Sophie's Encore (21 page)

“Of course,” the nurse agreed. “I’ll get you some water.” She bustled out.

Dan turned to me. “Sophie,” he grated once more, and we both gave a little laugh at the sound of his scratchy voice.

“Don’t talk,” I admonished him. “You heard the nurse. I’m so glad to see you awake. I was terribly frightened.”

“What happened?” Dan issued. “How did I get here?”

“I’ll tell you,” I offered, “but you mustn’t speak. Nod or shake your head, okay?”

Nurse Margaret returned with water, and Dan took a few eager sips.

“I’ll leave the water here, but go easy,” she advised. Addressing me, she continued. “Ten minutes, and then Mr. Hunter needs to rest, yes?”

I nodded.

Once alone, I gave Dan an edited version of events. I left out the drugs. I figured we could address those some other time. Also I wanted to see if he brought them up on his own, and now was not the time to go there. Dan held my hand as we spoke, and his eyes were full of emotion. He was still very hot to the touch, and even in the ten short minutes that we ‘talked’—or rather, that I talked at him—I could see his face drooping with exhaustion. I wrapped up my tale and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“You’ll be better soon. You’ll see. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

“Today?” The single word cost him a lot of effort.

“If I may. I’ll check with the nurse. Else I’ll see you first thing tomorrow. I promise. Cross my heart and all that…” I smiled my biggest smile, hoping to reassure him.

He smiled back, barely managing to lift the corners of his mouth. He was one exhausted patient.

Thus, it was with mixed emotions that I made my way to Rachel’s house to collect the kids. I was massively relieved to see Dan awake and talking, sort of. Yet I was deeply disturbed to see him so weak, so worn out after barely half an hour of being awake. He would recover. I felt sure of that, but it would take a long time.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Rachel, Alex, and my kids were all greatly relieved to hear of the small improvement in Dan’s condition. I put a more cheery spin on the situation for the kids than was perhaps warranted, but even in the more truthful update for Rach, I couldn’t deny I felt cautiously optimistic. Being the star friend that she was, Rachel hadn’t only entertained my brood while I visited Dan, she had also knocked together a quick dinner for all of us, and so it was bedtime by the time the kids and I returned home.

Amid much protest, I put the children to bed as swiftly as I could and rang the hospital to check up on Dan’s status—stable, and improving slowly—before crawling under the covers myself. Breathing in the scent of fresh laundry, I blessed Rachel from the bottom of my heart. Apart from the faintest whiff of wet carpet, there was no trace of the violent sickness that had taken place in my bedroom a mere eighteen hours earlier. She had washed and dried the bedding and remade the bed, and she had sponged and disinfected the carpet and tidied up all the debris. A friend, indeed.

I was drifting off to sleep when a phone rang. It was neither the soft, ululating trill of my landline, nor the piercing three-tone shrill that heralded a call on my mobile. Disorientated, I switched on my bedside light and surveyed the bedroom. There, a strange mobile lay on the far bedside table, ringing incessantly. I scooched across the bed to make a dive for it. Caller display read,
Jack
. It had to be Dan’s. Presumably, it had fallen out of his pocket somewhere in the house, and Rachel had put it in a safe place.

I answered it without a second thought. “Hey, Jack.”

There was a surprised silence, which I felt obliged to fill. “It’s Sophie here.”

“Sophie,” Jack repeated. “Hey. What’s up? Can I speak with Dan? I’ve been ringing him for hours.”

For somebody who couldn’t know about Dan’s illness, Jack sounded terribly agitated, and I got that heavy sense of foreboding in my tummy. “Dan is—” I began, but Jack talked right over me.

“What was he thinking?” he bellowed. “It’s all over the bloody Internet. Facebook, Twitter, everywhere.”

My tired brain struggled to follow what he was saying. “What is all over the Internet?”

Last I checked, it had been all good news. What had I missed?

“‘Rock star collapses with drug overdose after party at Hyde Star Inn’,” Jack intoned. “That’s one of the headlines. ‘What happened to the squeaky clean Dan Hunter?’ is another. Where on earth is he?”

The bottom fell out of my world, but only temporarily. My mind raced. There had been no press at the hospital. Nobody knew what had happened to Dan apart from me, Rachel, and the staff. Had there been a leak at the hospital, there would have been reporters outside when I got there this afternoon. God, how I hated the press sometimes. Right at that moment, I was embarrassed to have been a member of that profession. I cleared my throat.

“Dan’s in St. George’s. He—”

“What?” Jack exploded. “Don’t tell me this is true!”

“It’s not true,” I shot back. “Will you let me explain? He has pneumonia. He came to my house last night and collapsed. I had him admitted to hospital because I was so scared for him, but
nobody
there has even told the press he’s there, or why. I swear. I was there this afternoon again, and the place was calm.”

I could hear Jack taking deep breaths at the other end. “You’d better start at the beginning,” he invited, sounding calmer and more reasonable.

So I explained, starting with the cold Dan caught a few weeks ago and leaving nothing out, not even the E’s. Jack listened in silence and remained quiet for a few moments after I finished.

“This is a disaster,” he mumbled. “How could he have been so stupid?”

“It’s hardly a disaster,” I disagreed, and a thought popped into my head. “It’s a setup, that’s what this is. Somebody gave Dan those drugs, hoping he’d do something stupid, like taking them for everyone to see, or passing them on, or collapsing at the party. And when he didn’t, they fed the story to the press and the social media anyway. There is no earthly way anyone could have substantiated the story because there’s nothing much
to
substantiate. It’s all a lot of hot air. He didn’t even take a lot, certainly not enough to collapse. And!” I pounced onto this last detail with gusto, recalling something Dr. Smith had said and holding onto it for dear life. “We don’t even know if he knew what the pills were. We haven’t had a chance to ask him yet.”

“Oh, he knew,” Jack said darkly. “Regardless of what you say about him being ill, he would have known. He’s not dumb. The band gets offered stuff all the time. They don’t take it. They know I’d eat them alive.”

The sentence hung between us for a second before I jumped to Dan’s defense again. “Be that as it may, he was in very bad shape when he came out for the concert that night. I shouldn’t have let him go. I feel bad about it. Can you honestly say whether he was in his right mind afterwards? With a raging fever and a painful set of lungs, do you think he was capable of rational thought? And whatever happened, this drug story is a setup. It
has
to be. Dan didn’t take an overdose. He collapsed with a fever and because he was desperately ill.”

“Hm,” Jack replied. “You must be right. It doesn’t make sense. So many years in the business, so many temptations…I was shocked and horrified to think Dan would have gone off the deep end last night. And disappointed.”

“Well, shelve those emotions. We’ve got to do something about this setup, and fast.”
But what?
I was running through options in my head.
Think, Sophie, think
.

“I’ll write a refutation,” I suddenly burst out. “I’ll set the record straight. I’ll get the doctor to release a statement and…” Stroke of genius! Never mind I wasn’t working with
Read London
anymore, Rick would run it, I was sure. He had always run my articles.

“You can’t,” Jack cut into my thoughts. “It wouldn’t work. For one, you’d be considered a biased source. And for another, you’d drop Dan right in it. The hospital would be swamped within minutes.”

I didn’t even pause for breath. “True on both counts,” I conceded. “But something along those lines has to be done, and fast.” I sat up straight in my bed, trying to clear my head. The solution was within grasp, if I could only…

“I know.
I’ll
write the piece, but I’ll get Rick to publish it under his own byline. That gets me out of the picture. And as for the hospital…let me ring them and talk to Dr. Smith, if he’s still around. There must be procedures for this kind of thing. Or maybe he has another idea. Anyway, let me get onto it. I’ll call you back.” I hung up and got busy.

Tackling the most urgent job first, I rang the hospital. Miracle of miracles, Dr. Smith was still on duty and came on the line instantly. I filled him in, but he had already heard the news.

“I was going to get in touch with you tomorrow,” he explained. “There have been phone calls, and a few reporters have been snooping around. Security has sent them packing, and we have made no statement. Yet.”

There was my opening. “Do you think you should? Would? Could?”

“It’s highly irregular. It breaches doctor-patient confidentiality, unless, of course, that is waived. Mr. Hunter isn’t really in a good enough condition to talk about this kind of stuff right now.” While willing to be helpful, Dr. Smith sounded doubtful.

“What if his manager gave you the all clear to make a statement?”

“Uh-huh, not good enough.”

I changed tack. “Look, let’s have a think about what you might say, first of all. Evidently, the truth would be best. How about something like this…” I paused for a second, marking the beginning of my proposed statement for Dr. Smith with a small clearing of my throat. “‘I can confirm that Mr. Hunter was admitted to this hospital in the early hours of Sunday morning. Mr. Hunter suffers from severe pneumonia and is currently undergoing treatment, to which he is responding well.’” I petered out. “Let’s not even mention the drugs. This is simply a factual statement. I’m sure Dan will be fine with that.”

Dr. Smith coughed uncertainly at the other end of the line. “I’d love to help. But I’m not authorized to make this kind of statement.”

I suppressed a groan. “Who
is
authorized to make that kind of statement? It would be best coming from you, as his doctor, really. It’s the only way to put an end to the nasty rumors before they spread out of control.” There was no reaction from the doctor, and I tore at my hair. “Look, why don’t you ask him. He’s been in the business for years. He’ll know word will get out about something or other. He’ll want to set the record straight. Trust me.”

Dr. Smith wavered. I could feel his resolve crumble through the telephone line. Alas!

“It’s rather late.” He put up another obstacle. “He might be asleep. Patient care has to come first. I can’t wake him.”

“Then don’t,” I was quick to retort. “But he might be awake. Why don’t you go see? Please?”

A big sigh signaled the collapse of Dr. Smith’s resistance. “Okay. I’ll check on him now. If I deem him strong enough, I will ask him, as you suggest. If not, you’ll have to come up with something else. I’ll ring you back. Give me your number.”

I rattled off my home number and thanked him profusely. I knew he was going above and beyond the call of duty, but he was clearly willing to interpret patient care in the widest possible sense here.

While I was waiting to hear back from the doctor, I rang Rick on my mobile. He didn’t sound the least bit surprised to hear from me. In fact, his opening line was, “I’ll run it. When can you get it to me?” I could have kissed him, and I was grateful my old editor had enough faith in my rock star to know the vicious rumors were all bogus.

Repeating Jack’s words about how I would be considered biased, I gently asked whether Rick could run my article as his own. If Rick was astounded by my request, he didn’t let on.

“I’d have to speak to Jack, at least, to verify the story,” he mused. “Or to the hospital. It would be unethical to publish a piece that I hadn’t a hand in at all.”

“By all means,” I agreed. “Substantiate away. Meanwhile, I’ll knock together my copy and email you. Oh, hold on a sec.” My landline was ringing. God, what a crazy night.

Dr. Smith was back on the other line. He had talked to Dan briefly, and Dan had unreservedly agreed that the doctor could make whatever statement was necessary. He had even signed a piece of paper to that effect. Apparently, Dr. Smith had woken the legal department to get this all squared off. “I’m ready,” he said. “And so is the staff. I’ve issued instructions to repeat this statement verbatim, and nothing else. No press will be allowed in the hospital. Anyone trespassing will be escorted off the premises by security.”

“Thank you,” I offered before asking on impulse, “why are you doing this?”

“Let’s just say I may have been to the odd Tuscq gig or ten,” Dr. Smith whispered. I nodded even though he couldn’t see me.

“Right, right.” I nodded some more, while considering the two phones I held in my hand, connected to two men who currently held Dan’s fate in
their
respective hands. Perhaps...if I could press the right buttons… I spoke before I had the idea clearly formulated. “Okay. Dr. Smith, I have the editor of
Read London
on the other line. He will be printing your statement. Would you mind if I patched him into our call?”

“That was quick work,” Dr. Smith responded. “But yes. Might as well.”

I spoke briefly to Rick and pressed the conferencing button on my landline.
Please work, please work
. It was an age since I had last made that happen, but there…yes. Rick was coming in on my landline, too. I was a genius.

Afterwards, things happened very quickly. Dr. Smith made the statement exactly as we had discussed, saying neither more, nor less. Rick took note and ended his call. I thanked the doctor again and rang off, switching my laptop on at the same time and tapping away at the keyboard. Jack rang a few moments later to confirm he had spoken with Rick. All systems were go pending my copy. And so I typed. Short, sweet, and to the point.