After three or four miles he moved out into a gap and accelerated up to sixty-five. He did this partly because he had a long way to go but mainly because it was part of a self-imposed therapy. The accident had actually left him physically afraid of travelling in the outside lane. When he did so he was constantly beset by the image of a vehicle coming towards him and swerving into his path.
As an intelligent and rational person he knew that the likelihood of this happening to him again must be extremely remote. This helped him cope with the fear but it did not get rid of it. It was still there. It made his mouth dry and forced up his pulse rate whenever he moved into the outside lane but it was not so great that he could not live with it, however unpleasant. The more he forced himself to do this, he reckoned, the sooner he would be free of it.
The traffic ahead slowed as it was channelled into a contra-flow system and his speed dropped to a crawl as they all moved forward at the speed of the slowest vehicle ahead. In this instance it was a mobile crane. The break in concentration gave Jamieson a chance to think about other things. He thought back to how Thelwell had behaved when he told him about the swab result. It alarmed him that a man of such quick temper and volatility could be a surgeon.
After considering it further, Jamieson found himself changing his mind. When he thought about it, a great many of the surgeons he knew or had known, were volatile characters. Most could be described as extrovert and a few had monstrous egos. Perhaps the only different thing about Thelwell was the fact that he was also extremely unpleasant. He wondered how he would behave if and when the lab found that he was carrying the killer strain.
There was of course, a chance that the pseudomonas strain found on Thelwell's swab might turn out to be different from the problem bug but Jamieson's feeling was that this might be stretching coincidence too far. He would have to prepare himself for the worst.
As the traffic entered its second mile of walking-pace progress, Jamieson started to consider Thelwell's angry allegations that his swab had been tampered with. Until that moment he had not given the slightest credence to the notion that Richardson could have 'fixed' the swab test. That was surely beyond the bounds of possibility… wasn't it? But maybe nothing was beyond the bounds of possibility at Kerr Memorial. He had come to dislike the place intensely.
It was nothing unusual for clashes of personality to occur in medical circles but they were usually confined to academic jousting, comprising occasional caustic remarks and continual sly innuendo. This rarely developed into open feuding and outright hostility. Things at Kerr Memorial were getting out of hand or was that an understatement? Had they already got completely out of hand? And if that were true, what should he do about it?
There seemed to be no straightforward solution to the problem as far as Jamieson could see. Strictly speaking, Thelwell's bad behaviour did not constitute an offence requiring disciplinary action, certainly nothing that would warrant suspension from duty. He tried to formulate such a charge in his own mind. Creating an atmosphere unconducive to the welfare of the patients? It sounded pompous enough but it didn't sound right. He sought help from sport. 'Bringing the game into disrepute'? 'Ungentlemanly conduct'? At length, he decided that 'behaving like a right twerp' sounded about right for Thelwell but this probably wouldn't stand up in legal circles if for no other reason than it was perfectly clear and easily understood.
If Thelwell was shown to be the carrier of the lethal strain then suspension from duty would be automatic and with luck, he might return to medicine as a humbler person after a suitable course of treatment to clear up his carrier state. Jamieson suddenly thought that this was always assuming that it could be cleared up. If not, then the bug was so dangerous to surgical patients that Thelwell's days as a surgeon might be over, just like his own?
Jamieson sought diversion from that unpleasant thought from the car radio and switched to Classic FM. Vivaldi filled the car and accompanied his acceleration now that the bottleneck had cleared.
As the traffic sorted itself out an articulated lorry suddenly pulled out from the slow lane in front of him and caused him to brake sharply. He immediately checked his rear view mirror to make sure the car behind him had reacted as well. It had. He could see its driver shaking his head.
As he passed the lorry, Jamieson glanced up at the cab to see the driver lighting a cigarette; he seemed quite oblivious to the near disaster he had caused. Jamieson sighed. If only there was some way he could convey to people who had never experienced it just what happens when human flesh gets in the way of colliding metal?
As he thought about it, his subconscious fed the vision of the spread-eagled body of the vanboy into his conscious mind. He began to sweat on his forehead despite the fact that he actually felt a bit cold. He then started to feel light headed. He pulled over into the slow lane at the first opportune moment and brought his speed down to forty as he kept pace with the caravan being towed in front. He concentrated hard on the back of it, examining details in an attempt to block out any more subconscious feed-back. An outside observer might have dismissed the incident with the lorry as something that happened a hundred times every day on the country's motorways but Jamieson was not yet back to being an outside observer.
As always, Jamieson left the motorway on the near side of Canterbury so that he could enjoy the view of the city as he approached from the west. It was bathed in evening sunshine and the cathedral spire caught the full yellow glow as if it were its heavenly right. He kept glancing up at it as he followed the ring road round to the east to pick up the Dover Road and shortly after that, the spur leading off to Patrixbourne. As he entered the village he could hear the birds sing. He was back in the peaceful timelessness that he and Sue had come to love so much. Whatever else happened in the world Patrixbourne would stay the same; it would go on unchanged as it had done since the time of the Romans.
He brought the car off the road and drove up the narrow, gravel drive to the parking space at the rear of the cottage and switched off the engine. At first there was silence in the fading twilight but as he listened hard he did begin to pick out sounds. Somewhere in the distance a church bell was being rung and somewhere much nearer the intermittent clack of contact between ball and bat said the local cricket team were practising. It wouldn't be long before the fading light stopped them and they would be off to the pub.
Sue put her arms round Jamieson's neck in the doorway and they kissed. ‘I’d almost forgotten how soft and warm your mouth was,' said Jamieson kissing her again.
'Come in before the neighbours start talking,' whispered Sue.
They looked at each other, both taking pleasure in their reunion. 'You are earlier than I thought,' said Sue.
Jamieson nodded and said, 'I think we've found the source of the infection. The consultant surgeon in Gynaecology appears to be a carrier.'
'Poor man,' said Sue, 'How is he taking it?'
'Not well,’ replied Jamieson.
'It can't be easy for him,' said Sue.
Jamieson did not argue. He said, 'It's not absolutely certain yet but the lab will know by tomorrow morning. I'll phone when I get up.'
'I suppose this means that your first job for Sci-Med is now over,' said Sue.
'I suppose it does,' agreed Jamieson. 'Although, to be honest I didn't do much. I merely suggested that the surgeon concerned send in a routine nasal swab. He had done it before of course, but he had been using antiseptic cream at the time so the lab test was negative.'
'And you spotted that?' said Sue.
'Well, yes.'
'Then you solved the problem. Sci-Med should be delighted.'
'Maybe they won't sack me just yet,' smiled Jamieson.