A Form of Justice Read online

  ‘Idiot,’ she muttered.

  Melanie ran the cold tap and washed her face, pulling her hair away from her neck and wiping some cold water around it as well. She looked once again at her appearance and her face crumpled. How had she been reduced to this? Her whole body ached, a feeling of utmost despair overwhelmed. Once again she was being called to release the demons before they consumed her from within. The clarion call was resounding in her ears, and however hard she tried, the clamour circled, taunting her and challenging her resolve.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Thank you, Mr Burridge, you may sit down,’ said Dame Margaret.

  ‘He looks a bit like David Cameron, don’t you think?’ whispered Beth to Trish.

  ‘Yes, he does. Same build and hairstyle, a sort of older version. Have you had anything to do with him?’

  ‘Nothing, I didn’t really know he existed, but as he said, he’s in overall charge, so he’s more concerned with budgets and running the group. I can’t say I liked him much. What about you?’

  ‘He was very confident, perhaps too smooth for my liking and lacking in emotion. He’s clearly doing very nicely for himself judging by his clothes. That suit looked very expensive, made to measure I should think.’

  ‘I think he just lets Mr Hughes run things. It’s a bit awful that Burridge didn’t even visit Stour View after all the dreadful things which were happening there.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ nodded Trish. ‘It doesn’t paint him in a very good light.’

  ‘It will be interesting to hear what Martin Hughes has to say for himself. I never had much success getting in touch with him.’

  ‘Well, we will hear soon. He looks very nervous.’

  Martin Hughes had made his way to the stand and was currently being sworn in. The room was settling down ready to hear the next witness, and the atmosphere once more became hushed.

  ‘Mr Hughes, you are the Senior Manager of SEKare, and report directly to the Director of SEKare, Mr Neil Burridge? asked Simeon Fairbrother, QC.

  ‘Yes,’ replied the nervous looking middle-aged man who had been called to give evidence.’ His left eye appeared to be twitching slightly, and he stretched it wide open several times as if to dispel the nervous affliction. His short-cropped grey hair gave his skull a neat covering resembling grey velvet. He wore a smart suit and a garishly coloured tie which seemed rather inappropriate to the occasion.

  ‘Here is your witness statement which you provided in advance, at the request of the inquiry.’

  Mr Hughes nodded, took hold of the document and promptly dropped it. He mouthed some expletives as he bent down to retrieve it.

  Trish looked at Beth and raised her eyebrow.

  Straightening his suit jacket, he looked down at the typed document then took a pair of reading glasses from his jacket pocket.

  As the witness went through some of the details in his statement, Trish thought back to her parents. She had been spared the trouble of finding care homes for them both. Her father had died very young, and her mother, although she had lived until her mid-eighties, had died in hospital following a severe stroke. What would her own fate be as she reached her dotage? Assuming she outlived Tom and with no children to care for her, she might well find herself at the mercy of cruel and indifferent carers, and it was a frightening thought.

  ‘So you employ one hundred and forty-three nursing and care staff across your homes and additionally fifty-six domiciliary staff, such as cleaners and catering staff.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the current number although it can vary. We have a high level of staff turnover, and we often have to use agency staff to maintain our numbers.’

  ‘Thank you. Let us discuss the latest inspection of Stour View by the local Clinical Commissioning group in 2016, where you received a good overall rating with some points for improvements. Can you explain what those were?’

  ‘Yes, we were advised to purchase some new wheelchairs and improved hoists for assisted bathing at a cost of seven thousand pounds.’

  ‘Thank you. Were you aware of the concerns of the relatives of your residents in Stour View home?’

  ‘Well, I did become aware of them, and I visited Stour View immediately to see whether I could intervene and discover for myself what was alleged to have happened. But when I visited, I found the home to be clean and well-run.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Simeon Fairbrother sat down and nodded to Dame Margaret.

  ‘Ms Overton? Would you like to continue?’

  ‘Thank you. Mr Hughes, do you have anyone to assist you? Any assistant managers?’

  ‘None apart from the senior nurse in charge of each of the homes.’

  ‘So what happens if you are ill?’

  ‘I’m not often ill, and I can be contacted at all times by phone. Also, as I have already explained, the senior nurses are responsible for day to day activities.’

  ‘Can you explain what safe-guarding procedures you have in place for your residents?’

  ‘Well, yes, all our employees are checked for criminal records, the Disclosure and Barring Service check, DBS check as it is known.’

  ‘What about references? In particular regarding Jason Morley?’

  ‘We were under pressure to employ someone to help our staffing levels. It seems that we omitted to follow up references and he slipped through the net. We are very busy, and administrative tasks are increasing all the time.’ Mr Hughes was speaking more quickly as his discomfort increased. His hitherto rather neutral accent had now taken on a harsher tone redolent, of the East Kent area and he sounded considerably less professional and self-assured.

  ‘Jason Morley has been tried in a criminal court and found guilty of abuse. He’s serving a prison sentence,’ continued Gina.

  ‘I regret employing Jason Morley, and we clearly made an error, but that was an unusual situation and coincided with my time in hospital for a hernia operation. I asked the senior nurse at Stour View to follow up references, but she failed to do so.’

  ‘So you are passing responsibility on to someone else.’

  ‘I’m not passing it on, I just,’ he paused as if wrestling with his pent-up anger. His hands gripped the top of the stand, causing his knuckles to appear whitish. ‘In this particular case, I asked someone else to do something for me, OK. Don’t you ever delegate things to other people?’ His tone was becoming belligerent as he glared at Gina.

  ‘Mr Hughes, please take your time and do not attack Ms Overton,’ intervened Dame Margaret. ‘We are merely trying to establish the facts about how your business is run. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ he replied quietly before sipping his water. His face was flushed, and he looked even more furious at being reprimanded.

  ‘So, would you agree that it is imperative to follow up references as well as to complete the DBS checks?’

  ‘Look, it’s very difficult to get staff in this particular field. I can’t follow up everything. There is so much administration I have to keep on top of.’

  ‘The pressure of your workload has been noted, thank you,’ said Gina, smiling at the witness. ‘Part of this inquiry is to examine whether that workload is overly cumbersome and is getting in the way of providing care.’

  Martin Hughes glared at Gina but remained silent. Defiance had now replaced his initial nervousness. His jaw was clamped shut, his face emanating a mixture of aggression and displeasure. Trish now had a definite dislike of the man. She suspected he was a bully. Perhaps he had underlying insecurities which would cause him to lash out if he felt his position was being challenged? As she stared at the witness, his face slowly metamorphosed into that of her father, who had similarly been unable to tolerate any criticism. She closed her eyes, willing the image to retreat.

  ‘When Stour View was visited by Mrs Sheldon, whose mother Mrs Iris Yalding, sadly died there, she found that the home smelled so strongly of urine that it made her eyes water. She testified in court that all the patients were lined up at “toilet time” as i
t was explained to her. This seems rather undignified, would you agree?’

  Trish felt disgusted, what sort of people could be so callous and uncaring that they would treat the elderly like this? However, it was hardly surprising in view of Martin Hughes’ own personality, he was unlikely to worry whether the employees possessed any compassion. She felt the beginnings of a headache. This whole experience was proving more traumatic than a counselling session with a client. It felt overwhelmingly depressing.

  She was finding it difficult to stay in the present moment, her mind was becoming embroiled with distressing thoughts, and she had to keep trying to drag it back to the inquiry. Bed guards, wheelchairs, broken equipment penetrated her disparate memories as she heard Mr Hughes make yet another excuse.

  ‘I realise that the care fell well short of what was expected and I apologise for that. But I wasn’t aware this was happening.’

  ‘How much on average do you charge for a room at Stour View, Mr Hughes?’

  ‘For a single room, it is nine hundred and thirty pounds, for a shared room, seven hundred and fifty pounds a week.’

  ‘Yet, Mrs Sheldon’s mother claimed she was hungry as nobody could be bothered to feed her, hence the food was cleared away uneaten.’

  ‘Some of the patients have a very small appetite. They don’t eat the food.’

  ‘Mrs Sheldon’s mother had suffered a stroke and had trouble using a knife and fork. You assured her daughter that she would have assistance. That clearly didn’t happen.’

  ‘I’m very sorry for Mrs Sheldon’s loss.’

  ‘Mrs Sheldon also tells us that the carers had difficulty understanding her concerns due to poor communication skills. English wasn’t their first language, and they could hardly hold a simple conversation.’

  ‘Mrs Sheldon voiced her concerns with me, and I spoke to Nurse Price who is responsible for training the staff and ensuring good care.’

  ‘Perhaps we can move on to some other incidents concerning Mrs Iris Yalding, aged eighty-seven at the time of her death.’ Gina paused and turned to the next page in her notes. ‘I would like to show the inquiry some photographs of the late Mrs Yalding, taken two weeks before her death. The photographs are disturbing, so please leave the room if you wish.’ She paused to allow people to leave the auditorium, then projected a photograph on to the screen at the side of the room. There was an audible gasp from the assembled group.

  ‘Mrs Yalding had a bruise on her left cheek and bruises on her upper arms,’ she showed three photographs in succession. ‘Mrs Sheldon reported those to you, and she was informed that her mother had tried to get out of bed unaided and had tripped, falling against the bed frame, upon which she banged her face. She had to be helped into a wheelchair by two staff members, and due to her susceptibility to bruising, she sustained those marks on her arms.’

  Trish had never met Beth’s mother and had heard some of these stories before but to see the bruises for herself was indeed shocking. She reached over and squeezed her friend’s arm to show support. Her thoughts were brought back to the present when she heard Mr Hughes admit that they had purchased equipment from a home which was closing down and it had turned out to be faulty or substandard. A clear case of cost-cutting with the most vulnerable paying the price.

  The witness was crumbling under Gina’s questioning, and he looked cowed and ready to concede defeat. ‘So, Mrs Yalding was given a shower instead of a bath because the hoist was out of action and in doing so, she slipped and caught her leg on the shower tray. Her skin was thin and fragile, and she needed hospital treatment for the wound. This wound then became infected due to the dressing not being changed frequently enough.’

  ‘It seems there was some misunderstanding about the instructions from the hospital regarding management of the dressings.’

  ‘Indeed it does. Another instance of your staff not being able to understand instructions and poor Mrs Yalding suffered as a result of this.’

  ‘As I have already said, it is difficult to get staff.’

  Mr Hughes took some more sips of water from the glass in front of him. He swallowed loudly and then began to cough. ‘Sorry,’ he said, quietly. He wiped his mouth with a cotton handkerchief before nodding that he was ready to continue.

  The witness had allowed his underlying aggressive nature to break through several times. As he stumbled through the next set of questions, he looked over towards his colleague Neil Burridge, whose face showed his disappointment and disdain for his hapless employee.

  ‘I think in view of the time we will break for lunch now,’ said Dame Margaret. ‘I will also ask the facilities management to check the air-conditioning as it is feeling rather warm in here.’

  There were muted mumblings of assent. Martin Hughes stepped down, and if looks could have killed, Gina would have shrivelled on the spot.

  ‘We will reconvene at 1.30 p.m. as we are taking an early lunch. Thank you.’

  Chapter 9

  Neil Burridge was waiting outside in the courtyard for his employee when five minutes after the end of the session, Martin Hughes emerged into the sunlight.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ said Martin, sheepishly. ‘I need a fucking drink.’

  ‘That’s the last thing we need, you being questioned again and appearing half cut! You aren’t exactly inspiring when you are stone cold sober!’

  ‘Thanks for the compliment, I’m sure,’ he retorted.

  ‘Well, what do you expect me to say? And you started to get aggressive. I thought I told you about that.’ Neil looked around as he realised he was raising his voice and people were beginning to look over at them. He was anxious not to attract further bad publicity, so he steered his employee by the elbow away from the stream of people exiting into the courtyard.

  ‘Get off me,’ hissed Martin. ‘Look, I’m going for a quick drink whether you like it or not, there’s a pub just by the far entrance. I need a change of scenery.’ He strode off, ignoring Neil and took off his tie, rolled it up and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

  ‘I had better come with you,’ said Neil, scurrying along, ‘that way I can keep an eye on you. God knows you need it.’ He added this last comment under his breath, realising it was probably prudent not to annoy Martin further.

  ‘I’d like to give that barrister, Ms Overton,’ he emphasised the Ms as he spoke, ‘a good slap after the way she spoke down to me. She’s a stuck up bitch!’

  ‘Isn’t that always your answer to everything?’ asked Neil. ‘Violence first, negotiation second.’

  ‘Ha! You are such a bullshitter. Ever the smooth talker, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, someone has to be. It’s no wonder that there are problems in the homes with the staff abusing people, they’ve obviously been to the same charm school as you.’

  ‘I’m not discussing it, I want a break,’ replied Martin.

  Having arrived at the pub, Martin pushed open the door and strode up to the bar to await service.

  ‘I’ll get these,’ said Neil, feeling the need to offer an olive branch to his colleague.

  ‘Lager?’ he asked.

  Martin nodded.

  ‘Two lagers, please.’

  ‘Anything to eat?’

  ‘I’m not hungry, but I’ll have some crisps,’ replied Martin, before heading over to a vacant table towards the back of the pub.

  Neil brought over the drinks and two bags of crisps.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Martin, taking a deep draught of the cold lager. ‘I just felt I was being put through the wringer. I didn’t like her tone, she was so superior.’

  ‘Yes, well, she’s used to being in that environment, and you aren’t, neither am I, for that matter. Look, we need to try to stay positive, difficult though that might be. Stour View is by far the worst of the homes, they aren’t all as bad.’

  Martin looked unconvinced that there was anything, however small, that could engender any positivity. He finished his lager and looked ruefully at the empty glass.

  ‘Another?’
he asked Neil.

  ‘No, and don’t have more than a half, you will be falling asleep in there.’

  Neil checked his phone whilst waiting for Martin to return with another drink.

  ‘Well, most of the blame should be laid at Bridget’s door, don’t you think?’ suggested Martin.

  Before Neil could respond, his colleague continued. ‘After all, she’s the senior nurse at Stour View. God, she’s a lazy mare. I’d like to give her a slap too.’

  ‘I wish you would stop speaking like that,’ hissed Neil, casting an eye around the pub. He’d not realised before what a misogynist Martin was.

  ‘Call herself a senior nurse. Ha, that’s a joke! I hope they give her a hard time when she’s called as a witness.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s her problem, not ours,’ replied Neil.

  ‘I hope she does get a grilling, as I did. Also, I was a bit pissed off at getting the blame for the faulty equipment,’ he raised an eyebrow at Neil. ‘After all, I’ve been under a lot of pressure to work on a shoestring budget, haven’t I?’

  Neil looked levelly at his colleague. ‘And your point is?’

  ‘My point is,’ he said, his tone becoming once again aggressive, ‘is that your corner-cutting seems to have backfired.’

  ‘Really? So that’s your expert opinion then?’

  The conversation was deteriorating, and the two men were resorting to jibes at each other which served no purpose other than increase the tension even further.

  ‘I was so tempted to tell them that you knew the manager of Brookfield and I still could tell them of course,’ he added.

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘I’m just pointing out that I know that equipment wasn’t worth what we paid and doubtless you split the money with him. Ha! That’s the oldest trick in the book, put something through the accounts, and yet don’t pay the real value to the other party.’