Going Viral by Andrew Puckett Page B

house officer. She was seven years younger than me. People told me she looked like Kiera Whatsherface, which is perhaps why a chill still ran down my vertebrae whenever I heard the music of Pirates of the Caribbean .
    Whatever, she was good looking and had probably known it since she was about three. Her father was a top surgeon and on the management committee of the hospital as well as having money of his own, and thereby hangs another tale. Or rather, thereby hung me.
    He was delighted when Sarah and I got together, probably because I made such a pleasant change from the pond life she had been associating with. She did it to annoy him. Her sister still did. It was her way of showing her independence.
    Anyway, Pops was so pleased at meeting someone he could actually hold a half-intelligent conversation with (and, of course, showed some deference) that he did all he could to encourage the relationship, so it’s a miracle we stayed together at all. Pops’ approval should have been the kiss of death.
    At our wedding, he said: I have not lost a daughter , I have gained a son . The trouble was – he meant it. He never called me Herry, but always My Boy. He meant that, too. I’m fairly certain he pulled strings to get me the director’s job in Exeter.
    There, I’ve admitted it. It would be nice to think I’d have got it anyway, but I’m really not sure I would. The fact is, Roland Wade-Stokes probably did have a sound reason for his resentment.
    That, of course, wasn’t the only problem. Having got the job, together with the lurking suspicion that I didn’t really deserve it, I was determined to justify it. I really did work.
    Sarah, to be fair, had calmed down a bit – she was nothing like as feral as her sister – but she still wanted to socialise. To party.
    There are those irritating types who can party all night and still do a day’s work in the morning. I am not one of them. I couldn’t do justice to the job and lead the kind of social life Sarah wanted. So she started going on her own, just occasionally with a girlfriend, she said.
    Things deteriorated and we stopped sleeping together. Literally – I moved to the spare room, which is why when she became pregnant, we both assumed it was Charles’. But there had been one night when for some reason she’d come to me, and for some reason, I’d performed.
    Nasty word, performed. Anyway, that must have been when it happened – assuming she was telling the truth about the DNA. Sarah didn’t lie, mostly because she couldn’t be arsed to make the effort a good lie requires.
    Anyway, when Charles had demanded the paternity test, so confident had she been that he was the father that she’d agreed without a thought…
    ‘So what d’you require from me?’ I asked her now.
    ‘Money.’
    I let out a snort. ‘You’ve already had half the house – you agreed that was the end of it.’
    ‘That was before I knew who Grace’s father was – that’s your daughter’s name, by the way, since you haven’t asked.’
    ‘What happened to all the house money?’
    ‘We put it on the new house. Oh, I’ll get some back, Charles has already put it on the market. But I’ll need something to live on.’
    ‘You could always work.’
    It was a stupid, spiteful remark and she looked at me with the contempt it deserved.
    ‘No. I intend to be a proper mother to Grace, no nurseries or boarding schools.’
    Since I was sure that was part of the reason she was so screwed up, I understood her attitude. What I doubted was her ability to carry it through…
    ‘D’you want to see the DNA test?’ she asked.
    ‘How did you get a sample from me?’
    ‘One of your jumpers found its way into my stuff and I took a hair from it.’
    ‘But is it my hair?’ Spiteful again.
    ‘It was short, blonde, and I hadn’t slept with anyone other than Charles and you. Unless, of course, you had…’
    I shook my head. It didn’t occur to me to doubt her.
    ‘Have you tried Pops?’ I