The Secret Mother(69)

If I wasn’t so paralysed with the possibility of what this could mean, I would have a cutting retort for Scott. But now isn’t the time for I told you so.

‘No,’ Fisher says. ‘There’s nothing going on. He’s just a little boy. He has an active imagination.’ But it’s obvious that James Fisher is lying. The bluster and outrage has disappeared from his face. Instead, he now looks scared, shrunken, defeated.

‘You were on duty that night, weren’t you?’ I say to him.

He shakes his head.

‘Scott,’ I say, ‘you must remember. Fisher even changed the records to make out it was Dr Friedland on duty. But Friedland was sick that night, remember?’

Realisation continues to spread across Scott’s face. Finally, he’s listening to me without his usual scepticism.

‘He’s covering something up, Scott. Something bad.’

All the discoveries I’ve been trying to get Scott to pay attention to are finally beginning to sink into his resistant brain.

‘No,’ Fisher says. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’

In a flurry of movement, Scott pushes past me, grabs Fisher by the neck of his jumper and shoves him up against the wall, his head cracking against the plaster, his glasses falling onto the wooden floor with a thin clatter.

Ben leaves Carly’s side and tries to pull Scott off the doctor. ‘Calm down,’ he tells Scott. ‘Let him go! Let him speak.’

‘What have you done?’ Scott asks Fisher through gritted teeth, hands at his throat, squeezing until the doctor’s face begins to turn purple.

Harry has started to cry, and I swing him up into my arms so he’s facing away from the awful scene in front of me.

‘Stop it! Stop it!’ I yell. ‘You’re scaring Harry! Scott, is that what you want? To traumatise a little boy?’

My words seem to get through, because at last Scott releases his hold on Fisher. The doctor slides to the ground, clutching at his neck and gasping for air. Ben kneels by his side, checking he’s okay.

Harry wriggles in my arms, wanting to be put down. ‘Daddy!’ he cries, twisting out of my grasp and running over to his choking father, throwing his arms around him and burying his face in his chest. ‘Daddy, why are they shouting at you? Why are you shaking?’ His words break down into sobs, and I feel terrible that our arrival here is the cause of this little boy’s distress. But we needed to come: I have to find out the truth.

Fisher begins to sob. He encircles Harry in his arms and kisses the top of his head. ‘All right, I’ll tell you,’ he says, looking up at me and Scott, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘I’ll tell you everything.’





Chapter Thirty-Four





Carly comes and stands beside me, rubbing at her wrists and rolling her shoulders. I should ask her if she’s okay, but I find myself unable to speak. I’m still in shock at the thought of what Dr Fisher is about to reveal.

‘Shall I take Harry downstairs?’ Ben asks, walking over to where the little boy has pressed himself into his father’s body. ‘Harry? Shall we go and play downstairs? Want to show me your room?’

‘I don’t want to go!’ Harry cries. ‘I want to stay with Daddy.’

‘Did I hear you say you like trains?’ Ben asks. ‘Have you got any good ones you can show me?’

‘Show him your trains, Harry,’ Fisher grunts, peeling his son off his chest.

‘I don’t want to go,’ Harry wails.

‘Harry,’ Fisher says, his voice stern despite its new hoarseness.

Harry stands, his cheeks tear-stained, his lower lip trembling, but he lets Ben take his hand.

‘Come on, Carly,’ Ben says, turning back to her. ‘You too.’

‘I’m staying to hear this,’ she replies.

‘No, you’re not. Come on,’ Ben insists.

‘No way. I’m not going anywh—’

‘Please, Carly,’ I say. ‘Our deal still stands, but this conversation is between me, Scott and Dr Fisher. Okay?’

She scowls, but does as I ask and goes to join Ben and Harry.

As their footsteps recede, Fisher, still huddled on the floor, begins to tremble. Tears stream down his cheeks. ‘My God,’ he murmurs. ‘What have I done?’

I stare at him in silence, wondering what can be so bad that he’s been reduced to this snivelling wreck of a man, not daring to imagine what he’s about to tell us. But at the same time, I’m almost sure I know.

‘Maybe you’d better start at the beginning,’ I say at last, my voice not sounding like my own. I kneel opposite him, not taking my eyes from his face.

Scott remains on his feet, arms crossed over his chest, still simmering with rage.

‘I… I did something terrible,’ Fisher says. ‘Beyond terrible.’

‘Tell me,’ I say.

‘All right,’ he says quietly. ‘All right.’ He takes a breath and stares up at the ceiling for a moment, briefly clenching his fists. ‘You already know I’m an obstetrician. And yes, I used to practise at the Balmoral Clinic.’ His voice is croaky, barely more than a whisper after Scott nearly strangled him. His eyes are bloodshot and his hands quiver so much he places them between his knees to still them. ‘The night you gave birth, your consultant, Max Friedland, was taken ill and I was called in to cover for him. What you may not know is that my own wife, Liz, also went into labour that night. She was in the suite next to yours.’