Page 62 of All the Things We Never Knew

‘Down the corridor on the right. But you’ll need to be quick – he’s not operating until tomorrow, so he’ll be off home in a few minutes.’

I thanked her and headed off, hurrying along the corridor past a series of grey-painted doors, some with names stencilled on them, others identifiable only by printed-out names stuck on with Sellotape, or in some cases with the names crossed out and others hastily hand-lettered in biro.

But I found his easily enough. It was one of the stencilled ones, ‘Mr John Smith’ in black capitals against the chipped paint.

I knocked.

Instead of an invitation to come in, the door opened instantly and the man himself stood there. He was tall, over six foot, and lean in the way men of a certain age are who watch their diet like hawks and go on lots of walking holidays. A tweed jacket was slung over his shoulders. His hair was silver and carefully brushed, and he carried an expensive-looking leather laptop bag in his right hand and what I assumed were the keys to his sports car in his left, on which he wore a plain gold wedding ring.

Startled, I took a step back. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Smith. I’m sorry to bother you.’

‘Whatever it is, you’d better make it quick,’ he said. ‘I’ve got seats at the theatre in forty minutes.’

‘I will.’ Intimidated more by his abrupt manner than his presence, I frantically tried to get my thoughts in order. ‘I was wondering if you would help me – if you could let me know if there’s any way of finding out who received an organ transplant from someone.’

He frowned. ‘Both donors’ families and recipients are able to make written contact via the transplant centre. Cards and messages of thanks and good wishes are duly passed on.’

‘Yes, but… this was some time ago. As far as I know, no one made contact afterwards, and anyway the donor and the recipient knew each other.’

He’d begun to brush past me, but now he stopped, as if I’d caught his interest. ‘Are you saying this was a living donor, not a deceased one?’

‘Yes. An altruistic donation.’

‘In that case, and if the two parties were already known to each other, I’m afraid I don’t see the issue here, Ms…?’

‘Norton. Laurel Norton. The donor recently passed away, you see, and I’m trying to trace the recipient.’

‘Was this a family member of yours?’ he asked, leaning a shoulder against his office door and looking down at me.

‘No. A… friend.’

‘Then, Laurel, surely the thing to do is ask the donor’s family who the recipient was. It doesn’t seem particularly fraught with challenge to me.’

‘I don’t know whether the family know either. And anyway… it’s complicated. It’s difficult for me to ask them.’

‘You appear to have a high level of interest in a matter that – purely as an impartial bystander – looks to me like none of your business,’ he said.

I felt my face flame with embarrassment and indignation. I was getting nowhere with this man. His reputation as an arrogant prick was clearly richly deserved.

Walk away, Laurel, part of me urged. You’re wasting your time here – and he clearly thinks you’re wasting his.

‘The thing is, Mr Smith.’ I took a deep breath and tried to sound calm and reasoned. ‘The donor and I… we were close. We were in a relationship for a year before he died. I feel as if making contact with the friend he donated his kidney to would help me to process my loss.’

His face softened slightly. ‘And he was estranged from his family, hence your inability to pursue this through them?’

I thought about lying – that would have been the easiest thing to do. But honesty seemed to be having the desired effect, so I told the truth.

’No. He was… He was married, you see.’

‘I see.’ He drew the word out as if it had more than two Es on the end. He was looking at me differently now – almost speculatively. ‘And the transplant took place a while back, you said?’

‘More than twenty years ago.’

‘And was this in England or Wales? Or, for that matter, north of the border or in Northern Ireland?’

I realised I didn’t know the answer to this. ‘I think it might have been Wales.’

‘Well, Laurel.’ A smile flickered over his face, but it was without warmth. ‘This sounds as if it could be an intriguing investigation to pursue. We must consider patient confidentiality, of course. But I could perhaps do a little detective work on your behalf, if you were able to furnish me with some more details.’