John Halkin - Squelch

‘Where is she now?’

‘The body? In the hospital mortuary. We’re doing an autopsy tomorrow morning.’

‘D’you think…’ Ginny hesitated, uncertain what she herself really wanted. It seemed ridiculous, but Mrs Kinley’s death nagged at her conscience. ‘Could I see her?’

‘Aren’t you being a bit morbid?’

‘No. A bit old-fashioned if you like. I feel I should pay my last respects. That’s the least I can do for her.’

‘I’m sure that can be arranged with the undertaker. I’ll see if I can find out which one is —’

‘No,’ she stopped him firmly. ‘I’d like to do it today. I don’t want any involvement with family, or anything like that. I just want to… well, you know. Discreetly.’

‘The damage around the mouth and particularly the throat was fairly extensive. It’s not an attractive sight, Ginny. I strongly advise you against it.’

‘Bernie, please? I’m not squeamish, except for creepie-crawlies and that’s only because they move. What I’m trying to say is that I know it’s not going to be nice and I hate the thought of it, but I do owe it to her. I’ll not stay more than a few seconds. I promise.’

To Ginny’s relief, Bernie seemed to give in. At least, he said he’d have a word about it with whoever was in charge. He probably thought she was being hysterical; perhaps she was, although that was not how it felt. The more she went over it in her mind, the more convinced she became that she had to do it. Not only was it a debt she had to settle with the old woman for not going back to visit her again; there was also that story of her having been deliberately attacked by the giant moths. Ginny had not taken that seriously. She’d been as bad as the others.

Everything pointed to there being a link between the moths and these caterpillars. They were numerous, they were both large and they had never been seen before in the area. If Mrs Kinley’s account were accurate, both were hostile to human beings. Would it be so surprising to discover that they were in fact identical: two stages in the same life cycle?

It was still daylight when they arrived at Lingford Hospital. As Bernie guided her through the corridors, he explained that he would leave her alone with Lesley after a while in order to find out if it would be possible for her to view Mrs Kinley’s body.

‘They could well refuse,’ he warned her.

They found Lesley propped up on her pillows, looking pale and exhausted but very much alive. Her thick auburn hair lay in profusion around her face like a slightly tarnished halo.

‘Hello! Are you two getting on well together?’ she joked when they entered her room, but her voice lacked its usual bounce. ‘Hope you’re keeping him out of mischief, Ginny!’

‘Hello, darling! How’ve you been feeling?’ Bernie kissed her. Ginny stood aside as her sister held him close. When she released him, he went to the foot of her bed to glance at her chart. ‘Oh, you’re doing well!’

‘I’m bored,’ she said.

‘You’re obviously on the mend.’

‘Paul Sanderson is a very good doctor. You’ll have to watch out!’

She gave a brief, tired laugh, then leaned back against the pillows again.

‘The children send their love,’ Ginny told her. ‘Phuong is absolutely wonderful with them, but I’m staying on for the time being. I think they miss their Mummy.’

They chatted generally for three or four minutes before Bernie made his excuse and slipped out. Left alone together, Ginny tried to entertain her sister with the latest gossip from the village, but without mentioning caterpillars, which was just as well. When she began to describe her trip to the Garden Centre that morning for pesticide; Lesley changed the subject right away.

But then she was still very weak. Several times she closed her eyes while Ginny was talking.

‘Would you prefer to sleep now?’

Lesley’s eyelids flickered open lazily. ‘No, go on, please. I like hearing your voice. So what did he say to Mrs Martinson?’

Ginny went on with her story of how the vicar was in deep trouble with the Ladies’ Committee who were disgusted that he could even think of accepting that quart bottle of whisky for the All Saints Spring Fête. What if one of those teenagers won it?

But Lesley was already asleep. Ginny sat by her quietly, wondering why it had to happen to her.

When Bernie returned, she put her finger to her lips to warn him, and they both crept quietly out of the room. He took her elbow and steered her a few paces farther away from the door.

‘That’s the best medicine for her now. Plenty of sleep.’ He kept his voice down despite the clatter as a trolley passed them in the corridor. ‘I’ve had a word with Sanderson. She’s still responding well, he tells me. If she keeps this up for another twenty-four hours she should be in the clear.’

‘It’s that bad?’

‘It’s that good ,’ he corrected her grimly. ‘The state she was in when we got her here yesterday, it’s a wonder she’s still alive. Now —’ he changed tack, ‘about this business of yours. Tomorrow won’t do, I suppose?’

‘I’m going to London tomorrow to see that script agent.’

‘I’d forgotten all about that. Very well, then,’ he sighed with obvious disapproval, ‘if you still insist on going through with it —’

‘Which I do.’

‘I have obtained permission. I’ve also asked one of the house doctors to accompany you, so we’d best go along and meet her now. We don’t want to waste too much of her time.’

She was left breathless trying to keep up with him as he strode through the corridors. At last he stopped to push open a swing door and she found herself in a common room for medical staff. A young, pretty Indian girl stood up as they entered and came towards them. She hardly looked old enough to be a qualified doctor, Ginny thought; but she carried a stethoscope protruding from the side pocket of her white coat, so that was what she must be.

‘This is Dr Roy,’ Bernie introduced her briefly. ‘My sister-in-law, Ginny Andrewes. I’m extremely grateful to you, Jameela. I hope it’s not too much bother.’

‘I’m glad to be of help.’

‘Now if you’ll excuse me. Sanderson has kindly invited me to take a look at one of his patients, the survivor of that last incident. Perhaps I could meet you in the reception area, Ginny.’

She nodded, pressing her lips together. Now it had come to the point of being taken into the mortuary she was beginning to feel apprehensive. Not of the dead bodies. She’d seen bodies before; in the dissecting room too, during her time at university when she’d shared a flat with a girl medical student. But what if she made a fool of herself and fainted?

‘We go this way along the corridor,’ Dr Roy told her crisply. ‘I’m afraid this hospital’s a rabbit warren of corridors.’

‘Like something out of Kafka.’ Ginny grimaced pointedly.

‘Oh, you’ve read Kafka?’ Her face lit up with pleasure. ‘My favourite. My name’s Jameela, by the way. I’m so glad your sister seems to be making progress. She must have a lot of stamina.’

‘I think she does.’

The mortuary was a windowless building set a little apart from the hospital. They were met at the door by a Boris Karloff figure in a grey overall coat who grumbled as he put the key in the lock that this wasn’t one of his duties and he’d enough to do in his own job without having extra chores put on him. He stood aside to let them through but did not go in himself.

After the warmth of the day, the air-conditioning inside the mortuary made Ginny suddenly shiver and her stomach rebelled against its lingering, stale smell. Three bodies lay on the slabs, shrouded in blue covers. The one farthest from the door, Jameela said, was Mrs Kinley.