Incredibly, the street outside seemed devoid of people. But they must have heard the glass break, Gordon thought angrily. What the fuck were they all doing? Watching? Hiding behind the curtains? Pretending nothing was amiss? His temper soared out of control as he yelled out, ‘Get a fucking ambulance, you bunch of mindless cretins!’ He continued his half-blind stagger down the path, trying to get a response from someone, anyone, his only vision a mess of blurred colours. Yelling out brought on a paroxysm of coughing that hurt his throat and he sank to his knees, retching and spitting and suddenly filled with a deep loathing of the world or more correctly, its inhabitants.
He recoiled when he felt a hand on his shoulders and snapped out angrily, ‘Who’s that?’
‘I’m from next door, an ambulance is on its way, won’t be long. What the devil happened here?’
‘Some bastard threw a brick through the dining room window. We were sitting there...’
‘I suppose they didn’t realise that,’ said the voice evenly.
Gordon could hardly believe his ears as he knelt on the ground, his hands flat on the path in front of him, blood dripping from his face. ‘And that makes it all right, does it?’ he exploded. ‘What kind of people are you?’
‘No need to be like that,’ retorted the man, obviously aggrieved at Gordon’s language and tone.
If Gordon could have seen him, he might have been sorry later for his actions. His fist positively itched to swing into the face of what he saw — or rather, didn’t see — as the insensitive twerp next to him. Instead, he said nothing for a few moments as he struggled to regain his composure. Finally, he said, ‘See if you can help Lucy, will you, she’s badly burned.’
Gordon was aware that the man hadn’t moved. ‘Do it, will you,’ he snapped.
‘That’s probably best left to them who know about these things,’ came the uncomfortable reply. ‘The ambulance will be here shortly.’
‘Give me bloody strength!’ cried Gordon. ‘Get the fuck out of my way!’ Gordon got to his feet unsteadily, feeling his way back to the house, his progress fuelled by anger and adrenaline, following the kerb on the path and calling out Lucy’s name. He found the doorway and dropped to all fours to crawl through to the dining room where he found Lucy, still lying where he’d left her on the floor. She was unconscious. He felt for a pulse in her neck and, at the second attempt, found a small beat in his fingertips. Somewhere, far off in the distance, a siren started to make beautiful music.
Gordon came round with the smell of antiseptic in his nostrils, and a soft pillow under his head. He felt warm and comfortable and a bit drowsy but this only lasted until he realised that either the room was in total darkness or he couldn’t see! His fingers flew to his eyes and were stopped by heavy bandaging. Panic was replaced by relief but only briefly. ‘Nurse!’ he called out. He was on his third chorus when a voice said, ‘So you’re back with us then.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Student Nurse Gwen Richards, and before you ask, you’re in Ysbyty Gwynedd.’
‘My eyes... Lucy, where is she? What happened to her?’
‘Take it easy,’ soothed the nurse. ‘I’ll tell the doctor, you’ve come round and she’ll deal with all your questions. ‘Won’t be long.’
A few moments passed before Gordon became aware of someone near him; it was a woman; he could smell her perfume. He almost recognised it but couldn’t quite find the name in the whirl of his subconscious. It was the one that smelled like the American Cream Soda of his youth.
‘And they told me being a GP in this country was pretty dull,’ said a voice that he immediately recognised with a tingle of pleasure. ‘You’re Mary,’ he said. ‘Mary Hallam?’
‘That’s right, and you are the Scottish GP from Felinbach. I’m surprised you remembered me. I don’t think we got round to introductions at the meeting.’
‘Of course I remember,’ said Gordon, stopping himself from going on to say that he’d thought about her a good deal since the meeting at Caernarfon General.
‘My eyes?’ he asked.
‘Not as bad as you thought, I’m sure,’ said Mary. ‘Glass fragments perforated your lids, making you think that your eyes were full of glass. Right? Damage is minimal although there has been a little scratching to your right cornea. We’ve removed all the fragments and cleaned you up. We’ll take off the dressings tomorrow after you’ve had a chance to rest and then we’ll have a reappraisal. You’ve got various small cuts from flying glass, nothing serious and your forearms have minor burns on them, again, nothing too serious.’
Gordon felt relief flood through him like a wonderfully powerful analgesic but the moment quickly passed and he asked, ‘What about Lucy? Her burns?’
Mrs Palmer has not been so lucky, ‘said Mary. ‘She has a couple of deep cuts from flying glass, one on her left cheek and one on her neck but it’s her burns that are giving us most cause for concern.’
‘She’s in danger?’
‘Her life is not in danger...’ said Mary.
Gordon heard the hesitation in the reply and read the worst into it. ‘She’s going to be disfigured?’
‘She’ll need plastic surgery but...’
‘Her face?’ interrupted Gordon
‘Thankfully no, although the left side of her neck sustained some tissue damage. Her torso took the brunt of it. Her dress melted and fused with her skin in places.’
‘God almighty,’ sighed Gordon. ‘Poor Lucy.’
‘Lots of people have been ringing up about you,’ said Mary.
‘Who?’
‘The newspapers for a start. I’d be careful there, if I were you.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I took one of the calls. They wanted to know if it was true that John Palmer’s wife had been having a cosy candlelit dinner with her GP while her husband was “banged up inside”, to use their expression.’
‘Jesus!’ exclaimed Gordon angrily. It really hadn’t occurred to him that anyone would look at it like that.
‘I think these people make up their own rules,’ said Mary.
‘They’re the cause of so much of this in the first place,’ said Gordon bitterly. ‘The Palmers never had a chance after the way they turned public opinion against them.’
‘But John Palmer confessed, didn’t he?’ said Mary.
Gordon said nothing.
‘The police want to see you as well.’
‘For all the good that will do,’ said Gordon bitterly. ‘They couldn’t find their arse in their trousers. Sorry, I was thinking out loud.’
‘Don’t apologise. I prefer people to say what they’re thinking. Inscrutability is best left to the Chinese in my book.’
‘And you? English or Welsh, I can’t make up my mind.’
‘Welsh and proud of it. From Beaumaris.’
‘Almost a local girl,’ said Gordon.
‘While I remember, your practice partner, Dr Rees, asked to be informed when you were able to have visitors.’
Gordon nodded. Julie was getting more than she’d bargained for over this.
‘Get some rest now,’ said Mary. ‘Everything else can wait.’
‘What’s the time?’
‘Three-fifteen.’
‘In the afternoon?’
‘In the morning.’
Gordon heard Mary leave and he smiled. He’d wanted to meet up with her again and fate had decreed that it happen; only the circumstances were not quite what he would have wanted. Silence returned to the room to accompany the complete blackness imposed on him by the bandaging, but the lingering scent of Mary’s perfume took away any threatening edge and kept the smile on his lips.