Prey to All Read Online Free PDF Page A

the emergency?’
    Deb explained and the receptionist went away to consult someone, coming back with the words ‘Your father’s angioneurotic oedema is not life-threatening. He must go on taking the tablets the doctor has already prescribed and you can bring him in next week. I’ve made an appointment for Thursday.’
    There were drums beating in Deb’s head, or sledgehammers. She went back into the drawing room, trying to look and sound calm as she told her father that she had to drive to the surgery to pick up a new prescription. Her mother was blessedly still asleep when she put her head round the bedroom door, so she scribbled a note and put it on the bedside table.
    The surgery was full and the receptionist told her crossly that she should’ve listened to the instructions and stayed at home. ‘There’s no point waiting. I’ve told you the doctor can’t see you. He’s busy. Go home.’
    Deb felt something building up in her that had to be let out. She opened her mouth. She couldn’t hear any words at first, but she knew she was making a noise. Shocked faces all round the waiting room jerked her into listening to herself. ‘You patronising cow. You don’t understand a single thing. You shouldn’t have any contact with vulnerable patients, and your bloody doctor needs reporting to the health authority. I knew the NHS was in a mess, but I had no idea it was this bad. I’m going to write to every MP in the country and I’ll get—’
    A door opened and the small angry figure of Dr Foscutt came towards her, his face scarlet and his eyes piercing and cold. He was saying something, but she overrode him, telling him just what she thought of his abandoning two elderly patients with a whole variety of ailments. She told him he should have got the district nurse to call at least once a day, and himself telephoned if he couldn’t visit, once a week as an absolute minimum.
    ‘All the patients of this practice know that they must book an appointment if they wish to see me,’ he said, his voice shaking with fury that was as bitter as hers. ‘And they know that if they wish the district nurse to call, they must telephone by six o’clock the previous evening.’
    ‘Have you no sense of responsibility? These are vulnerable, frightened people in need of help. They are in your care. What the hell do you think you’re paid for?’
    ‘Now, come along, Mrs Gibbert. You’re hysterical. This is ridiculous behaviour. If you will calm down and wait your turn, I’ll see what I can do when I’ve attended to all the patients who have appointments.’
    ‘I can’t wait,’ she shrieked. ‘They’re on their own. They’re not safe. I won’t take any time. I just need you to give me something for my father’s rash now. It’s unbearable. There must be something you can do. For Christ’s sake! If he was a dog and you let him live in that condition you’d be in the dock on a charge of cruelty. And if he was a dog, you’d have had him put down years ago.’
    ‘Mrs Gibbert, control yourself.’ Foscutt’s whole body was rigid with rage.
    Deb gasped. Something brought her back under control with a snap. She looked round the room, half apologetic. The waiting patients looked scared, all but a beady-eyed girl of about twelve, who was loving every minute of it. Deb stuffed her balled fists into the pockets of her Puffa. ‘I’m not leaving until you give me something for my father,’ she shouted.
    ‘Come into my room at once,’ said Foscutt, as though he was her teacher, ready to administer punishment.
    Sitting on the opposite side of his desk, with his spectacles perched three-quarters of the way down his nose so that he could look at her over the top, he said, ‘Now, tell me calmly what all this is about.’
    So she told him, all over again.
    ‘You and your mother are a pair of hysterical women,’ he said. ‘Your father would do a great deal better with a calmer atmosphere. The rash is stress-related, like the ulcer.