Dancing With Mortality (15 page)

‘You have my word. When do you want to go?’

‘In the next two weeks if possible. Let me know when you
want to come, and I will fit it in with my schedule.’

He wasn’t sure if he could take leave at such short notice.
He’d just have to be creative about it. ‘Ok, I’ll get back to you. Tell him I
agree to the meeting.’

‘Fine, see you soon then. Bye.’ She was gone.

He wondered if he looked as furtive as he felt, and he was
glad to have the privacy of the meeting room and the thinking space it offered.
There was no reason for Jack to know about this, and if O’Reilly was right
about Nat’s killer it was surely a step in the right direction. He must be
pretty sure of himself on that score to reveal himself like this. Or was there
another motive?

He quietly exited the room and made his way to his next
meeting, thinking that it might just be better to let sleeping dogs lie. But it
seemed it was already too late, this one was wide awake, and ready to bark. And
he wanted to be there when it did.

He told Gina he was feeling run down
and needed a week somewhere warm to recuperate, the Canary Islands perhaps. He
was sorry for the short notice. She was less than pleased, but conceded that
she would prefer him not to be working if he didn’t feel 100%. And he wouldn’t
be paid for his absence.

‘Is Sophie going with you?’

‘No, just me. She’s busy at work.’

‘Everything all right at home?’

‘Fine, Gina. I just want to eat, sleep and see Lanzarote.
Sophie can do without me for a week.’

Gina didn’t press it. He told Sophie he was needed for a
week in Frankfurt, which was almost the truth. Sophie and Gina had never met,
and as he wasn’t expecting that to change any time soon if ever, he thought he
should be covered. He texted Sabine to say he could make it first week of
December, which she confirmed, and he was ready to go.

The last thing he had to do prior to leaving, apart from
cancelling his next appointment with Cindy, was to discuss his biopsy results.
Two weeks after the event he found himself once more in Dr Ashe’s office at St.
Thomas’s, apprehensively awaiting the findings. The doctor came straight to the
point.

‘Mr Ellis, your biopsy shows that your liver has stage 3
fibrosis, which is in the severe range. Given that...’

‘What does that mean?’ interjected Harry.

‘Sorry,’ replied Dr Ashe, shuffling Harry’s notes to one
side. He leaned forward slightly, placing his elbows on the desk and clasping
his hands together, as if in prayer. ‘Fibrosis is scarring, essentially, and
too much scarring impairs liver function. Which eventually leads to cirrhosis
and other complications. My recommendation is that you start treatment as soon
as possible.’

Perhaps I should be doing the praying, thought Harry. ‘Or
what?’

‘Or you increase the risk of developing cirrhosis and liver
failure. It could happen quite quickly, or it could be some years away. That’s
what we’re looking at.’

‘I see.’ This was not what he wanted to hear. ‘Tell me about
the treatment then.’

The treatment consisted of one self administered weekly
injection of interferon combined with ribavirin tablets, ideally over a 12
month period. If he didn’t respond after three months they might consider
stopping it. These were powerful drugs, and he might suffer side effects like
fatigue, itching, hair loss, possible thyroid problems and depression. People
responded differently to treatment, and there was no way to predict how things
would progress.

‘I know it sounds a bit daunting,’ said Dr Ashe, ‘but you
may sail through the treatment with very few problems.’

‘Let me think for a minute.’

‘Of course. You might want to consider this – it’s estimated
that there are 100,000 people undiagnosed in this country, and by the time a
lot of them find out about it, it will be very difficult to help them. You have
an opportunity to catch it early, so to speak.’

Harry considered. If he did nothing he would have to live
with the uncertainty of never knowing when this thing might actually do some
serious damage. Fatal damage. And there was another thing. After 20 years he
had a golden chance to find out who really did kill Natalie. It would be just
his luck to be struck down on the verge of discovering the answer to the
question that had been gnawing away at him for so long. He wasn’t going to let
that happen. And then there was the bleeding obvious. He wanted to live.
‘Alright. Let’s give it a try.’

‘Good. I’ll see if the practice nurse is available. She will
give you the drugs and tell you how to use them. And she’s there for any
support you need while on the treatment.’

Harry sighed. He hoped he’d made the right decision. The
nurse was able to see him, so he found his way to her office. She was a bubbly
Scottish woman named Isobel, in her mid-twenties. She took some blood and then
weighed him and did some calculations. She asked him to wait while she
collected the drugs from pharmacy. The ribavirin was in tablet form, and the
interferon came in a pre-loaded syringe, all he had to do was attach the needle
and inject himself once a week.

‘Are you comfortable doing that?’ she asked.

‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ he replied.

‘You may feel as though you’re getting the flu the first
time you inject. It’s actually your immune system making itself felt. Nothing
to worry about, your body will soon adjust.’

She gave him her card and said he must feel free to call her
with any queries, and that they would see him again after the first month, to
monitor progress. He thanked her and left. He had a month’s supply of drugs.
Apparently the stuff was expensive, so they doled it out only as and when it
was required.

He would be flying to Frankfurt the following day so he
decided to have his first injection that evening. That would last him a week,
but to be on the safe side he’d take another syringe with him and leave it at
Sabine’s apartment. You were supposed to keep it refrigerated, so no doubt he’d
need to explain why he wanted to use her fridge to store drugs. She was a
nurse, he was sure she would raise no objections once he’d told her about his
condition.

Sophie was in Fulham that evening, and he was relieved that
he wouldn’t have an audience for his first injection. Not ever having stuck a
needle into himself, he was a little apprehensive. But after dinner he summoned
up his courage and injected the first dose into his left thigh, just below the
hip. Once he got the needle in it was easy enough. Sure enough, an hour later
he had a slight headache and aching joints. He took his tablets and decided to
have an early night. Last thing he wanted to do was oversleep and miss his
flight.

When Sabine opened the door to him
she seemed happy and apprehensive in equal measure. She kissed him on the cheek,
and when she withdrew he was sure she paused long enough to get a good look at
the street over his shoulder.

‘I’m all alone, you know.’

‘Are you sure? I hope so.’

They moved through to the lounge, Harry manoeuvering his one
large suitcase on wheels awkwardly as they went.

‘I hope you brought some warm clothes,’ said Sabine, smiling
at his efforts to avoid ruining her paintwork.

‘Germany in Winter – you bet I did.’

‘Where we’re going, it’s very cold,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps I
should take you shopping later.’ She motioned towards the sofa, and after
removing his coat he sat down.

‘You lied to me about Michael then,’ he stated in what he
hoped was a neutral voice. ‘You told me you lost contact with him after
London.’

She sat next to him. ‘You’re not really in a position to
judge me, Harry. Do you know yet why they’re looking for him?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I’ve been told nothing.’

‘I did lose contact actually, for almost ten years. Then one
day I got a letter from him. He was living in Sweden, he married a Swedish
girl. And he changed his name of course. He’s not Michael O’Reilly any more.’
Her face became suddenly wistful.

‘Are you still in love with him?’

‘What?’ The wistfulness passed. ‘After all this time? No, I
think I’m sometimes in love with the memory of him. I loved him in Dublin, but
that was a long time ago and I haven’t seen him since. We talk on the phone
maybe once a year, if that.’ She laughed. ‘And I have had one or two
relationships since then.’

‘Sorry, none of my business really. Have you ever been
married?’

‘No, I haven’t. I like my independence. Any more questions?’

‘All finished.’

‘Good.’ She got up, and before he could make a move she had
grabbed the handle of his suitcase and was wheeling it towards the spare
bedroom. He looked at the view as he waited for her to come back. The US Army
hadn’t gone anywhere in his absence, he noticed. It was dusk, and as he looked
a carpet of twinkling lights unrolled below him, greeting the night. He was
suddenly hungry.

‘Can I buy you dinner?’ he asked the vacant space.

Sabine reappeared. ‘Yes, please. We won’t go shopping here,
we’ll wait till we get to Stockholm. But I can show you the Christmas market if
you like. It’s very pretty.’

‘Ok, sounds good. And when do we leave for Stockholm?’

‘Tomorrow morning. Let’s go and eat now, we can walk to town
from here.’

There was no wind as they walked down Panorama Strasse, the
air was crisp and cold and still, and he thought if it wasn’t freezing yet it
was near as damn it. He wondered how long it would be until it snowed. Tomorrow
they would go north and it would get even colder. He should have gone to
Lanzarote after all.

The Hauptstrasse was packed with
tourists and locals. They sauntered with the humming crowd, encountering the
first real evidence of the market at Universitätsplatz. The square was filled
with brightly lit wooden huts selling all manner of Christmas paraphernalia.
Local liqueur sellers competed with candle sellers, traditional wood carvers, and
others offering an array of Christmas cards, books and decorations. One hut
contained a nativity scene, with carved life size representations of the
players. Sabine bought a huge red candle and a silver hanging Star of
Bethlehem.

There was music in the air, courtesy of random groups of
musicians with guitars and violins, who were playing what to Harry’s ears
sounded like traditional folk tunes. And of course there was plenty of
Bratwurst and Glühwein on offer. He bought two mugs of the warm steaming wine,
and they found a relatively quiet spot on the corner of the square to sample
it.

‘It’s sweet,’ he intoned, screwing up his face in mock
horror.

‘What did you expect?’ laughed Sabine. ‘Don’t forget to take
the mug back when you’ve finished if you want your deposit back.’

His mug was bright red, with a painted scene of the market
encircling it. It would make a nice souvenir. Then he thought of Sophie’s
disappointment on seeing it, and changed his mind.

‘Where can we eat?’ he asked.

‘I know a place close to the river, come on.’

The crowd thinned as they made their way down a side street.
The restaurant served mostly traditional German fare, and Harry settled for a
schnitzel, while Sabine ordered pasta. The place was half full, and service was
quick and efficient. He chose a local Riesling, which initially came as a shock
to the palate after the sweetness of the Glühwein, so he ordered some water to
compensate.

‘It will be strange seeing Michael again after so long,’
Sabine remarked, as he poured water for them both.

‘What I don’t understand is why we need to see him at all.
If he has something to tell me what’s wrong with the phone?’

She shrugged. ‘There is something he wants to show you, I
don’t know what. So we must go to him.’

‘So you’re prepared to drop everything and drive me to
Stockholm. That’s a lot to do for a man you haven’t seen for 20 years.’

He thought he caught a flash of annoyance in her eyes, but
she answered calmly. ‘It is a debt of friendship, Harry. Perhaps you don’t
understand these things.’

Perhaps I don’t, he thought. He raised an apologetic hand.
‘Sorry, I’m worried that we’ll go all that way for nothing.’

‘Are you changing your mind?’ He shook his head. ‘We’re
going further than Stockholm,’ she continued, ‘to a place called Kiruna, which
is in the north of Sweden. It’s inside the Arctic circle, that’s why you need
the warm clothes.’

‘Will that Golf of yours make it that far?’

‘We can fly from Stockholm if we need to. But Michael thinks
it’s better if we drive. He thinks it’s more secure that way.’

The timely arrival of the food gave him some thinking space.
He had to admit it was a sensible precaution. Better not to show up on a flight
manifest if it could be avoided. Not that anyone should have reason to check of
course, because no one knew what he was doing.

‘We should start early tomorrow. Perhaps we can share the
driving,’ he said.

‘Yes, I agree. We can have an early night.’ She indicated
his wine glass. ‘Don’t drink too much.’

 Shades of Sophie, he thought. He took her advice
nonetheless, and poured himself another glass of water.

When they got back to the apartment Sabine produced a Road
Atlas, and Harry sat at the dining room table studying the map of Sweden.
Stockholm to Kiruna was a distance of some 1200 kilometers.

‘How long do you expect this journey to take?’ he asked.

‘I was thinking three days,’ came the reply. ‘Tomorrow we
drive to Hamburg then take the ferry to Denmark, and spend the night in
Copenhagen. The next day we can make Stockholm in about six hours. I think
that’s around 1500 kilometers. Then after that, Kiruna.’

‘Yes, but Kiruna is almost two days drive away from
Stockholm, maybe we should fly after all. I only have a week you know.’

‘Let me see.’ Sabine emerged from her bedroom, where she was
packing, and peered over his shoulder. ‘My God, you’re right. We’ll be
exhausted if we drive the whole way.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I have a
travel guide for Sweden, let me just check something.’ She went back to the
bedroom, and reappeared a minute later, guide in hand. ‘I thought so. There is
a night train from Stockholm. If we take the 8pm train we can be there about 14
hours later. And they have sleeper berths. How does that sound?’

‘Much better. We can pay in cash, and we won’t leave a trace
that way.’

Sabine tapped on his bedroom door
the next morning.

‘Harry, are you awake?’

He grunted something in response then checked his watch. It
was 6am.

‘The shower is free, I’m going to make some breakfast,’ she
said.

He was half asleep as he found his way to the bathroom,
where he briefly toyed with the idea of a cold shower as a form of instant
rejuvenation, but rejected it as too Spartan an act at this hour of the day.
Warm water revived him, and he was dressed and in the kitchen 15 minutes later,
wide awake.

Sabine had prepared sausages, fried eggs, and toast, with
cuts of ham and cheese on the side. ‘Eat plenty, Harry, I don’t know when we
will stop for lunch.’

He took her advice, and after breakfast he took their cases
down to the car. Sabine locked up and followed. He was curious to see her come
down the stairs with her saxophone in its case.

‘I might be able to sit in on a gig in Stockholm on the way
back, if we have time,’ she explained, laying the case across the back seat.

They were ready to go. ‘One last thing before we leave,’
said Harry. ‘Turn off your phone. From now on we use public call boxes unless
it’s an emergency.’

Sabine muttered something about ‘damned secrecy’ but did as
she was asked. She took the driver’s seat, handing the road atlas to Harry as
he made himself comfortable next to her. ‘I’ll tell you when I need you to
start navigating,’ she said.

She pulled out into the empty street, and they were
underway.

It was a clear sunny morning, and
they were soon on the A5 going north. The Autobahn was congested as they
approached Frankfurt, but once the rush hour traffic thinned out the pace
picked up, and Sabine cruised the Golf around 110kph. It seemed a rather
average speed to Harry, if the numerous other cars overtaking them was any
yardstick.

‘Can’t you drive faster?’ he enquired.

‘This isn’t a Porsche. We’re doing fine, thank you.’

He laughed. The Autobahn wasn’t totally without speed
limits, so they were slowed down occasionally in certain areas, but there was
plenty of unrestricted road, and he made a mental note to return with the
Mercedes at some point and see how it performed.

Hamburg was their first target, some
six hours away, then he’d agreed to swop driving duties from there to
Copenhagen, which would take a further four hours, including a ferry trip. So
he had the unusual luxury of doing nothing for a while.

He looked at Sabine, who was deep in her own thoughts with
her eyes on the road. He was aware once again of the quietly intense energy she
exuded, and the way her face wore just the hint of a smile in its natural
repose. She had a way of retreating into some kind of untroubled solitude deep
inside, and for a moment he envied her. Apart from the jazz and their common
interest in Michael O’Reilly, he knew little about her.

‘Tell me about your nursing career,’ he said.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Everything of course.’

She smiled, eyes still on the road. ‘Well, nowadays I look
after terminally ill people who are mostly in the last stages of cancer. At
that point they need someone to support them emotionally, and also help them
with practical arrangements. It can be quite demanding on both sides.’

‘Know anything about hepatitis C?’

‘A little, why do you ask?’

He told her about his diagnosis and the treatment regime.
‘I’ve started the drugs, as of yesterday. I left a syringe in your fridge by
the way.’

‘Yes, I saw that – interferon. I was wondering when you
might tell me why it was there. How do you feel?’

‘Ok at the moment. I just hope it’s effective.’

Sabine gave him a look of concern. ‘I’ll need to keep a professional
eye on you. If you find it all too much then there are alternative approaches
you could consider, like Chinese or Indian medicine. I can make some enquiries
when we get back if you like.’

‘Let’s see how it goes. The disturbing thing about all this
is that I find myself thinking about death a lot lately.’

He was surprised to hear her laugh. ‘That might be a good
thing, Harry.’

‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

‘Did you think before your hepatitis that you were going to
live forever? Of course not, you’re a rational man. But in our culture we
prefer not to think about it, we push it away. So when it becomes a real
possibility we aren’t ready. We take life for granted.’

She paused for a minute to concentrate on the traffic, which
was slowing down for no particular reason. Harry didn’t want to break her train
of thought and stayed silent.

‘I didn’t mean to laugh’, she continued. ‘You’ve realised
that you aren’t immortal after all, and that is a good thing to realise. I’ve
had plenty of time to think about this issue in my professional and private
life, so I think I know what I’m talking about.’

‘What, you mean you’ve lost parents?’

She had her profile to him, but he could see the sadness in
her expression.

‘No, not my parents, my sister. She died young, and I was
even younger when it happened. I thought about it a lot at the time and ever
since.’

‘Sorry, shall we talk about something else?’

She reached out a hand from the steering wheel and half
unsightedly finding his hand, squeezed it quickly. ‘It’s ok, Harry. Let me
explain. I did philosophy at university, and in Heidelberg we’re quite famous
for our philosophy. I had good teachers. As we were all so busy trying to
define the meaning of life we sometimes tried to understand the meaning of death
too. Have you heard of Nietszche?’

‘Can’t say I have,’ replied Harry.

‘A very famous German philosopher. He wrote like a poet. He
said that “the certain prospect of death could sweeten every life with a
precious and fragrant drop of levity.” What I think he meant was that the
awareness of certain death could encourage us to live with a much fuller
appreciation of life. So I try to live with a little levity every day.’

‘I see.’ He considered her words. ‘Not sure if that helps or
not. So you’re a philosopher too – did you find the meaning of life?’