Trust Me - Sheryl Browne Page 0,65

been erratic, there was no doubt about that, but once his mind had stopped racing and he’d been able to think rationally, he’d realised she couldn’t have had anything to do with what was going on. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure.

How long had she been taking the tablets? Was it possible that, unable to concentrate, she was inadvertently leaking information? That she might be doing things and not remembering? She’d been so distracted, so unlike herself. Why hadn’t she come to him? Because she didn’t trust him. Christ. He needed to talk to her properly. Whatever was going on between them, he needed to get to the root of this. The long-term effects of taking amphetamines could be catastrophic, possibly causing damage to major organs, and that was without the danger of psychological dependence.

She was registered at the surgery, so she wouldn’t have got the tablets from another doctor, and there was no way he could imagine her obtaining them illegally. There was one other possibility, which was that she didn’t know she was taking them – and the implications of that were truly terrifying. Someone right here in their community was actively trying to drive a wedge between couples. In doing so, they were driving people to desperation. Whoever it was obviously got some perverted kick out of the power they were wielding. How far might they go to satisfy that perversion?

He was heading across the car park when his mobile rang. Cursing when he couldn’t locate it, he finally scrambled it from his inside pocket. ‘Dr Merriden?’ he answered shortly, his focus on getting home and on how he was going to broach the subject of Emily inappropriately medicating, assuming she would even talk to him.

‘Jake, it’s Steve Wheeler. Sorry to bother you so late …’

Hearing the shakiness in the man’s voice, Jake’s stride faltered. ‘Hi, Steve. Can I help with something?’

‘It’s Jen …’ Steve hesitated. From the sharp intake of breath, Jake guessed he was trying to compose himself. ‘She’s taken something.’

Jake stopped in his tracks. ‘I’m here, Steve. Take your time,’ he said, apprehension knotting his stomach. Jennifer Wheeler was on antidepressants. There was no way he could tell the man to call back during surgery hours.

‘Pills,’ Steve went on, his voice choked, ‘I don’t know how many. She’s conscious, but … I don’t know what to do, Jake. I …’

Shit! ‘Have you called an ambulance?’

‘Yes. I wasn’t sure whether to, but—’

‘Right. Good.’ Jake raced to his car. Working on the assumption that she’d overdosed on her antidepressants, she might need urgent intervention. Depending on how long they’d been ingested, her airways might need to be kept open. She would need an electrocardiogram as soon as possible. ‘It’s Hawthorn Lane, isn’t it?’ Pressing his key fob, he threw himself behind the wheel.

‘Thirty-three,’ Steve confirmed. ‘Left-hand side, just past the church.’

‘I’m on my way,’ Jake assured him. Calculating how long the ambulance would take to reach them, he knew he would be quicker.

‘What do I do?’ Steve asked. ‘I’m scared, Jake. I …’ A sob catching in his throat, he broke off.

‘Sit with her and try to keep her calm,’ Jake advised, pulling fast out of the car park. ‘Don’t give her anything to eat or drink. If she loses consciousness, put her in the recovery position: on her side, a cushion behind her back, upper leg pulled forward. Don’t try to make her vomit. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.’

‘Shit. Shit.’ He drove at breakneck speed, calling Emily on his hands-free as he went. Getting no reply, he cursed liberally again, and then called Ben.

‘She’s in the bath,’ Ben told him. His tone was abrupt, distant. Jake didn’t need to wonder why. He knew Ben had heard the arguments. As had Millie. They were probably assuming there was no smoke without fire. Christ, where would this all end?

‘Could you tell her I have an emergency?’ he said. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Ben said, definite sarcasm in his voice.

Realising he’d ended the call without saying goodbye, Jake’s heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. Emily had spoken to them, he guessed. What had she told them? If his kids thought he was anything like his own father, Jake knew from bitter experience that they would despise him. He didn’t think he could bear that.

Seeing the front door open as he pulled up, he parked the car askew on the pavement and raced to the house. ‘Steve?’ he called,