A Proposal to Remember

Resisting the impulse to punch the air in triumph, Carlo shortened his stride to match hers and followed her up seemingly endless flight of soulless concrete steps that intersected the flats.

He glanced around with a deepening frown.

No wonder she didn’t like coming here at night. The place was menacing and rough. Definitely not somewhere to be after dark. Especially for a woman on her own. The walls were covered in graffiti, there were smashed windows and boarded-up doors and, even this close to Christmas, there was very little evidence of festive cheer.

The girl came to a halt in front of a door, tugged the woollen hat back on her head and stuffed her hair back underneath it.

‘All part of the disguise.’ She tossed him a smile that made his whole body ache, and tapped on the door.

‘Kelly?’ She leaned closer to the door. ‘Kelly, it’s Zan. Let me in.’

Zan? Carlo blinked in surprise.

What sort of a name was Zan?

He was still trying to work it out when the door jerked open and a burly man stood there.

If ever a man was looking for a fight it was this one, and instinctively Carlo straightened his shoulders and prepared himself for trouble.

What the hell was the girl doing in a place like this? This certainly wasn’t his idea of midwifery.

‘Hi, Mike.’ Zan didn’t seem remotely nervous. Instead, she just gave the man the same warm smile she’d used on him earlier and peeped round him into the flat. ‘Can I see Kelly? I brought some stuff…’

She jiggled the black bin back temptingly and Mike’s face darkened.

‘We ain’t taking no charity!’

Zan shook her head. ‘Of course you’re not. It isn’t charity,’ she said easily, her tone relaxed and friendly. ‘Mothers swap clothes all the time. Someone I look after was having a clear-out—I just thought you might find it useful, but I can offer it to someone else if you prefer…’

Mike glowered at her and then opened the door wider. ‘And while we’re at it Kelly ain’t going to hospital, so don’t even think about suggesting it.’ He looked over her shoulder and his eyes narrowed as they fixed on Carlo. He looked at him man to man, his eyes resting on the width of Carlo’s shoulders. ‘Who’s he?’

Zan opened her mouth but Carlo spoke first.

‘I’m a doctor. Carlo Bennett.’

He almost stumbled over the surname, because it wasn’t his and he wasn’t used to it yet, but it was the name that everyone had agreed he should use while he was hiding out in London. As a qualified surgeon he was actually entitled to call himself Mr, but he didn’t think this was the time to worry about the finer points of titles. ‘I’m going to be working in this area and Zan said I could come with her on some visits.’

Aware that Zan was staring at him, Carlo gave the other man a friendly smile and reached out a hand.

There was a moment’s hesitation and then Mike shook it briefly, but his expression was still unfriendly.

‘You don’t look English and you don’t sound English.’

‘Part Italian,’ Carlo lied smoothly, denying some of his heritage in the interests of discretion. Mike pulled a face, leaving no one in any doubt of what he thought of foreign doctors.

‘Well, you can come in as you’re here, but you might as well know that I hate doctors and I’m not having one of them near my woman. Zan’s the only one I’ll let look at her.’

‘No problem.’ Careful to be non-confrontational, Carlo strolled into the flat after Zan, trying not to show his shock as they walked into the tiny sitting room.

The room was filthy and stacked high with old newspapers and half-eaten plates of food. In the middle of the carpet a German shepherd dog lay with its head on one paw, eyes fixed warily on Carlo.

The place was damp and freezing, and in the corner was a thin wisp of a girl with a rounded stomach and skinny legs.

‘Hi, Kelly.’ Clearing a space on the sofa, Zan sat down and opened the bin bag. ‘How are you feeling?’

Kelly glanced nervously at Mike, who gave a nod. ‘I’m doing OK,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but I’m pretty tired. Well, very tired, actually.’

And he would have bet half his fortune that she was anaemic, Carlo thought, running a professional eye over the patient and her surroundings. Judging from the remains of the food on the plate, she wasn’t eating properly.