Rabbit fever, p.16
Rabbit Fever, page 16
A picture of her in the news, combined with events at her hospital and her expected portrayal, would become a topic of conversation. It was not the way she wanted to restart conversations after so long. All she could hope for was that the images would be described as a ‘doctor’ without journalists being able to determine her name. Still, she deemed that very unlikely.
Tearing down one of the posters in the front window of the hospital, featuring her with a forced smile, proudly proclaiming her name and welcoming all visitors, she seethed with frustration. Of course, George would want to spend money on those useless posters, attempting to cover up the issues and give a positive first impression to visitors, rather than focusing on funding medical care and resources.
These foolish posters now made it easy for anyone who wanted to figure out who she was and what her name was.
Crushing the already crumpled poster into the ground with her stiletto heel, she derived a small sense of satisfaction from the futile act. In her mind, it was as if erasing her name from the poster would not only diminish the chances of discovering the identity of the head doctor at Porthaven but would also be an act of rebellion against George.
It was a way of pushing back against his insistence on displaying his Health Board pillars at every opportunity. Her momentary pleasure was short-lived when she received a call from inside the hospital.
“Dr. Kauffmann, I think you need to turn on the TV and watch the news,” a nurse hesitantly suggested, unsure of how Kauffmann would react but feeling a responsibility to inform her.
Regaining her usual composure and fortitude, Kauffmann retorted,
“You are more than capable of turning on a television set yourself. Do that, and I will view whatever you think I need to see.”
She was determined not to show any vulnerability to this collection of nurses who neither liked nor cared for her. They had no sympathy for her or her well-being.
The nurse sighed and activated one of the bedside television sets, adjusting the arm so the screen faced the room. Cynically, Kauffmann considered the situation.
The hospital’s exorbitant bed side televisions offered only one channel for free, a rolling news channel. This, in her view, was another money-making scheme devised by George. Patients were made to pay for television access, a free service in their own homes, with only a single news channel to create the illusion the Health Board wasn’t charging for access. On this day, the rolling news channel proved to be useful.
Kauffmann admonished the nurse further, telling her to leave the screen alone and to stop fiddling with it. If there was something the nurse wanted her to see, then the screen needed to be steady, not constantly adjusted.
For a minute it didn’t look like there was anything new to share. There were many pictures of the hospital car park, the burning brazier, the makeshift biohazard signs, a journalist sensationalising events. Many patients of other hospitals being interviewed and sharing their views on the standard of care they have received. An ‘expert’ who had been invited to speak on the news around their view on what was going on.
Gillian grew impatient, there wasn’t really anything new being shown.
Yes, the narrative had moved on slightly as bits and pieces of information had been discovered by the media, but she was unsure why the nurse had implied there was something she should see. Informing the nurse as such, she grew even more impatient when she was informed by the nurse that she was sure the story she was relating to would come round soon, sure enough it did.
Watching with horror as the rolling banner changed to:
‘Is this the doctor at the centre of events’,
and
‘Supposed whistleblower medic takes matters into her own hands to highlight health funding issues.’
Kauffmann saw a picture of herself, or more precisely, a picture of her on that ridiculous poster. A journalist was now speaking at length about how it was likely the figure glimpsed through a window was her. The journalist continued to speculate about how it was puzzling why an ex-member of the regional Health Board would be working in a place like Porthaven.
He presumed it might be due to some sort of transgression that led to her being assigned there. Using journalistic phrases like ‘sources say’ and ‘I’ve been led to believe’ – terms that, in Gillian’s mind, indicated they were making things up while avoiding taking responsibility for their statements.
Gillian grew concerned as some of the speculation seemed uncomfortably close to the truth. She watched transfixed as the journalist, a smartly dressed middle-aged man who spoke with an air of authority that seemed excessive for someone who made a living reading aloud, turned to an ‘expert’. She couldn’t help but smirk because she had never heard of or seen this man before, and now he was claiming to be an expert.
If he were an expert, she thought, she would have heard of him, but he was an unknown to her. It was clear this ‘expert’ was trying to bolster his credentials, even wearing a little medical pin on his lapel, and insisting on being referred to as ‘Doctor.’ Kauffmann presumed he was just a random doctor the news had found, and he wasn’t an expert in anything.
But at that moment, what the supposed expert was saying became her sole focus. He started by explaining the state of the Health Service, providing a somewhat generic perspective. To some extent, it almost sounded as if he was trying to support Gillian. Suggesting he understood, to some extent, her approach to locking down the hospital and disposing of items. If it indeed contained a deadly disease within its walls.
This gave Gillian some reassurance, as it seemed she might not be portrayed as crazy as she initially feared.
Things took a dark turn as the journalist began probing the expert about the burning of items. He suggested many infectious and deadly diseases were present in hospitals every day. Hospitals would not resort to burning items unless it was either a very deadly disease or there were ulterior motives behind the scenes outside the hospital.
It became clear to Kauffmann this interview had been preplanned, designed to show balance and objectivity before delving into the more sensational aspects of the story.
The expert appeared eager as he was invited by the journalist to share more scandalous details. Gillian wanted to hide her face from what she was about to witness, but she also knew she needed to maintain her composure in front of her team.
Ensuring she remained composed, she noticed the nurse observing her with a sense of excitement out of the corner of her eye. It was apparent the nurse had already heard or read what was about to be disclosed and was eagerly anticipating Gillian’s reaction.
The expert continued to expand upon his theories about why Gillian ended up at Porthaven. He suggested that he had heard rumours of inappropriate relationships among members of the Health Board. While Gillian couldn’t be dismissed for such actions, they could minimise her and send her far away for the rest of her career.
Going on to proclaim he would delve further into what had transpired at the Health Board and that he had allegedly discovered rumours of financial mismanagement, bribery, inappropriate relationships, and similar matters the ‘expert’ seemed unstoppable. All these allegations would require further investigation, but he opined that Gillian’s actions might be driven by a plea for help or an attempt to get back at those she felt had wronged her.
As the ‘expert’ continued to express his views on why Gillian had behaved the way she did, Kauffmann turned to the nurse and remarked,
“I believe we’ve seen enough of these experts. I’m sure you have more important things to attend to than watching the news.”
It was evident she had been affected by what the expert had said, but she was doing her utmost not to show it. She instructed the nurse to return the television screen to its previous position and to check on the group of elderly ladies. She realised, while she was certain they were fine, she hadn’t heard from or checked on them in some time. The last thing she wanted was for these elderly ladies to be interviewed when this ordeal was over and to add fuel to the media frenzy.
Maintaining her composure and bearing her head high, she walked briskly along the ward and back into the relative safety of her office.
There was still a lingering hint of smoke and the aroma of nicotine in the air, providing her with some comfort. Although the requested cigarettes hadn’t arrived yet. The infection control team was likely still enroute to Porthaven, so she had to make do with the remnants of smoke in the air. Attempting to get whatever small nicotine fix it could provide. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. She used her heel to slam the door shut and yanked the blinds down. She then began searching for her phone.
She had last seen it last just after she’d called the Health Secretary and revealed the unknown man to everyone. For a moment, she panicked, fearing she had left it somewhere outside her office. The thought of going out again and retrieving it while facing the gossiping nurses filled her with dread. Moreover, while her phone was password-protected, she had never been able to turn off the message summaries that appeared on the lock screen whenever she received a message.
Gillian frantically pushed piles of medical records aside, which had somewhat dried from the rain but were still stained with cigarette ash. She retraced her steps, convinced she had taken her phone back to the office earlier.
The realisation struck her suddenly—her phone was on the shelf.
Getting up from the floor after frantically searching through heaps of paper, she moved behind her desk and office chair, looking toward the shelves where her phone sat. It was placed next to a photo she had never explained to anyone and never intended to explain.
The photo depicted a small, blonde male child sitting on a box with a velvet blanket, akin to those 1990s photo shoots held in local village halls, where children were photographed sitting on the box in their Sunday best. Photos from such shoots were often sold at a higher price compared to the rates of professional photo studios. The photographers relied on the guilt factor of getting the children to present the photo to the parent a few weeks after the photo shoot. Then the parent feeling too guilty to tell the child the photo would not be purchased.
It was a child whom Gillian missed, but the photo was so old she couldn’t be certain if they still looked the same. She wouldn’t even be sure if they walked into her hospital at that very moment whether she’d recognise them.
Sadness overcame her, and for the first time in years, a tear welled up at the corner of her eye.
She wiped it away and told herself to regain her composure.
Her attention refocused on her phone. There were many, many messages from people who knew her. They asked if that was her on the news, if everything was okay, and if she wanted to talk. Many of these individuals had not contacted her in years, which left her confused as to why they would suddenly care.
She dismissed these messages as mere attempts to gather information rather than genuine concern. She continued to sift through her messages and missed calls. It seemed those she had hoped never to hear from again were now eager to get in touch.
Unfortunately, the one person she had hoped to hear from had remained silent. It wasn’t surprising, but it still left her feeling hurt and frustrated.
Glancing at the photo on the shelf once more, she considered the situation. She would need to reach out and explain things, but first, she needed to ascertain what this person knew.
Over the years, there had been many occasions when both she and this person had been caught in half-truths or evasions. She always seemed to get caught, and each time it damaged their relationship. Before making contact, she wanted to find out if anything had already been disclosed and whether she risked being accused of dishonesty again.
It was an impossible situation with no ideal outcome, but it needed to be addressed.
Gillian opened her phone, deciding a call was better than a message, as she didn’t want anything written down that could be used against her. She scrolled through her contacts and flicked between two, debating who to call first, or whether either of them needed to be called at all.
One contact was ‘George W,’ and the other was simply labelled ‘E.’
Chapter 17
Present Day - London
Lounging in the opulent living room of his luxurious apartment, cocooned by lavish furnishings and exquisite artwork, Ewan tried to calm himself. The room exuded luxury and should have created a calming atmosphere, but not today. The light from an elegant chandelier cast a warm glow. This light highlighted the plush upholstery of the sofas and revealed the intricate details of the hand-carved wooden furniture. Persian rugs graced the gleaming marble floor, adding an extra layer of sophistication to the decor. The walls were adorned with a splendid collection of fine art, a testament to his discerning taste.
Sitting on the edge of the sofa, Ewan became immersed in a flurry of activity. His nimble fingers skilfully navigated through various television news channels on a state-of-the-art widescreen TV, seeking any information that might bring clarity to the situation. He also kept a vigilant eye on his phone, frantically sending messages that seemed to vanish into the digital abyss.
His persistent phone calls were met with nothing but silence.
It appeared Zak had initiated the next phase of their plan; a conclusion Ewan drew from the televised reports. These reports seemed to have successfully captured the media’s attention, shedding light on the mismanagement of the Health Board responsible for Porthaven Hospital.
To Ewan’s delight, some of the stories delved into the actions and lifestyles of both his father and mother. While this appeared to be a positive development, he couldn’t help but be cautious. Some of the stories were uncomfortably close to revealing personal details, which was not in line with their intended plan.
Zak had taken the lead in this phase to allow Ewan to distance himself from the unfolding events. The goal was to ensure Ewan could disavow any involvement or responsibility.
The overarching plan entailed their eventual return to Maputo, where they could continue to live the lavish lifestyle they’d enjoyed in London, with even greater opulence due to favourable exchange rates.
This plan would secure a stable source of income for Ewan, which he assumed Zak would share. It would also guarantee Ewan received what he rightfully deserved. The unfolding media coverage was making Ewan uneasy.
The news stories focused on Health Service funding intricacies and his mother’s erratic actions, such as igniting fires in the hospital’s car park. These developments were not in line with their original expectations. Ewan realised whilst they couldn’t anticipate every outcome, the current situation diverged significantly from what he and Zak had envisaged.
This required a reassessment of their planned next steps. To make these adjustments, Ewan needed to communicate with Zak, who had gone silent for days, weeks maybe even months, he couldn’t recall the last substantial conversation they’d had.
Ewan grappled with the uncertainty surrounding the current situation and his role in it. The last communication he’d received from Zak was a message indicating he had successfully acquired the necessary information from the Hospital Liaison Manager. Zak then emphasised the need to go underground for a few weeks, ensuring any suspicion raised by the Hospital Liaison Manager’s inquiries or questions around his interactions with Zak would be fruitless.
Zak intended to obtain a new SIM card, use it to send texts to Ewan, erase all traces of his social media presence, and maintain a discreet profile while monitoring the situation. When the time was right, Ewan would travel to meet Zak at a location that remained undisclosed. There, Ewan would hand over the required resources, and Zak would assume control of the subsequent stages of their plan.
Over the years, Zak had developed a sense of self-reliance, often preferring to work independently due to lingering trust issues stemming from their initial meeting. Despite their unusual relationship, shaped by Ewan hiring Zak in Mozambique, involving him in his schemes, uniting in shared fear over damaging photos and videos. Ewan considered Zak to be the closest thing he had to a best friend.
Albeit one he didn’t trust.
The nature of the relationship between Zak and the Hospital Liaison Manager, Will, continued to nag at Ewan. It had always struck him as odd, although he couldn’t pinpoint what troubled him precisely.
While he knew Zak wasn’t selective in his choice of companions, this situation felt different. It seemed like Zak was attempting to settle down, establish roots, and Ewan couldn’t help but question the authenticity of it all. The plan was to find someone who had the specific information he and Zak required.
Not to find someone, settle down and start playing house. No matter how vital Zak tried to convince Ewan this approach was to the overall plan.
Doubts plagued Ewan, making him wonder if Zak’s intentions ran deeper.
He pondered over the extensive work he’d done on the dark web. Acquiring forged passports, visas, and identification documents to facilitate Zak’s travel to the UK and ensure the success of their shared plan, had been part of a more extensive scheme. He worried perhaps Zak had never been committed to their plan but saw an opportunity to escape his criminal life in Maputo.
It crossed Ewan’s mind Zak might have played along with Will, manipulating him in much the same way he had toyed with Ewan when their relationship first began. Yet, Ewan’s unease didn’t revolve around Zak’s motivations; it was the prolonged duration of Zak’s execution of their plan. It had taken far too long.
Ewan’s frustration boiled over as he repeatedly attempted to call Zak, only to hear the automated voice repeatedly stating the call could not be connected.
He raised his phone in the air, preparing to hurl it across the room in a fit of anger, seeking an outlet for his pent-up frustrations. But just as he drew his arm back, ready to release the phone at some unfortunate target across the room, the device vibrated in his hand.
