“You’ve been groping patients, haven’t you!”

(I’d worked up a hell of a head of steam, you see.)

“What! No I haven’t. Have you seen my patients?”

“Oh so you mean you would have groped them had they been young and pretty?”

Dr Lorenz appeared genuinely caught out.

“No, I don’t mean that at all,” he gasped. “What makes you think I did that?”

“Because I went to look for you at the hospital and they told me you were suspended and that there was some kind of investigation.”

There. It was out. Laurence now knew that I knew and this moment was a very low one for both of us. There was a heavy silence for a half minute and then he said:

“I should have told you. I’m sorry. I was too ashamed. I couldn’t speak to you.”

“I’m about to cry, Laurence, I really am. I thought I was getting to know you. I thought you’d be a ….well, a good friend.”

“Shall I tell you why I’ve been suspended?”

“Your behaviour sickens me. Do you hear me? It sickens me.”

“Can you stop for a minute? I’m not a pervert. Don’t you want to hear my side?”

“I don’t know that I want to talk to you at all.”

“Well that’s fine.”

And so we both waited for the deadened air around us to revive again. It was a long time coming and I found my facial muscles were so rigid with indignation that I couldn’t speak. So he did.

“I was suspended because I went to a newspaper. I’d been looking into things and realised that Dr Henge’s malpractice had cost the NHS somewhere around ninety thousand pounds of pointless treatment. Most of it to your mother, while we’re on the subject. And I stupidly used my own name and was quoted in The Telegraph. And even more stupidly I accused our manager of trying to cover the whole thing up and being on the verge of paying out a fortune in compensation. I love the NHS, you know. I really do. There’s nothing like it in the world. I thought I was just protecting it.”

Can a heart sink so fast? I felt quite helpless with stupidity all of a sudden.

“They can’t sack you for that, can they?”

“They can suspend me and in the meantime they can ruin my reputation. But I didn’t think they’d sunk that low, to accuse me of groping patients.”

“Ah,” I said ruefully. No one had actually accused him of groping, come to think of it. In fact, I may well have put the idea into Mrs Harkness’ head.

Oh Dr Lorenz. What had I done?

“You never tried to grope me,” I complained.

“I’d love to grope you!”

“Well why didn’t you?”

“Cos you always want to meet in the bloody cemetery with your dog as some chaperone.”

“I’m too embarrassed to take you home. It’s full of my family.”

And he gave a tragic little laugh. “Well we’ve got that much in common.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother lives with me.”

“Oh how funny. Just like mine. Is it an ordeal?”

“It’s hell. And my sister, too. She’s been a waster all her life and now seems to think my house is a kind of family home and that she belongs in it. She’s into alternative health.”

“Oh I’m so sorry,” I commiserated and then, in case it made him feel any better: “My brother’s into Cybermen. My daughter is also semi-permanent, as is her young ward, John, who is a darling but could do with a proper family home. No chance of that.”

“Shall we run away?” he asked.

“I’m not the running away type,” I told him with even greater sorrow. “I’ve tried. They catch up with you somehow or other. But it’s a nice idea, isn’t it.”

You could almost hear the smile.

“It is. It’s a very nice idea.”

And so, as ever, I picked myself up. That’s me all over.

“You know what we’re going to do?”

“What?” he asked.

“We’re going to clear your name, Laurence. We’re going to fight fire with fire.”

There was a bit of a scene at school this morning.

When John and I arrived, we were confronted by closed gates and a small crowd with leaflets.

I didn’t recognise any of the people in the crowd and hadn’t a clue what they were doing there.

“Excuse me, we need to get in,” I said, trying to push past a young woman in a very sleek, claret overcoat.

“It’s closed. We’re on strike.”

“What!” It was news to me.

“There was a letter. And it was on the local news last night.”

I found her unnecessarily smug.

“I didn’t get any letter,” I said.

John piped up. “Hey look! it’s in my bag.”

At this the young woman increased her smugness by several percent.

“This is very inconvenient,” I told her. I had intended to spend the day tracking down Laurence.

The young woman gasped at my callousness.

“Well I’m sorry but most parents back us, actually.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they know that our pay and conditions affect the quality of our teaching.”

John pulled me down to his level. He seemed very concerned about this statement.

“That’s Miss Cutting. I think her pay and conditions must be terrible.”

Sometimes you can’t stifle a laugh and nor should you when someone is as po-faced as Miss Cutting. I laughed richly an inch from her nose.

We turned on our heels and left.

*

And so John came with me on the bus all the way to the hospital and nobody stopped us going up to Dr Lorenz’s department and we waited on the chairs among the overweight, elderly ladies and enjoyed a copy of Hello together.

I felt particularly sorry for a wet-eyed woman opposite us who held a wad of tissues stubbornly to her neck, even while attempting to flick through a magazine with the other hand. John and I tried discreetly to catch a glimpse of what was under the tissues but they never left her throat.

A nurse called: “Mrs Harkness.”

Our wet-eyed lady stood, with some difficulty, and told us (as though she were merely continuing a conversation with us): “This place is a joke. It’s never been the same since my Dr Henge left.”

Mrs Harkness … Mrs Harkness. I knew that name.

I leapt up to catch the nurse’s arm before he escorted Mrs Harkness into a side room.

“I wonder, is Dr Lorenz here today?”

The young man appeared puzzled.

“Have you got an appointment with him?”

“No, I came on the off-chance.”

He looked at Mrs Harkness and Mrs Harkness looked straight back at him, the bundle of tissues still firmly attached to her neck.

“Oh don’t you know?” asked Mrs Harkness and reached out her free hand to pat my arm.

I looked in panic at the dolorous face of the young nurse.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly and in profound sympathy.

“Oh my God,” I cried out. “He’s died! Why did no one tell me?”

Mrs Harkness frowned and replaced one hand with the other at her neck.

“What? He’s not dead. He’s been suspended pending enquiries into his conduct.”

John was now by my side, burying his head in my thigh. He wasn’t liking this, I could tell. But I had to know. I really had to.

“He’s not… please tell me he’s not… Oh please don’t let him be a groper.”

Mrs Harkness raised a superior eyebrow.

“Oh a groper as well, is he? Disgusting. Let’s just say my Dr Henge never took liberties with his patients.”

And she and the nurse paraded off and left us in front of a hostile audience of tutting women. You could hear the word “groper” being passed breathlessly about as we fled down the corridor.