them, too.’
Mrs Garner laughed. ‘You’re pulling my leg, love. It was hard enough getting my husband to use a push-button phone.’
‘Well, perhaps my assistant can email the council for you,’ Charlie said. He picked up his phone and spoke briefly to Helen, who occupied the front office. Smiling as he put the phone down, he turned back to his constituent. ‘Helen’s going to send them an email, and when they respond, we’ll drop you a line and let you know. Or you might get a letter from them.’
‘Thank you, my love,’ Mrs Garner’s rheumy eyes brimmed. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if my husband didn’t have dementia, but facing this on my own is a bit difficult these days.’
Charlie felt a lurch of sympathy. He could well imagine the trials of the woman in front of him. ‘Does your husband have a carer to come in at all?’ he asked gently. He knew he had another appointment in a few minutes, but he was reluctant to let Mrs Garner go just like that.
‘Oh, they come in, these lovely foreign girls, twice a day, but they don’t get paid enough, and they’re always so pushed for time,’ Mrs Garner sighed. ‘It’s not their fault, but it does mean long stretches where we’re on our own.’
‘I see.’ Charlie’s mind was whirling. ‘What about respite care? Is your husband eligible for that?’
‘He goes into the local nursing home for a couple of nights a month,’ Mrs Garner replied. ‘Which would help, but with the noise from next door, it doesn’t make a great deal of difference.’
‘I see.’ Charlie was determined now to try to help. He stood up from behind his desk and came round it to help Mrs Garner to her feet. ‘If we can help with the noise issue, I promise we will.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Mrs Garner smiled up at him. ‘Now I’d best be off. You’ve got other people to see, I’d imagine.’ She walked with a surprisingly brisk step to the door of the office.
‘Take care now,’ Charlie said as she left. He hoped he would be able to help her. It was the work of a few minutes, time-wise, but it might make a big difference to her. Walking back to his desk, he made a note in his diary to check on her case again in a week or two, and, if necessary, hassle the council himself.
When he looked up again, he saw a woman in his doorway. She was clutching a folder to her chest and looked a little nervous, but very familiar.
‘Hello,’ Charlie said, rising from his desk and holding out a hand. ‘I’m Charlie Thorpe. How can I help you?’
The woman smiled, and then it clicked.
‘Of course,’ Charlie said. ‘You’re Rachel, aren’t you? We, er, met last night at your sister’s place.’ Unsurprisingly, he’d been more concerned about getting his trousers back on than paying attention to the woman and child who’d appeared at that highly embarrassing moment in Holly’s home.
Rachel smiled, blushing slightly. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘So, what can I do for you?’ Charlie hadn’t made the connection when he’d seen Rachel’s name on his appointments list, but, of course, she had been married, so her name was different now to Holly’s.
‘It’s about my son, Harry,’ Rachel replied, still smiling. ‘You, er, met him last night, too.’ She took a seat in front of the desk.
Charlie made a mental note to get some comfortable chairs to put in the bay window of the room as he, sat back down behind his desk, although it felt a little formal. But then, he figured, given the position he was in when he’d met Rachel last night, perhaps a little formal distance was just what was needed.
‘How can I help?’ Charlie smiled, trying to forget that the last time Rachel had seen him, he’d been spreadeagled on top of her sister with his trousers round his ankles.
‘I don’t know if Holly’s told you about Harry’s condition, but he was born with cystic fibrosis.’ Rachel paused and shuffled the folder she’d brought in with her. ‘There’s a new generation of drugs coming from a large pharmaceutical company, but there’s a hold-up because the company can’t strike an agreement with the government to supply them on the NHS. So far, they’re in a stalemate.’ Rachel handed over some documentation to Charlie that outlined the issue in more detail. ‘I did speak to Mr Fitzgerald about it back when Harry was a baby, but he was unable, or unwilling, to progress the case, so it kind of stalled here, as well.’
Charlie ‘s heart went out to the woman sitting on the other side of the desk. He remembered seeing little Harry, first in Holly’s shop and then, he winced inwardly, when the loose mouse had caused such an embarrassing stir. The little boy looked just like any other child; who would have imagined that he had such a heartbreaking condition? He didn’t know a lot about cystic fibrosis, but his sense of responsibility to those in need in his constituency, as well as his own, very human emotions at Rachel’s revelation made him want to find out more. He scanned through the précis that Rachel had given him. On paper it all seemed clear enough, though, understandably, frustrating for Rachel and her family.
‘It’s a conflict because of the cost issue, I see,’ he murmured. It wasn’t an unfamiliar story; the NHS was stretched and often it was a question of economics. That in no way made decisions easier, but they had to be made, nonetheless.
‘That’s true, but there may be grounds for reassessment,’ Rachel said. ‘So far, there have been a couple of MPs who’ve got behind the campaign, but as the new MP here, I wondered if you might give it some thought, too.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll need to look into it, get some more facts and figures and find out exactly what’s involved, but I promise I’ll come back to you when I’ve had the chance to do a bit of homework.’ Charlie felt a tingle of excitement; the Ministry of Health was his ultimate aim, in a few years, and taking on Rachel and Harry’s case might be as useful for him politically as it was for them. That wasn’t as venal as it sounded; as one of his constituents, it was equally important to give them the attention and service they needed, too. Perhaps there was a way to help them both.
‘Thank you,’ Rachel said. ‘Being the parent of a child with CF feels like being on borrowed time.’
Charlie nodded. ‘I can’t imagine, but I can try to help.’
There was a pause, which seemed to signal the end of the formal part of the appointment.
Rachel stood up and Charlie went to hand her back the folder, but Rachel shook her head. ‘Keep it – I made copies for you for reference.’
‘Thanks.’ Charlie rose to his feet when Rachel did, and she grinned.
‘It’s good to see you with your trousers on this time.’
Charlie laughed out loud. ‘I have no idea what you must have thought.’
Rachel smiled wryly. ‘With Holly, I’ve learned not to read too much into anything – for all I know it could have been some kind of alternative therapy!’ She paused. ‘She did text me and say she and Arthur flushed out the mouse in the end, though, if that’s any comfort.’
‘I’d like to say it was,’ Charlie joined in the laughter, ‘but I’m still having flashbacks!’
‘Well,
