Cath Staincliffe - Go Not Gently

I set my alarm for three o’clock, drank half a pint of orange juice, swallowed two aspirin and snuggled under the duvet.

The rest of the day passed. About all you could say for it really. I went through the motions, muffled in cold, and escaped to an early bed as soon as possible. I woke once, rearing up from the dream where I was being suffocated. Someone was squashing my nose. At the time I put it down to having a blocked-up nose. Now, looking back, I wonder whether it was intuition.

The weather had warmed up again and there were even patches of fresh blue sky here and there. I didn’t particularly welcome the change; my temperature was all over the place, sweaty one minute, chilled the next. To my teary eyes the bright sky was painful to look at. My cold was now in full spate, swallowing no longer hurt but breathing was difficult. I was in a diving bell, sound echoed and distorted and all the colours were too vivid. With pockets stuffed full of hankies I walked Maddie and Tom to school. I wondered about another day in bed but it seemed excessive for a cold, lousy though I felt. I compromised, telling myself I’d see how I was by lunchtime.

At the office I opened my heap of junk mail. I was exhorted to borrow money, install a new security system, send away for a free gift (matching towels or handy holdall), order two pizzas for the price of one and have my carpets cleaned half-price. I binned the lot. Even resisting the temptation to use the scratch card that would reveal whether I’d won £10, £50 or £10,000. Fat chance.

There were no messages on my answerphone. I jotted down notes on the Lily Palmer case and recorded visits I’d made, entering time and mileage on separate sheets. I sat and pondered for a while, letting the coincidences and questions nibble away at me.

The small basement window was filthy. It occurred to me that I could probably double the amount of light in the place if I cleaned it and took down the broken blind. All the Dobsons were out but I knew they wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a bit of window cleaner and a cloth. They had a cupboard under the sink with cleaning stuff in. I found what I wanted and proceeded back downstairs. I stood on my chair and pulled at the roller blind, the whole thing came away easily. I dropped it on the floor, gave the spiders time to run for cover, then squirted the glass. The grime came off in satisfying swathes but the outside needed doing too.

I went upstairs and outside, knelt down by the window and stretched across the gap to swipe away the webs strewn with debris, fragments of curled leaf, scraps of paper and seeds. I wiped the dust and rain marks from the pane. By then I was running with sweat and trembling with exhaustion.

I put the cleaning stuff back, washed my hands and sat down to rest. I was hungry. Feed a cold and starve a fever. I felt as though I’d got both but there was no contest, appetite won out. I couldn’t taste the sandwich I made myself back home but it stopped the growling in my belly. I napped on the sofa for an hour and felt human once more.

I called Sergeant Bell again. She was still busy. I wasn’t content to leave yet another message. I asked whether I could speak to Inspector Crawshaw. He was busy. I could leave a message.

‘Is there anyone who can give me some information?’

‘Concerning?’

‘Jimmy Achebe. Is he still in custody? Have any charges been brought?’

‘You could try the Press Office.’ He gave me the number. It was busy.

Instead, I called Agnes to find out the latest. Lily had not been very well when she’d visited. She’d had a high temperature that they were concerned about and they suspected an infection. She was asleep all the time that Agnes was there. Agnes was worried. ‘At our age these sort of things can be so much harder to shake off.’

‘I am sorry. Any news from Charles?’

‘Yes. He’s spoken to Mr Simcock again. There’s no reason to suspect there’s any connection between the operation and the infection. Apparently just being in hospital increases the risk. He said they’ll be concentrating on trying to fight that off using antibiotics. But even if she gets over all this she’s never going to be well. You know, the scan showed substantial changes in her brain.’ I could hear the desolation in her voice. She cleared her throat. ‘There’s very little they can do now. All we can expect is a steady decline.’

‘Will she go back to Kingsfield?’

‘I’m not sure. Charles got the impression they were thinking of one of the nursing homes where they specialise in caring for patients with Alzheimer’s. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I suppose I’ve got the proof I wanted about Lily’s condition: they’ve definite physical evidence of what’s wrong. Now I need to accept it. It’s not going to go away. I just hope she can shake off this infection.’

‘Do you want to see her tonight? I could give you a lift.’

‘You don’t sound very well,’ she said doubtfully.

‘No, I’m all right. Just this cold. I’ll come about six.’

‘Thank you. Oh, by the way, it doesn’t seem so important any more but did you hear anything more about the tablets?’

‘No. I’ve asked my friend to chivvy the lab along. She’s doing me a favour so I can’t really push her any more than I have done. I’m also trying to find out if there’s any connection between Goulden and Simcock but I’ve not got anything yet. I’m waiting to hear.’

I did hear. Just after I got back from school, Harry rang. ‘Hi! I’ve left a message on your answerphone too,’ he began.

‘Any luck?’ I didn’t expect anything.

‘Bingo!’

‘What?’ I was astonished.

‘You got a fax yet?’

‘No.’

‘A pen?’

‘Yes, Harry, I have a pen. Poised. Go on.’

‘OK. Simcock and Montgomery are both directors of Malden Medical Supplies.’

My scalp prickled.

‘They’re a company based in Cheshire, Northwich, and they supply anything and everything – rubber gloves, gas cylinders, disposable sheets, bandages, the lot. They deal with nursing homes, hospitals, that sort of thing. It’s a lucrative little concern, accounts for the last year on record show a turnover of two million and very healthy profits.’

‘Hang on, let me get this all down.’ I scribbled furiously. ‘Right.’

‘That was up fifty per cent on the previous year. They came in just at the right time, when all the privatisation was kicking in and the fact that the clients can get all their stuff from the same supplier probably gave them the edge over the competition.’

‘So, they’ll be making quite a bit from it?’ I said.

‘Oh, yeah. Depends how much they’re ploughing back in but they’re doing very nicely thank you.’

‘Nothing illegal?’

‘Well, the law’s very woolly around some of this, but everything I’ve told you so far is public knowledge somewhere or other. Difference is it’d take you weeks going via other agencies, hard copies. Using the computer makes it that much quicker…’

‘Harry! I didn’t mean you. I meant them – anything fishy about their operation?’

‘Oh, no. Nothing glaring anyway.’

‘And Goulden’s not a director?’

‘Ah-ha! No. But listen to this. There’s a Mrs A. L. Goulden, BPharm, MRPharmS who’s actually Managing Director.’

‘His wife.’

‘There’s more – her Malden name was Montgomery, Angela Leonie Montgomery, sister to Douglas Vernon Montgomery.’

‘Yes!’ The connections were there. They all had some involvement in Malden Medical Supplies, and Montgomery and Goulden were brothers-in-law.

‘Anything else you want? Creditworthiness, mortgage details, hire purchase agreements?’