13
They droveto Hamblehurst general hospital, which wasn’t the closest A&E department to the hotel, but which made more sense considering that’s where they all lived. Carole’s father was in pain, but not in mortal danger, and she was happy when he agreed that rerouting to their home hospital was the best option.
Tom dropped them off at the A&E patient entrance and went off to park the car. When Carole insisted he didn’t have to come back and wait with them, he only gave her a look, as if the idea of just depositing them at the door and then going home simply wasn’t one that was up for discussion.
The A&E waiting room was predictably and depressingly busy. It was Saturday night, Carole reminded herself, probably their busiest time of the week, and many of those waiting for treatment looked like they’d come straight from the pub or from an altercation outside it. The triage nurse who processed Frederick on arrival told them to brace themselves for a long wait.
By the time they’d dealt with triage, Tom had reappeared. Together, they found seats in the waiting area, and while Tom fetched tea from the vending machine, Carole sent a text to Janeto let her know they’d arrived and were now playing the waiting game.
“Are you sure you want to hang around here with us, Tom?” Carole asked once they’d drunk the awful vending machine tea and her parents had gone off in search of the toilets. “We’ve probably got hours ahead of us and you’ve done enough to help already.”
“I’m happy to wait. If your dad gets seen soon and is discharged, he’ll need a lift home.”
“My brother-in-law can come and pick us up. They’re only over in Winchester and it won’t take long for him to get here.”
“I don’t mind staying. Unless you want me to go?”
She didn’t want him to go. He was good company while they waited on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, keeping her distracted with small talk and, more importantly, keeping her father distracted with an in-depth discussion about their favourite football teams while they’d been drinking the terrible vending machine tea. The conversation, she was sure, had kept her father’s mind occupied. Anything that eased his pain and discomfort while they waited was welcome, as far as Carole was concerned.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said. “But I don’t want you to feel obliged to hang around here with us in the ninth circle of hell.”
Tom laughed and glanced around at the other patients waiting to be seen. People were clutching at bloody gashes or broken digits, or hunched over sick bowls, or just generally moaning in pain or boredom or both. It wasn’t a fun place to be.
And yet, Tom stayed with her, kept her father talking, kept their spirits up as time dragged on.
At just after midnight, three hours after they arrived, a nurse appeared in the waiting room and called Frederick through tobe seen. With sighs of relief, her parents trundled off to the treatment area.
“Thank goodness for that,” Carole said, rising from the plastic chair and stretching out the many, many kinks in her body. “That was the longest three hours of my life.”
“Want to grab some fresh air?” Tom asked.
“Good idea. I’ll just text my mum in case she comes out here looking for us.”
Text message sent, Carole followed Tom outside, pulling on her jacket to ward off the cool night air. They dodged the wheezing smokers clustered near the doors and walked along the pavement that led away from A&E and towards a path that cut through a small avenue of trees and foliage and the car park beyond.
After the stale air of the waiting room, it was good to get some fresh air into her lungs.
“What a night,” Carole said on a sigh as they strolled along the lit pathway.
“I’m sorry your dad ended up getting hurt and having to wait around in the hospital all this time.”
“Hopefully now that he’s being seen in the treatment room, it’ll just be a case of getting an X-ray and then waiting while they put his wrist in a cast, or whatever it is they do.”
Frederick’s head wound had stopped bleeding hours earlier, and once Nina cleaned it up with some damp tissues, it proved to be no more than a nasty bash to the skin that would heal with time. The medical staff would check him over to be sure while they attended to his undoubtedly broken wrist. Carole was sure her father would have plenty of bruising in the days to come, thanks to the heavy fall onto the hard floor, but there wasn’t much they could do about that in A&E.
“That stupid Steven Weaver,” Carole seethed, not for the first time since they’d arrived at the hospital. “I wish I’d punched him in the face before we left. I’d feel much better.”
Tom laughed. “It looked like he’d just had too much to drink, and he wasn’t the only one at the wedding in that position. I don’t think he meant to hurt anyone.”
“I’m sure he didn’t. But that’s what happened. And you’re right, he wasn’t the only person who’d had a lot to drink, but no one else was flailing around like an idiot and causing mayhem.”
Tom gave her a sympathetic look.
“Sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to keep ranting about him.”
“It’s fine. You’re worried about your dad. Rant away if it makes you feel better.”
She laughed, her anger at Steven quickly dissipating. Tom’s easy humour and ability to defuse her righteous outrage was soothing and welcome.
