27Vince sat in front of his laptop and watched Dr Myf Williams materialise from the silver screen.
‘Morning, Vincent.’
‘Hi, Myf. How’s it going?’
‘Good thanks. And you?’
He rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘Unlike the curate’s egg,’ he said, ‘things for me are bad all the way through.’
‘I understand from the Board that you’re facing possible legal action about alleged negligent management of that labour.’
Vince jerked up from his customary slouch. ‘You seem to hear about these things almost before I do.’ He leant into the screen. ‘I did nothing wrong that night; in fact, I saved that baby’s life. There was no prolonged ischaemia and no brain injury from the forceps. It’s a beat up!’
‘How can you be so sure?’
Vince slumped back in his kitchen chair. ‘Truth is, I can’t.’ He paused. ‘U
