???
I double-checked Mrs Carter’s chart to make sure the medication I was about to give her was correct.
“Can you please state your name and date of birth?”
“You know exactly who I am, young lady. I’ve seen you every day for the last five days,” she scoffed.“And when am I getting some decent food?”
“When we’re given decent food to give you,” I said with a smile, confirming her details on the wristband before checking the dose and labels against her chart.
“Fifty years of paying taxes, and I get green jelly and toast,” she grumbled.“Everyone knows the green one is utter shite.”
“At least your medicine is free,” I said lightly.
“I heard you’re sneaking in muffins,” she added, waggling her white eyebrows.
I checked the time and method for the medication.
“How about this—if you behave, I’ll bake you a batch the day you’re discharged?”
“Fine,” she sniffed, raising her frail hand for the IV.“Perhaps the injection will fill me up.”
Such a drama queen.
The food wasn’t great, but I couldn’t say that to a patient. I sat with her for a few moments before moving on. Some patients didn’t get visitors, so I tried to spend a little extra time with them when I could. It was never much, given the workload, but I always left Mrs Carter with a smile on her face.
???
I took a walk around the hospital grounds during my lunch break. The warmth of the afternoon sun was a pleasant contrast to the morning’s chill. In a few months, summer would return. Until then, I’d settle for the fresh blooms of daffodils and crocuses.
I bent down and brushed my fingers over a yellow bud.
My mum loved her plants and flowers.
Gone too soon.
The paramedics had tried to resuscitate her, but it was already too late.
A hit and run.
There hadn’t been many cameras back then, and nobody—
“Do you have a light?” a gruff voice asked behind me.
I turned, but my attention snagged on the unlit cigarette in his hand.
An ornate biblical cross was inked across it. At its centre sat an eerie skull, the tip of the cross running down his middle finger. I wasn’t religious, but it still felt blasphemous. The tattoo continued across his knuckles, forming what looked like a skeletal hand.
My gaze followed the ink until a leather sleeve cut it off.
“A light?” he asked again, irritation sharpening his tone.
I glanced up. A snake was tattooed around his throat, its body disappearing beneath his collar. A piercing sat beneath his eyebrow. His eyes were hard. Cold. Glacial.
“I’m sorry. I don’t smoke.”
“That’s not what I asked you, is it?” he drawled.
“I—I have a torch at home,” I said, straightening.
