Accidental Reunion

‘Any blood I see, I just imagine it’s cordial.’

He was really smiling now. ‘And does it work?’

‘Mostly.’

‘And when it doesn’t?’

It was Lila’s turn to smile now. Rolling her eyes, she pulled a face. ‘I just hope for a soft landing.’

‘You’re not serious?’

‘Absolutely. But don’t worry,’ she added quickly, ‘I always get heaps of warning, and I haven’t fallen on top of a patient yet—touch wood.’

‘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?’