The Doctor. Lisa Stone
you ever get in any agency help?’ Barry Lowe asked, stitching the wound.
‘It’s not necessary,’ Amit replied. ‘She’s still able to look after herself. I can manage.’
‘Well, don’t get burnt out, we need you here,’ he said and put in the last stitch.
With the wound closed, Amit switched off the drugs that had kept the patient asleep and began the process of bringing her out of the anaesthetic. He turned down the nitrous oxide and turned up the oxygen. As expected, the patient’s facial muscles began to twitch as she started to regain consciousness. Then she gagged and he removed the endotracheal tube from her throat.
The operation over, the team began to dissemble. Barry Lowe removed his surgical gloves, dropped them in the bin and called goodbye as he left. The theatre nurses were clearing up, but, as usual, Amit stayed by the patient, monitoring her vital signs until she was responsive enough to speak.
‘Can you hear me?’ he asked her. ‘Your operation is over.’
‘Thank you,’ came her groggy reply.
Satisfied, Amit flexed his shoulders. They were always stiff, even after a short operation. His patient was ready for the recovery room and one of the theatre nurses would take her through soon. They were occupied at present, facing away from him as they cleared up and swabbed down after the operation. Quietly and quickly, in a smooth, well-practised movement, he slid the unused bottle of anaesthetic from the cart and tucked it into the pocket of his scrubs.
‘Thank you for your assistance,’ he said politely, moving away from the operating table. He always remembered to thank the theatre staff even if the surgeon forgot.
‘Goodbye, Dr Burman,’ the nurses returned.
The locker room was empty, good. Changing out of his scrubs, he transferred the bottle into his briefcase and headed for home where his true work awaited him.
‘Well? What do you think?’ Emily asked Ben as soon as he came home from work. ‘Have I been busy or what?’ She led him to the patio doors.
‘You have been busy,’ Ben agreed. ‘You’ve done a good job, Em. It must have taken you ages.’
‘Most of the day. But it’s saved us having to pay a gardener. I enjoyed it. Robbie was with me, playing in the leaves. Now he’s toddling it’s so much easier to do stuff as he can amuse himself.’
‘Where is the little fellow?’ Ben asked, looking around.
‘In bed. He was exhausted. So am I. My arms are already aching from using the pruning shears. I’ve got muscles I didn’t know I had.’ She laughed. ‘Obviously I couldn’t trim the trees, they’re too high, but the hedge looks neater.’
‘It does. I hope Amit approves.’
‘What’s it got to do with him?’ Emily asked. ‘It’s our hedge and on our side of the fence.’
‘Whoa,’ Ben said, raising his hands in defence. ‘I just thought perhaps we should have mentioned it to him first. You really don’t like that bloke do you?’
‘Even less so now,’ she admitted. ‘While I was up the ladder trimming the top of the hedge, I could see over and into the living room. Alisha was standing at their living room window watching me. I waved and signalled for her to come out, but she shook her head. She looked like a scared rabbit, Ben. I’m not kidding. I’m sure it wasn’t that she didn’t want to come out but more that she daren’t. I think he could be abusing her.’
‘Oh come on, Em, just because you don’t like the guy doesn’t mean he’s a wife beater.’
‘Maybe not, but there was something in the way she stood there – like a trapped animal. I might have another go at asking her in. Anyway, glad you approve of my gardening. Let’s eat. The spag bol is ready. Can you dish up while I try to get Tibs in? She hasn’t been back all day.’
‘Will do,’ Ben said and kissed her cheek.
As Ben served dinner, Emily took the bag of cat treats from the cupboard. Opening the patio door, she called, ‘Tibs! Tibs!’ whilst shaking the bag. Usually by this time of day Tibs was home and wanting her dinner, but if not, then hearing the bag of treats brought her running from whichever garden she was in. ‘Tibs, Tibby,’ Emily called again, rattling the bag of treats, but there was no sign of her. ‘I’ll try again later,’ she said at last. Closing the patio door, she took her place at the dining table. ‘It’s not like her. I wonder if she’s got shut in somewhere. If she’s not back by tomorrow, I’ll knock on some of our neighbours’ doors and ask them to check their sheds and garages.’
‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ Ben said. ‘It’s a dry evening. She’ll be off hunting.’
‘Tibs! Tibby!’ Emily called repeatedly at 9.30 p.m. She was outside now, standing on the patio and shaking the bag of treats. ‘Tibs!’ She paused and listened for any sound suggesting Tibs had heard and was starting her journey home. Sometimes when she strayed a long way she could hear her in the distance. The foliage stirring, her claws scraping as she clambered over wooden fences, going from garden to garden. Then, when she entered her own garden and saw Emily, she meowed loudly. But now the air remained still and eerily quiet, a clear November night, with a waxing moon rising in a cloudless sky.
Emily tried once more before she went to bed at 11 p.m. This time she put on her coat and went right down to the bottom of the garden, calling ‘Tibs, Tibby!’ The light in the outbuilding next door was on and with the hedge lower now she could see the top of the windows. As usual, the door was closed and the blinds were down, but even if they hadn’t been it would have been impossible to see in for the film covering the glass. She had watched Amit stick it on about six months ago when he’d started using the building every evening and most weekends. What he did in there, she’d no idea, but if Tibs wasn’t back in the morning, she’d ask him or his wife to check it and their garage for Tibs, although she doubted she was in there. Amit didn’t hide the fact he hated cats. She’d heard him throwing stones at Tibs when she’d strayed into his garden – one of the reasons she didn’t like the man. She’d read somewhere that people who were cruel to animals were invariably cruel to people too.
‘Tibs! Tibs!’ she called again. Giving the bag of treats a final good shake, she admitted defeat and returned indoors. All she could do now was leave the cat flap open and hope that Tibs found her way back during the night.
‘We’re going to find Tibs,’ she told Robbie the following morning as she zipped him into his snowsuit. ‘She hasn’t come home. I think she’s lost or got shut in somewhere.’ The alternative – that she’d been run over – she pushed from her mind.
Robbie babbled baby talk and tried to say Tibs.
‘Yes, that’s right. Tibs. Good boy.’
Strapping him into his pushchair, she then tucked her phone, keys and the missing cat leaflets she’d printed into her coat pocket and left the house. It was mid-morning and she knew many of the houses would be empty, with their occupants at work. If there was no reply, she’d push one of the leaflets through their letter box. It had a picture of Tibs and gave her address, telephone number and asked them to check their shed, garage and any outbuilding in case she’d been shut in. It was of some consolation that Tibs had been microchipped and Emily’s mobile phone number was engraved on a metal disc on her collar, so if someone found her dead or alive they would hopefully contact her. However, it was also possible, Emily thought, that Tibs had been lured into a home with food and hadn’t wanted to leave. Cats were renowned for cupboard love. But when they let her out for a run, she’d return home.
‘Tibs,’ Robbie gurgled again.
Emily approached the task methodically and began with the house to the left of theirs.