From a Safe Distance (33 page)

They left Sandra with Ms Olubi. Jim, Helen and Max sat with their coffee in the dismal staff lounge, in silence. Jack had vanished, but when he returned with Dick, they all filed back into the boardroom once again.

‘This has got to have been concocted by you!' The words burst from Sandra as she stood up suddenly, knocking her chair over, shaking the papers she held out in front of her, glaring at Max. ‘Who do you think you are, playing God?' She turned and looked from Jack Marshall to Dick Montgomery. ‘It's not fair! You
asked
me to get rid of her! I was doing what
you
wanted!' She was shouting, incensed, still clutching the sheets of paper. ‘You said it was the only way forward, the only thing to do, for the good of Squaremile! You said you would back me and see me right!'

‘You didn't have to accept,' Dick pointed out coldly. ‘Or go to such apparent lengths.' He looked at Jack, who seemed anxious.

Helen could hardly contain herself. ‘And you didn't have to treat her so badly! Having interviewed your staff, I heard things which made me think you actually
enjoyed
making Vee's life a misery! It didn't take you much effort to do what they asked. And you have the audacity, now, to say this isn't fair on
you!
And while I'm at it, I suppose we all know why you never had a Professional Conduct Review, don't we?' She glared at Jack. ‘And all those hearings
Vee
had to go to – they were for the wrong person!' Helen was trembling. She knocked over her glass and Max made to help her, but she found a tissue before the water got to the report.

Jim was tight-lipped, scowling in silence. Janice Olubi
appeared utterly amazed, looking from one person to another with her mouth half open.

Sandra righted her chair and sat down, trying to compose herself. ‘I did what I thought was right,' she said in a low voice. ‘I don't think that kind of person should be in a job like this, or any other job, for that matter.'

‘What kind of person is that, then, exactly?' Jim spoke with controlled anger.

Sandra just stared at him. The room was very warm. Max took off his jacket.

Helen spoke to Jack Marshall: ‘There's one other thing I'd like to clear up, while I have the opportunity. After Sandra had collected “evidence”, mainly false, from her minions, you had the meeting where Vee was accused of all kinds of malpractice, yes?'

Jack could not help looking sheepish after the earlier attack.

‘I remember. And we had Dr Greenwood's answers in support of Vee around the same time.'

‘Well,' she went on, ‘were you aware that Vee had not
seen
the list of allegations before the meeting? Nor did she realise she was being watched on the house and that notes were being made in preparation for it. That's what Anon 1 was referring to. The first Vee knew of the whole business was when she was called in to face the firing squad. She didn't even have notice of the meeting itself!'

Jack thought for a moment. ‘I was not aware of that, no.' He stared at Sandra and spoke with quiet anger, his voice deep: ‘You told me that she knew what was going on, that she'd seen the list and she was willing to come. Are there any other … irregularities we should know about, while you've got the chance?'

Sandra did not respond.

Max stood up. ‘At that meeting, planned weeks in advance, nobody was prepared to believe Vee. The so-called evidence was weighted against her: it was a prearranged defeat.' He took a sip of water. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I think we now have a better picture of how things have been
running. I also think we know what has to be done. What is your opinion, Ms Olubi?'

He sat down; he was perspiring and he tried to breathe deeply out of fear for his heart. Helen pulled her chair over to join him. The pain in her head bloomed like an atomic mushroom cloud; at the same time she was aware of the danger for her husband. She listened with her eyes closed behind one hand for a moment, holding Max's hand under the table with the other. She thought she was going to pass out.

‘I would expect immediate resignations from the staff concerned,' Ms Olubi replied. ‘Mr Montgomery will have to attend a separate hearing with the trustees and someone from the Charity Commission, but – .'

‘– As I said in reply to Item 1,' Dick broke in, ‘I accept full responsibility. Item 2 has provided further evidence that more care needs to be exercised in the appointment of staff.'

Max looked at Dick in disbelief. ‘If you mean in terms of not employing someone with a mental health problem,' he said, ‘how can you possibly know in advance who will develop one?'

‘What makes you think I am referring to Ms Gates?'

At that point, Sandra left the room, angry, with a dismissive glance at Ms Olubi. There was a long pause. It seemed that everybody felt there was something else which needed to be said, but nobody could articulate it.

‘Any other business?'

«Si ‘Eternel existe,
en fin de compte
Il voit qu'
je me conduis
guère plus mal
Que si j'avais la foi.»
G
EORGES
B
RASSENS

Jim went back with Max and Helen that night. In spite of their exhaustion, everyone had to eat. Then they talked until late.

‘I am so grateful to you both for letting me witness the apocalypse! But I'm sorry you're not well, Helen. Good luck for tomorrow. Let me know if there's anything you need.'

Max knew the reason why Helen had wanted to talk so late that night. She was trying to avoid thinking about today. As if to prove it, now that they were on their way to Okebury, she picked up the topic of Squaremile again, despite being weary and in need of quiet. She spoke with her eyes closed, as if by talking, by skating lightly over the surface of her emotions, she could simultaneously distract herself and prepare for what was about to happen. But they did not need to discuss any of this because each knew what the other was thinking.

‘You were a brilliant chairman. I know I've said it before, but … And you know when Monty said I'd done your dirty work for you, well, I couldn't help thinking how that applied to Sandra as well. You were right when you said she was acting for them, but they gave her too much freedom. They assumed she was good at her job and they didn't know what she was really – .'

‘– Helen, Helen!' He had to stop her, gently, with a sigh, because her anxiety was beginning to affect him. They pulled into the hospital car park.

‘Sorry, Max. I do go on a bit sometimes, don't I? You know me.'

‘Yes, darling.' They found the MRI department easily. ‘Good luck. I'll be waiting for you.'

The metallic heartbeat of the scanner made her apprehensive as she was shown into the white room with the giant, humming machine. Assistants came and went.

‘Have you brought your earplugs?' someone asked her. ‘Only it can get very loud in there. And forgive me if I'm repeating myself, but I have to ask if you have any metallic objects in or on your body?'

She had given her watch and bag to Max. She took off her shoes and lay on the bed. They adjusted her position. Before long she was gliding into the narrow tunnel and she experienced a momentary claustrophobia, which she had to fight rationally. She found it helped if she closed her eyes and imagined she was lying in a field with open sky above her, rather in than a tube whose wall was only two or three inches from her nose.

‘Don't move now. Stay absolutely still,' came a voice over the microphone.

Now the giant's heartbeat stepped up to a bang, bang, bang, then a bidoon, bidoon, bidoon, followed by a series of other loud sequences, sometimes scratchy, not always in bass. These unpredictable sounds became her whole existence for a long period; she had been told it could take up to an hour and a half. The feeling of powerlessness washed away all other thoughts, which could not co-exist with the demands on her ears. She felt as though she had turned into a subterranean rock at the mercy of erosion. Eventually, the rhythmic sounds reduced in intensity. She felt cold. The microphone crackled: ‘All done now, Mrs Greenwood.'

The bed moved silently out of the tunnel and the heartbeat faded back to a muffled hum-thump, with a top note that sounded like a distant, automated forge.

‘You'll get the results within a week,' said one of the assistants. ‘If you'd like to make an appointment with your GP.'

‘The news is mixed,' said Dr Conway.

‘Please tell us, doctor,' Max had come in with her and held her hand while the doctor spoke.

‘You have a brain tumour, Mrs Greenwood.'

She coughed. ‘I … I had a feeling it might be that.' She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stop the welling up of emotion and at the same time absorb the information which was now horribly real, no longer an abstraction.

‘But you said the news was mixed,' said Max.'What do you mean?'

‘Well, there is some good news.' Dr Conway sat back and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. ‘Firstly, there do not appear to be any tumours elsewhere in your body; secondly the growth is not too large. It's large enough to cause problems, yes, but … And thirdly, its location is such that removal should not be too difficult.' He smiled professionally. ‘Do you have any questions?'

Helen screwed up her courage. ‘Well, yes actually. Will there be any … after effects? I mean, will there be any … damage?'

‘It's unlikely as we seem to have caught it in time.'

‘Is it cancerous?'

‘Most tumours like this are benign, but there is a possibility, yes. It looks as if it might be what they call “encapsulated”, in other words kept separate from other brain tissues. But they will have to do a biopsy to be able to tell anything else for sure.'

‘Will I have the kind of surgery where I'm awake and can talk to you?'

‘Not on this occasion, no.'

‘One more thing: how long will it be before I can have the operation? You see, my daughter's graduation is coming up soon.'

‘And we've got a holiday booked for August, too,' added Max, squeezing Helen's hand. She smiled at him. He felt he needed to give Helen something.

‘I should think we're talking … two weeks' time? I'll arrange for you to have your pre-op assessment next week. Wednesday suit you?'

‘Fine. So we can carry on with our plans then?'

‘I don't see why not. You can spend your holiday relaxing and convalescing. Where are you going?'

‘Oh, I can't say at the moment,' said Max. ‘I'm not giving
everything
away. It was meant to be a surprise.'

‘Well, I'll see you when you've had the biopsy. And Helen, don't forget that support is available.'

Max pushes open the door to the lecture theatre and tries to switch on the lights. Only one will come on: his spotlight on the platform. He becomes aware that the students are sitting there in the dark, waiting patiently.

“We thought you weren't coming back again, Dr Greenwood,” says one voice. Strangely, however, the atmosphere doesn't feel at all hostile. Max steps into the circle of light. This time, the faces are not illuminated when they speak.

“I needed to think,” he replies, placing one hand on each side of the lectern.

“What did you need to think about?” This is a different voice.

“Does anyone believe in God?”

Nobody speaks; now he might as well be addressing an empty room.

“Does anyone believe in death?”

“Sir.” It is a girl's voice. “What do you mean by believe? It's just something that happens, a natural conclusion.”

“What I mean is, is death the end?”

“Why are you asking us these questions?” says another, deeper voice, more curious than anything else. “Do you think we have prepared for this?”

Max remembered Bella saying once that Vee didn't believe in God. At least, not the kind of God who would allow evil and suffering to flourish in the world as they have always done. Religious faith was something he'd practically ignored, claiming the typically British “CofE” label when
necessary on forms, as if to put him in a kind of safe place, just in case people were right all along. But he knew he was avoiding the issue, hedging his bets. Now seemed as good a time as any to examine his beliefs once and for all.

He did not need to look far; he had to agree with Vee. Devastation, degradation, illness and cruelty would not be allowed to happen on such a scale if God loved the world, and as for the “cop out” that He gave us free will, it could surely have been curtailed in some way by a being with such power, omniscience and supposed benevolence. Max was certainly not going to expound some theory about mankind, but he did believe humans were meant to help each other, and other creatures, especially if there was no higher power. Oh, he knew this to be a centuries-old, well-worn path, but he felt he had to focus on these things at this point in his life. He could not avoid thinking about the possibility of Helen's death, or incapacity.