‘Coming.’
If only.
All hell breaksloose at lunchtime. A three-car motorway pile-up results in two ambulances arriving at the hospital simultaneously, each with patients in critical condition.
The next eight hours are a blur of blood and bodies.
When I finally get time to run to the loo, Archie follows me.
‘What a day.’ I shake my head.
‘Did everyone survive?’ He hands me a cup of coffee from the vending machine and I swig it gratefully.
I shake my head, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. ‘The husband didn’t make it. He lost too much blood. His wife is in an induced coma, but hopefully when the swelling on her brain goes down, she’ll make a full recovery.’
‘Shit. That’s intense. I don’t know how you do it.’ Earnest, awe-filled pupils meet mine. Finally.
Perhaps now he might see me for the adult I am. For the woman who can’t forgive herself for the patients we don’t manage to save. Entering the family waiting area and breaking the news that a loved one has died never gets easier. I’m beginning to realise it never will.
I exhale a weary breath. ‘It doesn’t matter how many people we save, at night when I close my eyes, I only see the ones we lost. It’s a constant reminder to live life to the full every day,’ I confess, handing him the cup back. ‘Don’t follow me into the toilets. That would be one step too far,’ I warn him.
I wash my hands, glimpsing my reflection in the mirror above the sink. My skin’s flushed with the rush of adrenaline that circulates in a permanent stream on duty. For all that Doctor Dickson might be, he’s a brilliant doctor. What will it be like when I’m the one in charge? When I’m the SHO on duty? The thought sets another swift jolt pulsing through me.
Archie’s waiting outside, clutching a chocolate orange protein bar. ‘Here.’
Chocolate orange is my favourite.It always has been. Did he remember that from when I lived at Huxley Castle?
Or is that a pure coincidence?
‘Thank you.’ A hit of warmth spreads through my chest. ‘There’s no danger of gaining an ounce in this place.’
‘I noticed.’ We walk the length of the squeaky lino flooring back to the ward, side by side.
I unwrap the orange wrapper and sink my teeth into the thick, gooey protein bar. ‘Did you also notice there is absolutely no danger to me here, unless you count the risk of starvation, of course? You don’t need to hang around. I’m fine.’
Startling blue eyes land on mine. He’s definitely conquering his aversion to looking at me. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Fine, but if you collapse from boredom, don’t expect me to revive you. Apart from the fact we have no free beds, it’ll be ages before Ryan and Sasha notice you’re out of action. Imagine how much fun I could have, footloose and fancy free for a few days.’
He snorts. ‘Huh. Imagine how much trouble you could get yourself into, more like. Some people just seem to attract it. Flock to it, even.’
‘Whatever. Excuse me while I put my underwear on the outside and go save some lives.’ I stuff the empty wrapper into his palm, my fingers brushing across his rough, calloused hands. Electricity sears across my skin again. My heart rate doubles between my ribs. I can safely say I have enough adrenaline to keep me going for another twelve hours straight, but this time it has nothing to do with the rush of the job.
One heart attack and a broken hand later - neither mine, thankfully - I’ve almost finished my shift. The prospect of a long bath and something hot to eat hovers at the forefront of my mind.
One of the receptionists marches into the cubicle where I’m observing Doctor Dickson suture the top of one unlucky carpenter’s finger.
‘Just had a call from the prison. A fight broke out. An ambulance is on route with three injured prisoners.’
Doctor Dickson continues to skilfully thread the needle. ‘We have no beds. See if you can discharge someone or transfer them to another ward.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ There goes my dinner.
The prisoners arrive, two of whom are in a bad way. Harrison is shadowing another SHO and between them, they’re bearing the brunt of it.
Doctor Dickson and I are left to examine the third prisoner, a tattooed tank-like type, who reeks of tobacco and stale sweat. Outwardly, he doesn’t look too bad, bar a superficial stab wound to his abdomen.
Two prison guards wait on the other side of the blue curtain while we assess his injuries.
