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“Mr Ross, I’m so sorry to bother you, your wife phoned, said you’d had a visit from the police.”
“Really? Is everything okay?”
“They just wanted to ask you a few questions to help with their inquiries, but they wouldn’t say what it was about.”
“Did they leave a name?”
“Yes, Patrick Edwards. He said he would call back, but if you were in the vicinity of the station in Bramfield, would you mind calling in.”
Ross glanced at his watch. He could pay a visit, but it would all depend in what condition he found Christine Close. In all honesty, he wasn’t expecting good news.
“Was he by himself?” Ross asked.
“Yes, Mr Ross, he was.”
“Okay, Fiona, it can’t be anything serious, so please don’t worry. Once I’ve finished my house call here, I should have time to see them before afternoon surgery.”
Ross glanced at Number 15 once more. It was a two-storey semi-detached with UPVC windows and doors, and a grey slate roof. The garden was neatly trimmed, with a water feature and a bench and a short wall with wrought iron framework.
He’d decided to make an unscheduled call after what he’d witnessed in the early hours of the morning. Considering her deterioration over the last three days, he suspected it wouldn’t be long before he would have to hospitalize her.
He collected his medical bag and left the car, exchanging pleasantries with one of the neighbours who happened to pass the gate before he reached it.
The front door opened before he’d shut the gate and headed down the path.
Gary Close ran out dressed in a blue T-shirt and jeans, with nothing on his feet. Ross could see that he was on the verge of tears, very probably a breakdown. His expression was one of surprise.
“Why are you here, Mr Ross?” asked Close. “Where’s Mr Sinclair?
Ignoring his question, Ross asked, “Gary, what’s wrong?”
“It’s me mam. Quick, please, I think she’s dying.”
Ross entered the house and went straight into the living room. It was clean and tidy and spacious. The walls were decorated with emulsion in two-tone pastel colours; different shades top and bottom, divided by a border. Everything matched, the carpet, the curtains, the light shades, even the cushion covers. The only unpleasant factor was the smell, but that couldn’t be helped.
Christine Close had once been an attractive thirty-eight-year-old woman with a head of glossy, shoulder-length black hair, and firmly defined features both in face and body. She was now little more than a skeleton, whose hair and complexion had taken a serious battering due to her grave condition.
His first glance told him she was losing her fight.
Less than six months previous she had been diagnosed with a glioma. Unlike other cancers, a glioma grows in the confined space inside the head, and is particularly damaging because it sprouts and spreads within the brain. Each year, approximately eighteen thousand people are diagnosed with glioma. Most die within twelve months.
Ross placed his medical bag on the floor. Talking to Christine would be impossible because she was having a seizure, her third in three days. Her arms and legs were contracting. She was biting her tongue, and had suffered a loss of bladder control.
“Please, Mr Ross, do something.”
“It’s okay, Gary. I can give her something to help, but we do need to talk.” Ross bent down and prepared the only thing he could, ten milligrams of diazepam.
“Gary, can you please hold your mother’s arms? I understand that this really is unpleasant for you, but the quicker we treat her, the quicker we can arrange for something more intensive.”
Gary did as he was told but continued to ask questions.
“Will she have to go into hospital?”
Ross injected the diazepam, and then used his phone for an ambulance. Luckily, the Bramfield hospital was only round the corner, so the vehicle would not be too long. The problem, however, was that they were not equipped to deal with her.
Within five minutes the medics were walking through the door, and Ross told them exactly what had happened. He gave instructions to take her directly to the Ross & Sinclair Foundation, which was on the A660, between Otley and Burley in Wharfedale. Ross said he would follow in his car.
He turned his attention to Gary while they were preparing Christine.
