Ken McClure - Chameleon

There were large puddles in the courtyard below; they were being pock-marked by falling rain and a heavy grey mist hung over everything. Across the wet cobbles on the other side of the yard Jamieson could see a small group of nurses, huddling inside their red capes as they talked in the shelter of the entrance to the wards. He looked at his watch and saw that it was time for the change-over from night staff to the day shift. It was not hard to guess what they were talking about. By nine o'clock Thelwell's demise would be common knowledge throughout the hospital.

Sue opened her eyes and made a sleepy sound.

'Coffee?' asked Jamieson as he plugged in the electric kettle.

'Please. You are up early.'

'The rain woke me,' said Jamieson.

'And what else?' asked Sue sensing that something was wrong from the inflection in Jamieson's voice.

Jamieson shook his head in a dismissive gesture and said, 'Oh, just what we were talking about last night. I'm missing something about the whole affair. I keep thinking I should be able to see what it is but I can't and it's getting to me.'

'Maybe you are too close to it. Maybe you have to step back a little before you can see clearly?'

'Maybe,' agreed Jamieson. 'But I keep thinking that if Richardson realised something about the infections and then Moira Lippman did the same surely I should be able to see it too.'

'Not necessarily. They were both bacteriologists. You're not.' said Sue.

Jamieson looked at her as if she had just given him an idea. 'Perhaps that's it,' he said, 'I've been assuming that they discovered something about the source or spread of the infection but maybe it was something about the bugs themselves. Something only an expert would see. That would fit in with Richardson's interest in the Sci-Med tests on the Pseudomonas. He wasn't surprised at all at a result that clearly surprised everyone else but never got round to telling me why. On the other hand it's difficult to think what could be gained from lab tests on the bugs themselves. I've seen the results of all the tests that were done by Richardson's people. I've carried out some myself and the Sci-Med people have been involved too. At the end of the day we are left with two highly virulent microorganisms which are very difficult to treat and which display some odd biochemical characteristics.

'How "odd"?' asked Sue.

'The Pseudomonas differed from the text book response it should have shown to several tests,' said Jamieson.

'What can you take from that?' asked Sue.

Jamieson shrugged and said, 'It could hardly be regarded as a typical example of its species,' said Jamieson. In fact, both bugs were oddballs because of their high resistance to antibiotics.'

'Did you discuss this with anyone?' asked Sue.

Of course,' replied Jamieson. 'Moira Lippman thought it odd that the Pseudomonas should vary from the norm so markedly but Clive Evans didn't think it too strange.'

'Well, not much to go on there,' said Sue. She sighed and said, 'As you said yourself last night the main priority is that there should be no more post operative infections at Kerr Memorial. You've seen to that and now that Thelwell is dead the matter of how he actually introduced the contamination into the wards and theatres has become more or less academic.'

'Just as long as there are no more deaths,' said Jamieson.

'What are you going to do this morning?'

'Write my report.'

'And then?'

'This afternoon I'll go over to the CSSD and make sure that all the instruments and dressings from the gynaecology department have been re-sterilised.'

'And this evening you can take me out for a meal,' said Sue.

'I should be honoured,' smiled Jamieson.

Jamieson was well into the substance of his report by eleven o'clock. He had no great love of paper work and, recognising this, had chosen to work in the medical records office where there were no windows to gaze out of, making distraction more difficult to find. One of the assistants brought him a cup of coffee at eleven fifteen and laid it gently down on the desk in front of him. There was also a shortbread finger sitting in the saucer. 'I hope you don't mind me asking,' she said. 'But there's a rumour going about that Mr Thelwell from gynaecology is dead?'

'It's true I'm afraid,' said Jamieson wondering if the question was the quid pro quo for the biscuit bonus.

'I suppose I should say I'm sorry,' said the girl.

'But?' prompted Jamieson.

'That man gave me the creeps,' said the girl.

'Did you know him?' asked Jamieson.

'Not exactly,' said the girl, quickly on the defensive as she read an implied accusation into what Jamieson had asked. 'You didn't have to know him. Everyone disliked him. It makes you wonder what goes through the heads of people like that.'

'What do you mean?' asked Jamieson.

'Well, you'd think that they would realise that everyone dislikes them? Can't they sense it? Why don't they do something about it? Or do you think it doesn't matter to them?'

'I'm not at all sure,' said Jamieson. 'Maybe the real unpleasant people don't even notice.'

'But we all need love,' said the girl.

The girl turned on her heel and left Jamieson to consider what she had said. The girl was right about one thing. You did not have to know Thelwell in order to dislike him. He had been that kind of a man. The point was, what part had natural dislike played in his own judgement of Thelwell? It was always so easy to believe ill of people you didn't like. You could do it without a second thought, you expected it, you even wanted it to be true, but was that relevant to anything that had happened?

The rain stopped and the sky showed every sign of brightening so Sue decided to take the bus into town, ostensibly to do some shopping but for nothing in particular. She had no particular reason for going at all but the idea of crowds and bustle appealed to her. Apart from anything else it would be an excuse to get away from the forbidding grey confines of the hospital for a while. She looked out one of the back windows from where she could see the turning circle outside the hospital gates that the buses used. There was a double-decker sitting there. She saw that the driver was in his cab, reading a newspaper. Sue grabbed her coat and hurried downstairs.

The town was very busy but because Sue had nothing particular in mind to buy, she could avoid the busier shops and browse at will. She was drawn to the windows of Mothercare and felt good as she looked at all the things that she and Scott would be buying in the near future. She resisted the urge to go inside the shop and find some excuse to tell the assistant that she was pregnant but it was a close run thing. Her hand strayed to her stomach in an unconsciously protective gesture as she made her way across the road and through the pavement throng to the doors of Marks and Spencer's.

She lingered a while in the men’s' clothing section, admiring some Shetland pullovers and wondering whether or not to buy one for Scott. Her only reservation lay in the fact that he did not like having his clothes chosen for him. He preferred to do his own shopping, although in truth, he hated the very idea of shopping at all and usually had to be goaded into it, an early morning expedition two or three times a year. On the other hand she felt that she knew Scott's tastes by now. A plain grey pullover would be nice. He would like that. She picked out one his size and held it up in front of her but as she did so she became aware of a man looking at her from the other side of the counter.

There was something disconcerting about the intensity of his stare. She diverted her eyes but was still very aware of his presence. There was something familiar about him but at first she could not think what. Then she remembered. The man had been on the same bus as her on the way down from the hospital. She couldn't remember where he had got on; she had only noticed him when he had stood on the platform with her as she waited to get off. The recollection made her uneasy. Was it her imagination or was he still staring at her?