Emergency: Christmas

‘Thanks.’ Mark was looking at Penelope. ‘Thanks for your help. Penny, isn’t it?’

‘Penelope Baker.’ Penelope wanted to add her compliments about the surgical intervention but, while Mark smiled at her briefly, his attention was obviously still on their patient. He reached for a lead jacket so he could move back while the X-rays were being taken.

‘How bad is that femur?’

‘Feels like a clean break. Minimal swelling thanks to the traction splint. There’s a Colles’ fracture of the right wrist but everything else is superficial. With a bit of luck we might even keep him out of Theatre.’

‘What’s wrong with Theatre?’ Jeremy appeared relaxed as he joined the other doctors. He winked at Penelope as Mark moved away. ‘I’m quite happy in there myself.’ A glance at the wall clock prompted a frown. ‘In fact, I should be in there right now.’

Jack nodded. ‘Mark can take over monitoring the ventilation. Thanks for your help, Jeremy.’

Penelope watched the senior anaesthetics registrar leave the room. An Australian, Jeremy Lane had only taken up his new position at St Margaret’s a couple of months ago but Penelope had noticed him the first time he had come into the emergency department. Tall, blond and lean, Jeremy looked as though he’d spent a lot of his time on Australian beaches to acquire that tan. Maybe a lot of time surfing or swimming as well to gain the muscular build that Penelope hadn’t been the only one to notice. Neither had she been the only one to notice the fact that the anaesthetist wore no wedding ring.

Penelope swallowed a small sigh. Jeremy was undeniably good-looking and she didn’t mind that he had left the trauma room now without a backward glance. The wink had been sufficient for the moment. Jeremy had also made sure that she’d had front-line involvement in the unusual procedure. Penelope was rapt. This had been an exciting resuscitation and it looked as though their young patient was not only going to survive: he might even come through relatively unscathed.

‘We’ve finished here,’ a radiographer called. ‘We’ll have the films through on screen in a minute.’

‘Right. We’ll tidy up our secondary survey and get things moving,’ Jack directed. ‘Let’s have a few extra hands here for a log roll.’

* * *

‘Wasn’t that awesome? Imagine just cutting into someone’s throat like that.’

‘Mmm.’ Penelope dropped the bloodied scalpel into the sharps disposal container and put the holder with the other instruments destined for resterilisation. ‘You’d better put the mask from the bag mask unit in with this lot, Bindy.’

Belinda Scott pulled the mask free from the unit. ‘He’s good, isn’t he?’

‘Who?’

‘Mark Wallace. Our new registrar.’

‘Mmm.’ Penelope turned her attention to the suction unit. She stripped off the disposable tubing, coiling it up as she reached for the biohazard rubbish bag. ‘I wonder why Jeremy didn’t do the cricothy-roidotomy?’

‘Maybe he didn’t know how,’ Belinda suggested wickedly. Penelope’s dismissive snort made her grin. ‘Come on, that’s your cue for telling me how wonderful Dr Lane is...yet again!’

Penelope remained silent. She rolled up soiled drapes and stuffed them into the contaminated linen holder. The two nurses were alone as they cleared up the trauma room. The highly equipped area needed to be made completely ready for any new incoming emergency. If Richard Milne returned to the emergency department after his CT scan he would go into another area, but it was more likely that he would be transferred directly to the intensive care unit.

Belinda watched Penelope for a moment before returning to her task of restocking the drug cupboard. Then she shook her head with an expression of fond exasperation.

‘For goodness sake, Pen. If you feel this strongly about the man, then do something about it.’

‘Like what?’

‘Ask him out.’

Penelope’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you kidding? I couldn’t do that!’

‘Why not? I would.’

‘You would, too.’ Penelope eyed her friend enviously. ‘Why can’t I be more like you?’ The frustrated shake of her head made the shoulder-length tumble of black curls bounce.

‘You’ll just have to try harder.’ Belinda raised her eyebrows. ‘Remember our New Year’s resolution? It was you, after all, who proposed we swear off men for life. ‘‘Who needs them?’’ you said. With great conviction, I seem to remember.’

‘I’d had rather a lot to drink,’ Penelope reminded her. ‘And it was only a month after Greg had gone back to what’s-her-name.’

‘Sharon,’ Belinda supplied helpfully. ‘Greg dumped you and took off with his old girlfriend and you were unbearably miserable.’

‘I wasn’t!’

Belinda smiled at the scowl she was receiving. ‘I should know. I was the one who had to live with you.’ She turned to lock the drug cupboard. ‘He’d ruined your life, you said.’

‘I’ve recovered.’

‘Yes. With the help of our New Year’s resolution. You’ve been doing rather well so far. Don’t weaken.’

‘It is November, Bindy.’

‘Almost Christmas,’ Belinda agreed. ‘And then it’ll be New Year again.’ She grinned widely. ‘We can renew our vows.’

Penelope sighed. ‘How do you do it? You act like you don’t give a damn, and men can’t stay away from you.’

‘It’s because I’m not acting. I don’t give a damn and neither should you, Pen. Love ’em and leave ’em—like they do to us. No strings.’

‘Maybe I want strings. I’m thirty, Bindy. I’m an aunt five times over. Five and a half times actually, and now it’s my baby sister who’s expecting a baby.’

‘How is Rachael?’ Belinda seemed eager to be diverted from the depressing direction of Penelope’s thoughts. ‘She hasn’t been around to the flat for ages.’

‘I haven’t seen much of her since she got pregnant.’ Penelope bit her lip. ‘Maybe I’m jealous,’ she confessed. ‘Rachael’s three years younger than me and she has everything I’ve always wanted. A fantastic husband, a great job, a baby on the way and...and blonde hair.’

Belinda laughed. ‘So—bleach your hair!’

‘Tried that when I was fifteen.’ Penelope snorted. ‘It looked totally disgusting.’ She shook her head. ‘That was half a lifetime ago. Do you know, my mother had four children all going to school by the time she was my age?’

‘Fate worse than death,’ Belinda stated cheerfully. ‘I should know. Been there, done that.’

‘You didn’t have any kids.’

‘No, thank goodness.’ Belinda reached to switch off the overhead lights. ‘Look, Pen, you can have a baby when you’re in your forties these days. You’ve got another whole decade of freedom.’

‘I don’t want freedom,’ Penelope responded with conviction. ‘I want...’ She sighed heavily. ‘I want Jeremy Lane.’

‘Fine.’ Belinda sounded decisive. ‘You can have him.’

Penelope grinned, pausing as she headed for the doors pushing a linen bag. ‘How?’

‘Leave it with me. I’ll think of something.’ Belinda followed Penelope out of the trauma room. ‘Just don’t marry the man.’

‘Why not?’