Accidental Reunion (3 page)

‘Glad to hear it.’ There was a long pause as again they pretended to look at the whiteboard. ‘How’s your mum doing?’ His voice was gentle now, wary.

‘She’s fine. Well, not fine, exactly, but we’re managing.’

‘That’s good.’ The silence that followed was deafening. ‘Where is she now?’

Lila turned then, the look of contempt on her face clearly apparent. ‘At home, Declan, with me—where she belongs.’

‘But how…?’ His voice was bewildered now. ‘It’s been eight years. How do you manage? I mean with work and everything?’

‘I manage.’ She gave him the frostiest of looks. ‘That’s all you need to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get on.’ But as she went to go his hand reached out and caught her wrist, gently pulling her back.

‘Lila,’ he said, not letting her go. ‘I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable—I had no idea that you worked here.’

Though he wasn’t holding her tightly, she was achingly aware of the force of his touch. Shrugging him off, Lila picked up a marker pen. ‘Well, how would you know? It’s not as if we kept in touch…’

‘Which was your choice, as I recall.’

Crossing out the name of the patient in cubicle four on the whiteboard, Lila scribbled in the new patient’s details. ‘I can assure you, Declan, your being here doesn’t worry me one bit. We’ve both got jobs to do. It doesn’t mean we have to be the best of friends; we’re just colleagues.’

‘No, but it would be nice if we could at least be civil. Who knows? With a bit of effort from both sides maybe we
could
be friends again. After all, we had some good times, Lila.’

She hesitated. Friends was the last thing she could ever be with him, but if she betrayed the strength of the emotions that were engulfing her now then surely that would only make things more uncomfortable. Forcing a smile, Lila turned and faced him, dragging her eyes up to meet his. ‘Sure—why not?’ she said finally, offering her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you Dr Haversham.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Sister Bailey. Tell me, would you be interested in catching up for a drink some time?’

Lila’s laugh was almost genuine. ‘Don’t push your luck, Declan. Friends at work is enough to be going on with, I think. Don’t you?’

*

By eleven p.m. the place was full, fit to burst. Not only were there a lot of sick people waiting to be seen and dealt with, but also the pubs were turning out and with them the inevitable fights and arguments that invariably found their way to the emergency department. The staff were all more than used to the organised chaos, and dealt good-humouredly with the constant
stream, keeping a careful eye out for any likely sources of trouble.

‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ a young man slurred as the paramedics lifted him over onto a trolley. ‘I didn’t know nurses were so good-looking.’

Lila rolled her eyes as she pulled on her gloves.

‘Fight outside Kerry’s pub,’ the paramedic reeled off. ‘Terry Linton, eighteen years old, multiple lacerations courtesy of a knife; they all appear superficial and his obs have been stable throughout.’

‘Thanks, guys. Any more to bring in?’

‘But of course.’ He gave her a rueful grin, depositing soiled blankets in the linen skip. ‘No doubt we’ll catch you later.’

‘No doubt about it.’

Undressing Terry, Lila ignored his extremely unsubtle advances, concentrating instead on checking each wound carefully. The paramedics were right; they did look superficial—except for one across his left loin. Though small, Lila couldn’t assess the depth of the wound, and from the paramedic’s description of the knife there was every chance it might have gone deep enough to cause some internal trauma.

‘You ever been to Kerry’s? You should try it. They have a happy hour every night from five till six, drinks half-price—even those fancy cocktails girls like. I could take you when you get a night off. We’d have a real laugh.’

As Lila placed a wad of Melolin and combine over the leaking wound the tell-tale signs of flashing stars appeared before her eyes.

Why did blood have this effect on her? It was ridiculous that after all these years—after all the study
she had done, the sights she had seen—for no reason, completely out of the blue, a small wound such as this could turn her stomach.

‘A real laugh,’ Lila said dryly, shifting her mind to Terry’s attempts at a chat-up. ‘I think I might give it a miss, thanks.’ Strapping the combine into place, she popped Terry into a gown and quickly recorded a set of obs.

‘Need a hand?’ Sue’s smiling face appeared at the curtain.

‘Please. I might move this one over to Resus. Can you give me a hand with the trolley?’

That stopped him in his tracks! ‘What are you moving me there for? I’m not dying, am I?’

‘No, Terry, I just want to keep a closer eye on you until you’ve been seen by the doctor.’

‘But Resus is where they put the real crook ones. I’ve seen it on the telly. You’ll be putting those electric shock things on me next.’

Lila grinned. ‘You watch too much television, Terry. Look,’ she said, slipping an oxygen mask over the young man’s face, ‘you’ve got some nasty wounds there. The trouble with knife wounds is that we don’t always know how deep they are until they’ve been explored. I’m just playing it safe by putting you in there for now.’

‘So I’m not dying?’

‘I certainly hope not—it makes far too much paperwork!’ Her humour relaxed Terry, and when she saw him smiling again Lila continued. ‘Still, you’re not going to be going home tonight. Is there anyone I can ring for you?’

‘No way. If my mum finds out she’ll kill me. If
you think these wounds are bad just wait till she’s finished with me.’

Lila glanced at the casualty card, checking his age with the one the paramedics had given. Terry was eighteen, the decision was his, and, as was common in his age group, Terry had declined to give his telephone number.

‘Won’t they be expecting you home?’

‘No.’ He screwed up his nose. ‘They’ll think I’m staying at me mate’s. I mean it. I don’t want them told.’

‘Up to you,’ Lila said. ‘But, Terry, if you do become ill—and I’m not saying it’s going to happen; I ask this of everyone—can I contact them then?’

Terry looked at her suspiciously.

‘I promise I’ll only ring them in an emergency.’

‘Promise?’

Lila nodded.

‘Fair enough.’ After relaying the number, Terry sat forward. ‘Can you pass me jeans up so I can get some money out? I’ll get me mate to fetch me a drink from the machine.’

‘Didn’t those medical dramas on the television teach you anything?’ Lila said good-naturedly. ‘Nothing to eat or drink till the doctor’s seen you.’

Declan was tied up, so it was left to the intern, Diana Pool, to assess Terry.

‘They all seem pretty superficial, though I see what you mean about the one to his loin. I’d better refer him to the surgeons. I know Mr Hinkley doesn’t like knife wounds to be sutured down in the department.’

‘Good call,’ Lila agreed. Mr Hinkley was senior consultant of the emergency department and, though
not the most exciting of personalities, he was a diligent and respected boss.

The trouble was that Jez, the surgical resident, though thorough in his examination, was less than impressed with the referral.

‘They’re fairly minor injuries. I’m happy for him to be stitched up and discharged.’

‘Fair enough. If you’re happy then so am I.’ Diana accepted back the casualty card Jez had hastily scribbled on.

‘Sorry, guys.’ Lila, anticipating trouble, had been discreetly hovering. ‘He’s a surgical patient now—it’s not up to Diana to stitch him.’

Jez pursed his lips. He was young and good-looking, and also far too used to getting his own way—only not when Lila was on duty. ‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it then I’ll do it myself, but can I at least have a nurse to help in Theatre?’

Lila’s voice remained calm, friendly even, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of her tone. ‘I’m afraid not, Jez. You know as well as I do that surgical patients can’t be stitched down in Emergency. Our theatre’s only designed for superficial wounds.’

‘Which these are.’

‘Not according to Mr Hinkley: ‘‘A stab wound can only be considered superficial when the wound has been thoroughly explored.’’ He’ll either have to go to the main theatre or be stitched up on the ward, if your boss agrees. It’s the department’s policy.’

‘Since when were you such a stickler for policy?’ Declan’s friendly tones as he made his way over broke the rather tense atmosphere that had developed.

‘When the policy concerned is in the best interests of a patient then I’m a stickler.’ Lila turned defiantly from Jez to Declan. ‘I have a young man with multiple lacerations. One in particular looks deep—’

‘It isn’t,’ Jez broke in. ‘Look, I’m happy for him to be stitched up, I’ve even offered to do it myself, but Sister here insists he goes up to Theatre or at least a ward. Considering that the rest of the surgical team are stuck in Theatre, it could be hours until he’s seen.’ He threw a withering look at Lila. ‘And we all know the department’s
policy
about patient waiting times.’

Declan grinned as Lila gritted her teeth. ‘So it’s stalemate?’

‘It would seem so.’ Lila found she was holding her breath. She knew she was right, and that Mr Hinkley and even Hester, come to that, would support her on this. But that wasn’t what was worrying her. Declan’s take on this mattered, and not just in a medical sense. If they were going to work together effectively as a team, if they were going to cast aside their differences in the name of peace, she needed his support here.

Her personal feelings, her innermost thoughts, didn’t apply—at least, she tried not to let them.

‘Can I see the casualty card?’

Jez handed it over, watching as Declan flicked through the notes.

‘You’re a braver man than me!’ Declan looked up. ‘I personally wouldn’t like to stand up in court and explain my findings based on these notes.’

‘He has superficial wounds,’ Jez insisted, though rather less forcibly. Declan was, after all, far more senior than him.

‘Appears to have,’ Declan said, his face suddenly
serious. ‘As Lila pointed out, until the wounds are thoroughly explored by a senior doctor they cannot be called superficial. Now, I suggest you get your registrar down here, and if he doesn’t want to take the patient to Theatre I’ll repeat my argument to him. And one other thing,’ he said as he handed back the casualty card to a fuming Jez, ‘I’d try listening to the nursing staff a bit more if I were you. They can make your life one hell of a lot easier.’

As Jez flounced off to the telephone Lila realised a thank-you might be in order. But that didn’t stop it sticking in her throat. ‘Thanks for that.’

‘No worries. I meant what I said. The last thing a doctor needs is the emergency nurses offside, particularly the night team. If Jez doesn’t realise that then it’s time he learnt. Now, if there are any problems with the reg, be sure and let me know. How are Terry’s obs?’

‘Stable.’

‘Good.’

She knew she should go now—after all there were a hundred and one things that needed to be done—but for some reason Lila found her legs wouldn’t move.

‘I’ve just seen a Vera Hamilton. From the pile of notes outside her cubicle I assume she’s a regular?’

Lila nodded. ‘We all know Vera. What’s wrong tonight? Her leg ulcer?’

‘So she says. Frankly, I can’t see much to write home about.’

Lila laughed. ‘Vera’s a manic depressive. She works her way back to us about once a month under
various guises, and her ‘‘leg ulcer’’ is the most common excuse.’

‘She just needs a dry dressing. I offered to do it, but she said you normally took care of her.’

‘No worries. I’ll get around to her when I can.’

The conversation was over, or at least it should have been, but he still stood there.

And to her utter surprise it was she herself who resurrected it. ‘Do you fancy a curry?’

‘Lila!’ Declan’s face broke into a grin. ‘I’ll have to defend you more often. A couple of hours ago you wouldn’t even consider a drink, now you’re asking me out for dinner.’

‘In your dreams.’ Lila grinned. ‘The staff have a whip-round about now and ring for a take-away. Tonight is curry night.’ She couldn’t be certain, but she was almost sure a hint of a blush crept over his face as he reached for his wallet.

‘How much?’

‘That should do it.’ Cheekily she grabbed a ten-dollar note from his hands. ‘And we don’t complicate things by taking individual orders. ‘Chicken Jalfrezi with saffron rice and Kashmiri naan are the go tonight.’

‘Sounds great. When do we get to eat?’

‘When you get rid of all the patients.’

*

Whether the delicious fragrance of curry proved an incentive, or whether it was merely the fact that Declan was a good worker, by three a.m. most of the patients had been moved up to the wards or stitched and sent home. A couple of patients remained, awaiting
X-rays and bloods, and two or three of the city’s homeless slept soundly on trolleys.

‘I don’t know what it is about you,’ Sue said, laughing as she tucked a blanket around Henry, one of their regular tramps, ‘but all the down-and-outs seem to congregate here the nights you’re on. Could it have something to do with the breakfast you order them from the kitchen?’

Lila shrugged. ‘They don’t do any harm. I mean, they’re happy to wait in the waiting room until the place is quieter, and they all have ulcers and the like that do need to be treated. A few hours’ sleep on a warm trolley and breakfast is hardly a big deal.’

‘It would be if the Horse found out.’

‘I’ll deal with that when it happens. Come on, Sue, I’m starving.’

The curry was set up in the small relatives’ room at the entrance to the department. The position was ideal for confused and anxious relatives while their loved one was whizzed on to Resus. During quiet times it served also as an extra staffroom for the night crew. From here they had a full view of any new patients, could hear the tyre screeches of a car pulling up, and if the need arose any curries or pizzas were cleared away more hastily than if one’s mother-in-law had just descended for a surprise visit.