They had chosen to take action. The waiting was too much to bear. The despair too crushing. Their life was now slow torture and it was time to do something about it. So they had decided to draw straws – or rather flies as that was all they could find. So Mickery now found herself with arms outstretched facing Sandy. In one of her hands was a dead fly. The other hand was empty. If Sandy picked the fly, he lived. If he didn’t, he would be killed.
Sandy hesitated, willing his eyesight to penetrate the skin and reveal the treasure within Mickery’s palms. Left or right? Death or life?
‘Come on, Sandy. For fuck’s sake just get it over with.’
Mickery’s voice was desperate, entreating. But Sandy didn’t feel any pity, couldn’t feel any pity. He was frozen in the moment, unable to move a muscle.
‘I can’t do it.’
‘Do it now, Sandy. Or I swear to God I’ll make the decision for you.’
Mickery’s tone was savage and it jolted Sandy out of his paralysis. Muttering the Lord’s Prayer, he slowly stretched out his arm, tapping Mickery firmly on the left hand.
A long, terrible moment. Then slowly Mickery turned her hand round and opened it for both to see.
It had been the strangest day. The best and worst of days. Charlie lay in bed trying to make sense of it all.
After Helen had gone, the team had hopped to it, driven on by Charlie’s energy and zeal. Encouraging her guys to be brutal with the clinic managers who were evasive, hiding behind client confidentiality, the team had made good progress, working their way steadily through the list, chasing down the surgeons in the Hampshire area who had the expertise to take on a gender reassignment operation. In the end, however, they had drawn a blank. Everyone had been quizzed, but no one recognized Martina or could cast any light on who she might have been when she was a he.
So it was time to widen the search. There were several dozen clinics nationwide that did this kind of thing and they would have to contact them all. Please, God, Martina had not had the op abroad – that would be too much for their limited resources and they were desperate for a clue, something to get them back on track. Charlie left the guys at it. She was sick with tiredness and needed a moment’s respite. As she drove home her mood lifted at the chance of spending a few valuable minutes with her boyfriend and cat, some decent food and, best of all, some sleep.
Roadworks. And a diversion. Irritating, but no more than that. But it meant Charlie had to take an unusual route home. A route that would take her straight past Mark’s flat. With a sudden pang of guilt, she realized that she had momentarily forgotten about him. She had been so intent on proving to herself (and to Helen obviously) that she could lead the team. In so doing she had shown herself to be a bad leader and an unworthy friend – one shouldn’t forget the walking wounded in one’s desperation to win the battle.