immediately. We like to operate to a six-month window.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Negative results, particularly for hepatitis and HIV, refer to the patient’s status three to six months
before
we do the test. So, I’m afraid, if your friend has engaged in behaviour that might have put him at risk since.’ she glanced at the calendar ‘Well, let’s say the beginning of July, we strongly advise that he come in for a retest.’

So that was what Dom had meant about “not doing this again”.

‘You mean he’ll have to have all the tests again, or …’

‘It’s just a blood test,’ she assured him. ‘But the important thing to remember is that all the tests we do are informative, not preventative. If he, if anyone, continues to engage in unprotected sex, then no amount of
previous
negative results will protect him.’ She raised her eyebrows at Stefan. ‘He has to stop putting himself at risk.’

‘For six months,’ Stefan supplied, and nodded at the woman. Only now did he really see her. ‘I understand.’

‘It is all explained in plain language in the leaflets he’s been given. And we will, of course, write and inform him of the results when they come back and, if appropriate, offer him the retest.’

Stefan nodded again and attempted a smile – at least he hoped it was a smile. He was fairly sure something had happened at the corners of his mouth.

‘Six months is a long time for someone his age.’ He considered telling her something of the deprivations of Dom’s life. But what was the point? This woman, with her sepia-tinted hair and fashionable glasses that magnified the crêpey skin around her hazel eyes, probably saw hundreds of people a week. She couldn’t be expected to care about one lost boy. ‘I’ll make sure he understands.’

‘And, hard though it is, if he
does
test positive for anything,’ the woman tapped her pen on the desk and looked up at him speculatively, ‘I very much hope you will encourage him, as his friend, to do the right thing and inform his sexual contacts of the diagnosis, so that they, too, can be tested.’

‘Sorry, Marion. I heard raised voices, but I was in the middle of …’ Initially, the woman who had just entered the room was looking at the receptionist. ‘So sorry to interrupt …’ she said, turning her eyes to Stefan.

Seconds passed while the information in front of him was digested and interpreted. For the second time in recent weeks the face staring back at him was in the wrong place. Another wrong place! Talk about
déjà vu
. This was double
déjà vu.
What was it with the woman? She was intruding herself into his life at every turn.

Though her expression was one of embarrassed apology, she didn’t look as astonished as he felt. ‘Sorry,’ she repeated and, with a little shake of her head, quickly retreated, pulling the door closed behind her.

Chapter Twenty-three - Dory

‘Happy New Year,’ was said brightly, as soon as she crossed the threshold of the art room. Followed by, ‘Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you’re looking a bit peaky. Hope you haven’t had this horrid flu?’

Her three-week vacation should have been a time to unwind and relax, to dwell on the scary yet thrilling prospect of receiving a favourable response from Stefan Novak about her offer for his house. On Christmas Eve morning she’d been up in the air, almost euphoric. But by the afternoon her mood had plummeted, remaining at rock bottom ever since.

It was a continuing frustration that the hospital tests took so long. With up-to-date equipment and an elastic budget, it was possible to turn them round while the client waited. Twenty-four hours, even forty-eight, would be better than the week or more patients were kept waiting by their cash-strapped NHS department. This was a service she could provide if she set up on her own – admittedly, only for people who could afford it. What Dory couldn’t explain, given that she’d found the wait an endurance test, was why she’d stubbornly remained at home. She could have easily put herself out of her misery by ringing a colleague or popping into work and checking the files. It was almost as if she preferred the uncertainty. Her holiday had passed slowly and drearily.

‘Happy New Year to you too, Mary. I’m fine, thanks, just been sleeping badly.’ Looking around, Dory hoped to see the boy. His demeanour would surely betray whether he’d had good or bad news. But his absence, combined with that of their teacher, was worrying.

Poor Dominic. He was so young, so talented. It would be tragic if he proved HIV positive. And yet it was
always
a tragedy, wasn’t it? If she didn’t lose sleep over the majority who passed through the clinic’s doors, some of them just as young and maybe just as talented, why was she so concerned now? What was special about this youth? He wasn’t a particular friend of hers. Whenever they’d talked, the subject had never strayed far beyond art. But at least Dom would now know what he faced. If positive, he’d have been told it wasn’t an immediate death sentence. There were successful retro-viral drug regimes that could keep him well for years.

‘Did you have a good Christmas?’ Mary persisted.

‘Seems a distant memory already.’

In the past, Dory and Malcolm had typically been houseguests at Sheepswick Rectory over Christmas, sharing a packed few days with Fran and the extended family. But now, Dory was single and living locally, Mel was away, and there were no parents to visit. Despite Fran’s dislike of any alteration to her established routines, this year, Christmas had to change.

Dory was due to arrive on Christmas morning, stop overnight, and return home on Boxing Day. Fran had tried to persuade her to commit to a longer stay. ‘Otherwise it’s going to be really quiet,’ she’d pleaded. Normally Dory would have given in. Anything for a quiet life. But more than anything, she didn’t want to have to put on a front. The prospect of lying on her own sofa in pyjamas, drinking wine and eating chocolates and watching her choice of soppy films was worth standing up to her sister for.

As usual, the rectory had looked lovely. Swags of ivy were pinned to the ancient beams. The ornaments on the tree were colour co-ordinated with the décor. On every surface were bowls of potpourri and scented candles. During the day, every variety of festive fare – sweets, nuts, and fruit – were on offer. Scheduled for the evening, Christmas dinner would be a replica of every other ever offered here. The table would glitter with crystal and candles. Luxury crackers would be beside each place setting and the traditional turkey, followed by a flaming pudding, was on the menu.

Yet despite the superficial similarity between this Christmas and the one before, and the one before that, the atmosphere had been odd. Maybe it’s because it’s just the three of us, Dory had thought. Or maybe it’s because I’m keeping secrets. Nothing she’d gleaned at the clinic could be divulged. Patient confidentiality was paramount. Kitesnest House was another subject she had no intention of raising. Already questioning her own sanity, she could do without the outraged nest of hornets between her and her sister that this confession would stir up. Anyway, why angst about something that was never going to happen?

By mid-afternoon, presents had been opened, the chosen drinks had been drunk, sausage rolls and mince pies had been eaten. After putting the turkey in the oven, Fran had then disappeared for several hours, leaving Dory alone with Peter. Candles flickered on the stone mantle. Logs crackled and flared in the fireplace beneath. The spicy, pomander fragrance of orange, clove, and cinnamon mixed with wood smoke and pine resin in a cocktail of seasonal aromas.

‘She’ll be in the study on the internet,’ Peter said in answer to Dory’s query.

‘The internet?’ Dory was surprised. ‘Seems odd to be going online on Christmas Day? She gave the impression she’s not very experienced.’

‘It’s a recent thing. Obviously, since Mel went off on her gap year, Fran’s started using it more. There’s email, and Mel’s Facebook thing, and it’s grown from there.’

‘Of course. She’ll be talking to Mel.’

Peter looked at his watch. ‘Not at this time. She may well have emailed us today, but I don’t expect there’ll be an ongoing conversation. The messages Fran shows me are usually relatively succinct. To be honest, I don’t think Fran really misses Mel. Not the way I do.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true. She misses her terribly. She told me about breaking down in tears in Waitrose just after Mel left.’

‘She was beside herself then, but now …? She’s in this daze most of the time. I have no idea what’s going on in her head.’

‘So, what
is
she doing on the PC, do you think?’

‘I know what she says. Either her committee things, like Stop the Sheepswick Garden Grab!’

‘On Christmas Day?’

‘Or she’ll be researching the family tree.’

‘Really? Which side of the family? Shall I go and see?’

‘If you do, she’ll jump out of her skin like you’ve burst a balloon behind her.’ Peter poured another inch of Scotch into his tumbler. ‘Don’t ask for details, she doesn’t talk to me about it. I can’t understand what’s so absorbing that she’s willing to sit there all day long.’ A log settled, and a sudden loud crack made Jimbo – or was it Nelson – jump several feet away from the grate with an offended yip. The other dog, half stupefied by the heat, simply raised his head and gazed, first at the fire and then at his brother in sleepy perplexity. Peter chuckled, though his eyes remained unamused. ‘She always seems to be on the bloody thing. She’s even talking about getting Skype. How much would that cost? Would it be worth it?’

‘You can download it for free and the additional webcam is peanuts. Who’s she planning to video call? Mel, I presume?’

‘So far we’ve been relying on texts and email. I suppose it would be good to be able to hear
and
see each other. But I’ve no idea if Mel would be able to access it on her mobile … smart … Blackberry thingy. Anyway, she’ll be home soon. I don’t know …’ He breathed deeply and gazed into his crystal tumbler. Then he looked up. ‘I don’t recognise my wife any more, Dory.’

A seed of foreboding took root. ‘How do you mean?’