Ken McClure - Wildcard

‘You must be cold,’ said Caroline behind him. ‘I didn’t put out any blankets for you.’

Steven turned and saw her standing in the doorway. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘Too many bad dreams. I need coffee. You?’

He nodded and closed the curtain again. Caroline made the coffee and they sat on the couch, hands wrapped round their mugs, staring at the fire, which Caroline had turned on full.

‘I have such a bad feeling about the way things are going,’ said Caroline.

‘It’s always darkest before the dawn.’

‘Maybe there isn’t going to be a dawn. Did you know that the suicide rate in the city has gone up by a factor of eight in the past week?’

‘I didn’t,’ said Steven.

‘They reckon it’s guilt. Relatives of those going down with the disease feel helpless because they can’t do anything to help — they can’t even give their loved ones a proper funeral because of the restrictions.’

She shivered and Steven put his arm round her.

‘Would you think me awfully forward if I suggested that we should go up to bed together?’ she asked, still gazing at the fire.

‘No,’ replied Steven truthfully.

‘Somehow I feel that time is not on our side,’ she murmured.

‘I thought I’d feel embarrassed, but I don’t,’ said Caroline as she dropped bread into the toaster.

‘Good,’ said Steven, wrapping his arms round her from behind and planting a kiss on the back of her neck. ‘Me neither.’

‘Must be that good old British wartime spirit you hear so much about,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Normal rules of social engagement will be suspended for the duration of the hostilities.’

‘My regiment marches at dawn,’ said Steven.

‘Only this time the war has come to us.’

He kissed her hair but didn’t answer.

After breakfast he tried starting Caroline’s car but found that it had a flat battery. Having failed to persuade her to take the day off, he insisted that she take his car to get to St Jude’s. In the meantime, he would try to sort hers out.

‘Will I see you later?’ she asked.

‘If you want to.’

‘I’ll see you later, then.’

A neighbour who had noticed Steven trying to start Caroline’s car came out, still in his dressing gown, to volunteer the use of his battery charger. Steven was able to charge the dead unit and be mobile within half an hour. He stopped at a fast-fit service on the way over to the City General and had the battery checked. The technician declared it defunct — ‘Won’t hold a bloody charge, mate’ — so Steven bought a new one and had it installed.

When he eventually reached the hospital he found George Byars alone in his office, sitting in shirtsleeves, juggling with columns of figures. ‘It’s been a while,’ said Byars.

‘I felt there was a danger of too many cooks,’ said Steven. ‘I’ve been trying to focus on my own job for a bit.’

‘You weren’t entirely successful if what I hear from St Jude’s is correct.’

Steven shrugged and said, ‘Some things you just can’t walk away from.’

‘I’m glad you think that way,’ said Byars. ‘I sometimes wonder about certain members of my profession.’

Steven decided not to push him on the subject. Instead, he asked, ‘How are things at the sharp end?’

‘Sharper than we’d like. I sometimes think I’m standing on the bridge of the Titanic, feeling the temperature fall. We’ve got an enormous problem with a shortage of nurses and another over accommodation for the victims. Three churches and two schools have been pressed into use so far, and all of them are just about full. The next step will be to close the city’s secondary schools and bring them into the equation.’

‘Why secondary schools?’ asked Steven.

‘Times have changed,’ said Byars. ‘It’s the norm for both parents to go out to work these days. Suddenly dumping hundreds of young children back home would cause big social problems. Secondary-school kids are old enough to look after themselves till the folks come home.’

Steven nodded. ‘What about the nursing volunteers who were supposed to come?’ he asked.

‘Slowed to a trickle.’ Byars shrugged. ‘Can’t blame them. Watching people die without being able to do anything about it isn’t exactly glamorous or uplifting. Apart from that, we’ve lost two nurses to the virus.’

‘Two?’ exclaimed Steven.

‘It’s not common knowledge, like a lot of things in the city these days,’ said Byars.

‘Then you’re managing to keep things out of the press?’ asked Steven.

‘Someone is,’ corrected Byars. ‘Don’t ask me who, but I suspect government pressure’s being brought to bear.’

‘It certainly wouldn’t be an appeal to the hacks’ better nature,’ said Steven.

‘And you? Any progress?’

‘Let’s say I’m more optimistic than I was a few days ago, but there’s still a lot to work out. That’s really why I’m here. I need to talk to a cardiac surgeon — please don’t ask why. Can you help?’

Byars picked up the phone and dialled an internal extension. After a short conversation he replaced the receiver, said, ‘Our Mr Giles will be glad to give you all the help he can,’ and told Steven how to get to the cardio-thoracic unit.

Steven smiled and thanked him. He’d come to like and respect Byars over the past few weeks, and was relieved that the crisis-management team had recognised his abilities and kept him on as crisis co-ordinator.

At the cardio unit, Steven was met by a formidable-looking woman who introduced herself as Martin Giles’s secretary. ‘He’s expecting you,’ she said brusquely. ‘Go straight in.’

Steven’s immediate impression was that Giles looked more like a heavyweight boxer than a surgeon but when he spoke it was as an educated, articulate man. ‘How can I help?’ he asked, hunching muscular shoulders as he folded his arms on his desk. What neck he had seemed to disappear, making his head look like a cannonball perched on a castle wall.

‘I need to know something about modern heart surgery,’ said Steven. ‘What’s on offer and what you do exactly.’

‘Depends what the problem is,’ said Giles. ‘Anything from a couple of stitches in the right place to a complete heart-lung transplant.’

‘Sorry to be so vague,’ said Steven, ‘but I’ve got no idea how common heart surgery is these days or how many people benefit from it.’

‘Every cardiac unit in the country has a waiting list a mile long,’ said Giles. ‘Cardiac surgery has become commonplace.’

‘Supposing a man is referred to you with a history of rheumatic fever in childhood, and this has led to current heart problems. Talk me through it.’

‘That used to be very common,’ said Giles. ‘Rheumatic fever isn’t as prevalent as it used to be but it often resulted in a bacteraemia which in turn caused a build-up of bacteria on one or more of the heart valves with resultant stenosis. We would take a look at the problem with a range of options in mind. If the damage weren’t too bad we might attempt a physical repair to the damaged tissue — we’d stitch the damaged portions together if at all possible. If a valve was irreparably damaged, however, we’d have to consider replacing it, either with a mechanical valve — a plastic one — or a tissue one should one be available.’

‘Supposing the heart damage was age-related?’ asked Steven, remembering Frank McDougal’s medical records.

‘The same options would apply. Age defects are usually associated with the left side of the heart, the mitral and aortic valves, while infection usually affects the ones on the right, but either way we would repair or replace as appropriate, with repair being the preferred option.’