An Impossible Dilemma: A Psychological Thriller Novel (2 page)

"Hey, come here, Vic. It still might be nothing." Jonathan pulled me into his arms.

I buried my head into his chest, trying to seek comfort from the familiar scent of him. But I could hear his heart hammering, and I knew he too was terrified.

"I'm confused," Frank said. "What does this mean?"

"Let's not speculate, Dad. Best to wait for the specialist's verdict."

***

After putting Emily to bed, I ran a bath. Then I lay immersed in coconut-scented bubbles until I was shivering cold and my skin was in danger of becoming as wrinkled as a walnut.

Wrapped in a fleecy dressing gown with my long brown hair twisted in a towel, I popped my head into Emily's room. She was asleep. I crept to her side and bent to kiss the top of her head and my stomach contracted.

As I turned to leave, a little voice whispered, "Goodnight, Mummy."

"Goodnight, my precious girl. I love you."

"How much?"

“To the moon and back.”

Emily’s tinkling laughter filled my ears and broke my heart.

I closed the door behind me, and then turned, pressing my back against it and sighing noisily.

A movement down the hallway made me turn with a start.

Frank stood half-in, half-out of his bedroom door, eyeing me, tentatively.

Frank was over six feet tall with broad shoulders, a rugged complexion and a head of thick greying hair. He was still a handsome and distinguished looking man despite the ravages of the stroke. Always very capable and powerful, he’d run the farm single-handed for years, only employing casual staff at the busiest times.

He’d also had a homekill butchery business that he’d operated from a converted old stone barn at the back of the property.

Finding himself bed-bound and helpless had almost been enough to kill him in itself, but between us, we’d managed. Now he was slowly regaining some independence.

"Hi, Frank."

“Sorry to disturb you. I keep intruding on your private moments."

"Don't be silly. You're as much a part of this as anyone." I pulled the towel from my head and threw it over my shoulder, running my fingers through my wet hair.

"She'll be fine, lass. Jon's right. We should wait and see what they say at the hospital."

I nodded, my lips trembling. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Frank."

"Come here." He walked towards me, his walking stick supporting his weak right side. I met him halfway, drawing strength from his calm, controlled, all-encompassing hug.

Frank was the closest thing I had to a parent.

Both of mine had died years ago, leaving me feeling alone and abandoned at an early age. I had no other family, none that I knew of anyway. Maybe there were some distant cousins knocking about in Puerto Rico, where I was born, but nobody significant.

Frank cleared his throat. "You okay now?"

"Yes, thanks. I needed that," I said.

"There are plenty more where that came from, you know."

I smiled at him. "Come on. I'll race you downstairs. Last one down makes a cuppa."

I sped off, listening to him rant and curse, and then chuckle.

Chapter 2

Emily looked washed out propped in the back seat of the car as we drove to the hospital for her tests. Her chestnut brown curls hung lifeless and dull, her complexion sallow. She fell asleep with her head lolling in an unnatural position. She’d have a stiff neck later.

Doctor Desmond Wilson, was a white haired man in his fifties, who, according to Google, had a fantastic reputation as a neurologist. He was average height and build, not good-looking in the typical sense, but the glint in his eye made me trust him.

We sat around his huge oak desk, explaining Em’s symptoms. He listened without rushing us at all, which I was glad about. Afterwards, he examined Emily who, once again, lolled in Jon's arms.

"We'll be doing a series of tests—blood and urine tests initially to rule out infection or autoimmune conditions such as lupus. Do any of you have a history of any neurological disorders in the family?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I'm not too sure. My parents brought me here from Puerto Rico in the eighties. I never met any extended family. My parents are both dead."

"What caused their deaths?" he raised one bushy grey eyebrow.

"Nothing related to this. Mum died of liver cancer and Dad a car accident."

It sounded so matter of fact to my ears. Oh, Mum
just
had liver cancer and Dad a tussle with a car. Both are dead. The doctor must have thought me cold and unfeeling, but he couldn’t be further from the truth.

My mum died when I was eleven years old. We had no warning or time to prepare.

It started as a twenty-four hour bug. But a whole week went by, then two. Dad forced her to go to the doctors in the end. The doctor sent her straight to the hospital where she died two days later. We never knew if she'd had any symptoms prior, but if she had, she kept them to herself.

Dad died just as suddenly. I was seventeen years old and away from home training to be a vet. One Friday night, on his way home from the pub, he stepped in front of a car. He never felt a thing, according to witnesses.

The police never charged the elderly driver. I didn't blame her. I'd seen him walk into the road hundreds of times after a skin-full.

But I couldn’t go into this amount of detail, not here, not now. We were here for Emily. I’d dealt with enough tragedy to last a lifetime; I couldn’t bear any more.

"How about you, Mr Lyons?" the doctor said.

"I don't think so. My mum also died a number of years ago—but she had a bad heart. My dad’s still with us although he suffered a stroke. We're not sure about his family though—he was adopted."

“Okay, we’ll be doing some tests to check for this. Some brain scans—an MRI and CT, to get a clear visual image of what's happening inside."

I know he meant search for tumours and the like and my stomach did a twirl.

"We'll also do a lumbar puncture, which means taking fluid from the base of her spine so we can test for any infections or abnormalities,” the doctor continued.

I nodded and glanced at Jon, who reached for my hand. We’d discussed this earlier, and both dreaded this procedure the most. We’d heard they could sometimes be very painful, and the patient needs to lie perfectly still.

"And we’ll perform a series of nerve conduction studies. We'll admit Emily first. It will be a long day, but you should be able to take her home afterwards,” he said. “The lumbar puncture sometimes causes headaches, and she will need to rest, so we'll make that the last test. Do you have any questions?" he said.

The pocket of his tweed jacket began trilling like a cricket. Doctor Wilson seemed surprised as he plucked a phone out, hit a button and placed it on the desk before him.

“Sorry about that.” He smiled, his cheeks flushing. “Now where were we? Oh yes, any questions?”

"Will we get the results today?" Jonathan asked.

"Not all of them. The lumbar puncture results might take a week or two, but we'll be in touch." He looked from Jonathan to me and then back again. "Okay then. If that's all, let's get cracking."

The rest of the day flew by. No sooner had they found Emily a bed then they began taking blood. They were on the ball at this hospital.

I remembered going to the hospital in Manchester with my mum and waiting around for ages. It was the same when I was pregnant with Emily, hour upon wasted hour flicking through magazines.

They allowed us in the room with Emily during the MRI scan.

The radiologist was a slim, dark-haired Liverpudlian called Tim. He wore a white gown over a green polo shirt and jeans. He wanted to show us the equipment, but Emily whimpered and held onto Jonathan’s neck as if her life depended on it.

“Ya not scared, are ya?” Tim asked.

She nodded, her face still buried into Jon’s neck.

“There’s nothing to be scared of. We have children queuing up for a turn in our spaceship.”

Emily stiffened and stopped whimpering.

“We borrowed it from NASA. Have you heard of NASA?” he said, winking at me.

Emily shook her head and peeked at Tim.

“Well, NASA is a special place in America where astronauts live. Do you know what an astronaut is?”

She shook her head again.

“Oh, now that won’t do. I’m sure there are some pictures here somewhere.”

Tim produced a large board covered with images of astronauts and spaceships, as well as photographs of children inside the scanner.

I marvelled at how, within minutes, Tim had Emily and Filly inside the large metallic dome, thinking she was in a spaceship. He even played “space music” for her on the headphones.

After that, getting her into the CT scan was a doddle and Emily held her tiny body perfectly still. My heart contracted, and tears stung my eyes as she lay there, hardly breathing.

Afterwards, she struggled with a series of physical tests to check her reflexes, but she was exhausted by then.

Back on the ward, they brought Emily a bowl of macaroni cheese—normally her favourite, but she just picked at it, uninterested.

After lunch, she had an hour’s rest.

Jonathan stepped into the corridor and asked a pretty young nurse where he could buy a sandwich for us. I watched through the window as she batted her huge eyelashes at him and gazed into his gorgeous grey eyes.

I laughed.

The poor girl couldn’t be more obvious if she tried, but Jonathan seemed oblivious to her attention.

After directing him to the hospital canteen, she and another nurse checked him out from behind as he left the ward.

He returned a short while later with a couple of sandwiches and coffee.

Sometimes I forgot how damn attractive he was. Nowadays I only got to see him in his farming overalls and stinking of dung. But he looked delicious when he made an effort. Today he wore a tight white t-shirt and stonewashed jeans that showcased his backside to perfection. He always had his dark hair cropped short and was usually clean-shaven, but today he had a bit of sexy stubble happening.

I kissed his lips, long and hard.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Do I need a reason?”

Jonathan licked his lips and then chewed at them, his eyes twinkling and a cheeky smile playing on his face.

“Behave yourself, Mister. It was just a kiss.” I laughed.

By the time the nurse came back for us, we were all refreshed and ready for the next round of tests.

The lumbar puncture was as bad as we'd imagined. Emily screamed as they inserted the needle into the base of her spine. It took two nurses, Jonathan, and me to hold her still.

Afterwards, Doctor Wilson came to speak to us briefly.

“That all went well,” he said. “Some of the results are back but we won't get a full picture of what's happening until the rest are in. We'll send for you in approximately two weeks."

"Can't you tell us anything, Doctor?" I asked.

"Anything I told you now would be complete nonsense without the other results. I understand how difficult this is, but please, try to be patient."

"But …"

Jonathan placed his hand on my arm. "Thank you, Doctor," he said.

***

“It makes sense, Vic. With you tied up looking after Emily and Dad, I’m struggling to manage the farm and the clinic. A farmhand will free you up and give us someone to rely on,” Jonathan said.

We were sitting on the dated beige velour sofa in our open-plan lounge. The sun streamed in the large bay window, creating hazy patches throughout the room.

“Can we afford to pay a full-time wage?” I asked, chewing at the inside of my cheek.

“We’ll have to. All right, it might mean no holiday this year, but that’s the least of our worries right now.” He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him. “I think you need to ring Steph too.”

“I don’t think …”

“She’ll be here in a shot. I can only do so much in the clinic. We need her.”

“How will we pay all these extra people?” I clasped at my locket as I mentally tried to tot up the extra cash we’d need to find every week.

“Steph will more than pay for herself, especially if we can take on more clients, but at this rate, we’ll have no choice but to close the clinic.” Jonathan sat back on the sofa and crossed one foot over his knee.

I knew he was right, and with two extra pairs of hands the running of the farm and the clinic would be a breeze.

“So what now? Shall we advertise?” I held my palms upward in a half shrug.

Jon shook his head. “Sam’s recommended a young guy he’s been using on a casual basis. His name’s Alex—he’s from Idaho, America.”

Sam was one of our neighbours, a hard-working old school farmer. If this lad had got the thumbs up from Sam, he must be good.

“Where’s he staying?” I asked.

“That’s the thing—he’ll have to stay here.”

My stomach dropped. “Can’t he stay at Sam’s farm? They have plenty of room, and …”

“We’ve got plenty of room. Dad always let the casual workers stay here,” he cut in.

“I dunno, Jon. Not with Emily so sick,” I said, shaking my head.

“He can stay in the flat above the garage. Don’t worry—it’ll be fine. Now go and ring Steph.”

He pushed me in the direction of the telephone in the hallway, giving my bottom a cheeky pat as he did so.

Stephanie, my best friend from school, had seen me through every traumatic experience in my life. Her Mum took me under her wing when I needed a mother’s advice. Dad had never been any good with womanly things.

Steph shared my love of animals and we decided while still in primary school that we’d go to Veterinary College together. She met Jonathan first and did a bit of matchmaking to get us together.

Once we’d graduated, Jonathan and I were inseparable and married soon after. Using my inheritance, we opened our own practice in Manchester. Steph worked for us for a while, until six years ago, when we’d sold up and moved to Cumbria.

I begged her to come with us, mainly for my own sanity—being stuck in the middle of the countryside with no friends was hard. I told her about our plans to turn one of the stone outhouses into a veterinary clinic. With Jon taking on most of the farm work, I needed a back-up vet to help me and also someone to help care for Frank. But she had graciously declined.

She stayed on in Manchester, working for the new owners. Then she met a man whilst holidaying in Spain. After a whirlwind romance, and against everybody’s advice, she packed up and moved to Spain to live where she’d stayed for two years.

However, three weeks ago, she split with her boyfriend and returned from Spain and was currently staying with her parents in Manchester.

I reached for the phone and dialled the number I knew by heart.

My stomach muscles clenched as she answered on the first ring.

"Hi, Steph, it’s me."

"Hello, stranger, how are you?"

The familiar sound of her voice almost choked me. "Oh, you know—things are pretty full on here at the moment."

Her breath hitched. "Is it Frank?"

"No—actually, he's doing well to be honest. It's Em." My voice finally cracked.

"What's wrong with her?" she asked, her bubbly voice suddenly serious.

"I dunno, Steph. She's sick—really sick. She's had lots of tests, and we're waiting for the results." Tears began streaming down my face, and my chest compressed.

"Oh no, poor baby. Can I do anything to help?"

"That's why I rang. I need a massive favour. I wondered if you can come to stay for a few weeks? I'm struggling with everything."

"Oh, Vic, don't cry, of course I will. To be honest, my mum's driving me potty, and I need to get away—you’ll be doing me a favour."

"I thought she would be,” I said, laughing through my tears and wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my blouse. I cleared my throat. “How is she?”

“Oh, you know Mum. She never changes. Still keeping herself busy with her art groups.”