‘It’s nothing to do with my constituents,’ he said. And thought, Shit. Shit. That was not a good thing to say. Ricky Barnes clearly thought so too.
‘Really? I wonder if they’d agree with you. I don’t suppose many of them could afford a private hospital. What was it that made you decide to do that, to take your little boy there? I’ve read a speech of yours in which you refer to private medicine as a form of apartheid.’
Tom remembered Josh’s words and decided he couldn’t make matters any worse. Perhaps Ricky Barnes had a softer side.
‘We were – desperate. My son was extremely ill. Time was of the essence. We – we knew the surgeon at St Mary’s –’
‘Ah. That would be Mr Edward Welles. Right at the top of his tree, I believe. How fortunate that you knew him.’
‘Look,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve had enough of this. Just go, please.’ He shifted Lucy onto his other arm, tried to close the door. But Ricky Barnes’s foot was jammed in it. So they really did do that, reporters, Tom thought inconsequentially. Then he said, ‘Please remove your foot.’
‘I will. Just going –’
He dug into the holdall, produced a camera and fitted a flashbulb on it, all in one incredibly quick movement, and the flash went off.
‘Thank you. This must be your little girl, Lucy, isn’t it?’
‘Get out,’ shouted Tom. ‘Just go away. Leave us alone.’
It couldn’t have been worse.
Mrs Hartley was just walking down her own path with a sleeping Charlie in his carrycot when the flash went off. She was startled, but continued on her way. This was proving a very eventful afternoon. What with that obviously very smart woman arriving in a taxi, wearing such high heels Mrs Hartley couldn’t imagine being able to walk in them, and then Mr Knelston arriving, white as a sheet, with Lucy, asking if she would mind taking the child for an hour or so, and then returning to pick her up, looking as if he had been crying – she’d been afraid it had been bad news about Kit, but he assured her it wasn’t – well, it was very different from most Saturdays in Acton.
A young man was walking towards her; he smiled.
‘Good evening. Ricky Barnes, Sketch. You’re a neighbour of Mr Knelston’s, I presume.’
‘Looks like it,’ said Mrs Hartley. She didn’t know much about the press, except that it was not to be trusted. ‘Let me past, please. I’ve got a baby here, who could be catching his death thanks to you.’
Ricky Barnes remained where he was.
‘I just wondered how well you know the Knelstons. Are they good neighbours?’
‘Very good indeed. Now –’
‘I understand their little boy is in hospital?’
‘He might be.’
‘Oh, so you don’t know about it?’
‘I don’t know anything that’s any business of yours,’ said Mrs Hartley firmly.
‘Is that another of their children?’ He indicated the sleeping Charlie in his carrycot.
‘It is. I’ve been looking after him. Now if you don’t get out of my way I shall call the police.’
How she was going to do this without a telephone she wasn’t sure, but Ricky Barnes wasn’t to know that.
‘So you didn’t know that the little boy was in a private hospital?’
‘Look,’ said Mrs Hartley, ‘Mr and Mrs Knelston are the best parents you could hope to meet. Wherever they’ve decided to take Kit for help, you can be sure it’s the very best place and with the best intentions. And that’s all I have to say.’
‘Right. Fine. Thank you, Mrs Hartley. You’ve been most helpful. Goodnight.’
Hoping she hadn’t been helpful in a way the Knelstons would not have wished, Mrs Hartley proceeded down the path and opened their door.
Tom, watching from an upstairs window, thanked the Deity that he had insisted Mrs Hartley had a key, in case she needed something for Charlie if he wasn’t there. If he’d had to open the door, Barnes would have been in again.
‘Mr Knelston? Here’s Charlie. I’ve just seen some reporter who was on your path.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tom, taking the carrycot, ‘and I’m sorry if he bothered you. What did he say?’
‘He wanted to know all kinds of things, but mostly which hospital Kit was in. Or rather if I knew it was private. I told him it was none of his business.’
‘Good. Thank you.’ So far, so good. He’d been afraid she’d have been flattered into talking too much.
‘You’re welcome. And I told them wherever you’d taken Kit to it would have been the best place, and with the very best intentions.’
That wasn’t quite so good; but better than it might have been.
‘Well, thank you, Mrs Hartley. You did well, getting rid of him.’
‘I told him I’d call the police if he didn’t go away.’
‘Now why didn’t I think of that? And thank you for having Charlie all day, of course.’
‘Oh, we’ve had a lovely time. I’ll have him again tomorrow, then you can take Lucy to see Kit. Or I’ll have her here, whatever’s best for you.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Hartley, Er – just as a matter of interest, what do you feel about my taking Kit to a private hospital? Does it seem wrong to you?’
‘Mr Knelston,’ said Mrs Hartley, ‘if Kit was very ill, which he was, I wouldn’t blame anyone for going private. Not if it was urgent. We wouldn’t have the choice, mind, and casualty at Acton General isn’t too bad for waiting. But if it was life or death, and I could see someone quicker, I would. I should think any parent would say the same.’
‘I do hope you’re right,’ said Tom. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Hartley. Thank you again.’
He still felt dreadful, sick and shocked. He rang Josh again in desperation, told him what had happened. Josh was clearly horrified.
‘I’m afraid that’s it. If he got a photo . . . what were you doing?’
‘Carrying Lucy wrapped up in a bath towel.’
‘That’s good. And what did you say exactly?’
Tom told him to the best of his recollection.
‘There was one – one particularly unfortunate thing –’
‘Which was?’
‘I said it was nothing to do with my constituents.’
‘Jesus,’ said Josh.
He warned Tom that it might be followed up by other papers. ‘And you could get more doorstepping, a whole mob might descend. If that happens, don’t go out unless you absolutely have to. Say “no comment” to any questions, and take the phone off the hook.’
‘I can’t,’ said Tom. ‘Alice might need to ring me about Kit.’
‘OK. Well, you ring her every hour or so. Was Ned mentioned?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Oh, God. By name?’
‘Yes.’
‘But not by you?’
‘Er – no. He just asked if Ned had done the operation. I said it was none of his business.’
‘Right. Well, I’ve written my piece, let’s hope it helps.’
‘Thank you, Josh, I don’t deserve it.’
‘No, you don’t,’ said Josh coldly.
He rang Alice, told her what had happened. For the first time she sounded less hostile. How long would that last?
‘Oh, God, Tom, how awful. I’m – I’m sorry. But – how did they find out?’
‘You know the press. It’s their stock-in-trade, finding out.’
‘Well, I hope they don’t turn up here.’
‘Me too. Er – anyone outside now?’