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“So here’s my proposal. I suggest we work together to put pressure on the hospital. I’ll write to them saying I don’t want them to make Isabel’s death a formal SUI, but I do want reassurance they’re going to increase staffing levels and introduce more Doppler scans. If you tell them those are also your conditions for withdrawing your resignation, the chances are they’ll see the opportunity to make a deal. How does that sound?”
It hadn’t sounded great to Tessa, who would rather have gone for the formal investigation and the big solution. But I’d stood firm, and eventually she’d come around.
“Is she always like this?” she’d asked Mia ruefully.
“Before Isabel, she was,” Mia replied, smiling at me. “The most organized, stubborn, think-through-every-last-detail person I know. I think we finally have the old Jane back.”
Dr. Gifford isn’t totally convinced either, at first. “At a time of scarce resources—” he begins cautiously.
“At a time of scarce resources, it’s more important than ever to fight your corner,” I interrupt. “You know as well as I do that scans and more doctors will save more lives than some expensive new cancer drug. All I’m doing is helping your department get its voice heard.”
He nods. “Thank you.”
“And now you’d better examine me,” I say. “If I’m going to be under your care, I may as well make the most of it.”
—
The examination is thorough; much more thorough than the one I had at this stage with Isabel. I know I’m getting special treatment because of what Dr. Gifford and I have been through together, but that’s fine. I no longer consider myself one of the herd, an average person.
The size and position of the uterus are good. A Pap smear is taken to test for cervical cancer, and a tissue sample to test for STDs. I’m not concerned. There is absolutely no chance that the fanatically fastidious Edward could have an untreated STD. My blood pressure is good. Everything is in order. Dr. Gifford says he’s pleased.
“I’ve always been good at exams,” I joke.
While I’m lying there I tell him about the birth I’d wanted with Isabel, a water birth with Diptyque candles and music. He tells me there’s no medical reason why that shouldn’t happen this time. Then we talk about supplements. Folic acid, obviously—he suggests eight hundred micrograms. Vitamin D is also advisable. Avoid multivitamins that might contain vitamin A, but consider vitamin C, calcium, and iron.
Of course I will take those, all of them. I’m not the kind of person who can ignore a guideline or leave undone anything, however small, that might help. I get the necessary pills on the way back to the house, double-checking the labels to make sure no vitamin A has crept in by mistake. The first thing I do after hanging up my coat is to go to my laptop to see what other dietary changes I should be thinking about.
Jane, please score the following statements on a scale of 1–5, where 1 is Strongly Agree and 5 is Strongly Disagree.
Some house facilities have been disabled until the assignment is completed.
I stop dead. It seems to me these metric tests have been more frequent since Edward’s been away. Almost as if he’s checking up on me. Making sure I’m still calm and serene and living according to the rules, all the way from his distant site office.
More to the point, I would have typed “pregnancy recommended diet” into Housekeeper without thinking, if it hadn’t been disabled. I must remember to use the neighbor’s Wi-Fi for everything now. At least until I’ve told Edward.
And also, I think, until I know what really happened to Emma. Because the two—the revealing to Edward of my secret, and the prizing open of his own secrets—are connected now, and it’s a lot more urgent than it was. For my baby’s sake, I have to know the truth.
THEN: EMMA
Detective Inspector Clarke calls me into the station for yet another chat. The process of the law is clearly speeding up because he takes me, not to his cubbyhole of an office, but to a large well-lit meeting room. There are five people ranged down one side of the table. One’s in uniform—I get the impression he’s quite high up. Next to him is a petite woman wearing a dark suit. Then comes John Broome, the CPS lawyer from the bail hearing. And Sergeant Willan, my support officer, who sits with a space between her and the others as if to indicate that she’s not senior enough to take any real part in this.
DI Clarke, who up to now has been his usual cheery self, indicates that I should sit opposite the petite woman and places himself on the far side of Sergeant Willan. There’s a jug of water and a glass in front of me, but, I notice, no biscuits and no coffee. No Garfield mugs today.
Thank you for coming, Emma, the woman says. I’m Specialist Prosecutor Patricia Shapton, and this is Chief Superintendent Peter Robertson.
The big guns. Hello, I say, waving at them. I’m Emma.
Patricia Shapton smiles politely and continues, We’re here to talk about Deon Nelson’s defense to your allegations of rape and aggravated burglary. As you probably know, it’s a requirement these days for the prosecution and defense to share information before the trial, to prevent cases coming to court unnecessarily.
