The Spice of Life

Kath nodded. ‘So why is he still alive?’

‘God knows.’ Their eyes met and tracked together to the heart monitor. ‘He’s not doing too well, is he? I think we need an echocardiograph. Can you get the cardiographer?’

Not that there’s a great deal of point, Kathleen thought to herself, but we may as well go through the motions.

While she phoned the switchboard and requested that they page the cardiographer, Michael Barrington the orthopaedic SR arrived and glanced at the shattered stubs of the young man’s femurs.

He swore, softly and succinctly. ‘Got any X-rays yet?’

Jack nodded. ‘Yes, they’re just being developed.’

Michael pursed his lips. ‘Done a real job on himself, hasn’t he? Anyone know why?’

‘No. We don’t even know if it was an accident yet.’

Their eyes flicked to the monitor. Their patient was still alive but his condition was deteriorating visibly. The anaesthetist, Peter Graham, had arrived and managed to dull his pain. Now he merely lay and moaned, but at least he was no longer screaming.

Amy popped her head round the door to tell Kathleen that they had found some ID on the track and the police had brought his parents in.

‘His name’s Steven Blowers. They want to see him.’

Kathleen exchanged glances with Jack, and he shook his head.

‘Put them in the interview-room and give them a cup of tea. One of us will be out in a minute,’ she told the young nurse. ‘Oh, and Amy? Say nothing.’

Amy nodded gratefully and retreated.

The X-rays appeared and Michael ran a critical eye over them.

‘Ouch. Do you want me to interpret, or is it academic?’ he said quietly.

Jack’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘Probably. We’ll see what the cardiothoracic guy has to say.’

When he arrived moments later, he took one look at the X-rays and shook his head.

‘You jest, of course?’ he said drily. ‘Look at this shadow here—probably a bulge in the heart or the aorta behind it—the kid’s a goner. He’ll never make the anaesthetic, and even if he did, who wants to be a bloody cripple? Oh, well, we can only fail. Let’s have him up in Theatre.’

He sauntered out, whistling, and Kathleen met Michael Barrington’s eyes. They were like chips of blue ice, his lips compressed into a thin line.

‘Call me if you need me in Theatre—but I’d just as soon Tim Mayhew did it—I don’t trust myself near that bastard.’

And he turned on his heel and stalked away, his limp almost imperceptible.

Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s eating him?’

‘He’s a bloody cripple,’ she said succinctly.

‘What?’

‘He has an artificial leg. He went to assist at a passenger train derailment last year and got trapped in the wreckage. We had to amputate part of his leg to free him.’

‘Ah …’

Just then their patient moaned and opened his eyes. Kathleen was there instantly.

‘Steven? It’s all right, you’re in hospital. Can you hear me?’

He licked his lips and nodded slightly. ‘Messed it up, didn’t I?’ His voice was a mere thread. ‘I thought it would be quick,’ he went on painfully. ‘Let me go—please, let me go. You don’t know what this is all about.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘Do you want to tell me?’

‘Danny,’ he whispered. ‘My fault … gave Danny—HIV.’

‘Oh, Christ,’ someone muttered behind her. Kathleen closed her eyes. The room was a bloodbath, all of them were covered, and their patient was HIV positive.

Great. Oh, well, it had happened before, doubtless it would happen again. As far as she was aware, no one had cut themselves or pricked themselves with a needle.

Behind her she could hear Jack calmly telling everyone to go and shower and change and come back in full barrier gear.

She could see blood on Jack’s cheek and on his arm above the gloves. God knows where it was on her.

Steve groaned again, and the nurse in her took over.

‘YOUR parents are here, Steven. They’re waiting to see you. Do you feel up to it?’

His mouth twisted in a bitter little smile. ‘You mean I’m going to feel better?’ he whispered.

It wasn’t really a question. Kathleen lifted her head and met Jack’s eyes pleadingly. He nodded.

It was time to be honest.

‘You’ve got severe chest and abdominal injuries, as well as the injuries to your legs.’

‘Will I die?’

She was struck by how blue his eyes were as they bored into her own—blue and clear, like the sky. What a bloody waste.

‘I’m afraid it’s quite likely.’

‘Don’t be—afraid. It’s OK, really. It’s what I want …’

His eyes flickered closed, and he licked his lips. ‘Love a drink.’

‘I’ll get you some iced water.’

She found a nurse and sent her for it, and then held the cup and dabbed his lips with a swab dipped in the water.

‘Thanks.’ His voice was weaker. Kathleen didn’t think they could afford to wait any longer.

She met Jack’s eyes, and he nodded. ‘I’ll get them.’

‘Thanks.’

As he moved past her, she took a clean swab and wiped his cheek.

‘You could change your coat first.’

He glanced down and gave a short, humourless grunt of laughter. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. Put a blanket over him.’

He was only gone a minute, and when he returned, it was with a couple in their fifties who were holding hands as if they were desperately hanging on to reality.

They were obviously shocked by his condition and lost for words, but he shocked them further with his.

‘Never been what you wanted—I’m sorry. Never meant to hurt you,’ he whispered.

Kathleen swallowed a lump in her throat, Ben coughed discreetly and Jack busied himself at the X-ray box.

The phone on the wall rang softly, and Kathleen answered it.

Theatre’s ready for him,’ she said quietly.

Jack nodded and took a step towards Steve where he lay surrounded by his family, and then everything seemed to happen at once.

The monitor shrilled, Steve moaned, his mother gasped, and everybody leapt into action.

‘Pressure’s dropped right away,’ Kath said quietly.

‘Damn, he’s arrested,’ Jack muttered, and flung the covers off his chest.

Kath snatched up an airway and tipped back his head. ‘Ben, come and bag him while I get the drugs.’

She handed the airbag to the registrar while Jack pressed rhythmically on the patient’s sternum. ‘What do you want, IV adrenalin, calcium and atropine?’

Jack nodded. ‘And adrenalin into the heart. Let’s not mess about.’

Someone suggested to his parents that they should leave, but no one had time to show them out.

She handed Jack the syringe with the long needle, and he slid it neatly between the ribs and into the heart while Kath injected the other drugs into the giving set in his arm.

‘OK, let’s check the monitor.’

They glared at the screen, willing the line to flutter into life, but the trace remained persistently flat.

‘Come on, damn it!’ Jack muttered and thumped his chest again. ‘Now!’

Nothing.

‘Try again?’ Kath said quietly.

Jack let his breath out on a sigh and shook his head. ‘His aorta’s gone. It’s pointless. Damn, damn, damn …’

He removed his hands, stripped off his gloves and stepped back, only then noticing the stricken parents still standing near the door. He lifted his hands helplessly.

‘I’m sorry—we did everything we could.’

‘Oh, thank God it’s over,’ his mother said unsteadily, and then the tears overflowed and ran down her pale cheeks.

Kathleen carefully covered the shattered body with the blanket, but left his face uncovered. Relatives hated to see a sheet over the faces of their loved ones. It was illogical, but quite understandable, and she respected that. Sticking her head out of the door, she summoned a nurse and got her to take the young man’s parents back to the interview-room and give them a cup of tea.

They cleaned themselves up quickly, instructed all the others to shower again as thoroughly as possible in view of the AIDS risk, and then went into the interview room to talk to Steve’s parents.

Jack was astonishing. All day long she had wondered how he had managed to bamboozle his way into a consultancy, but first the calm, unflappable way he had dealt with Steve and now here, with the devastated relatives, Kathleen had an opportunity to see at first hand the qualities that set him apart as a consultant.

He talked through the whole drama again with them, explaining the various problems their son had had, discussing the probable outcome of each of his injuries had he survived, and then, when there was no doubt left in their minds that he should have died, he gave them even more.

‘Whatever problems you’ve had in the past, remember that he loved you, and you loved him. No one can ever take that from you.’

It was a calculated tear-jerker, but delivered with great sincerity, and Kathleen found her own eyes misting over.

She escaped to her office as soon as the Blowers’ left, grabbing herself a cup of coffee on the way. Seconds later there was a tap on her door and Jack came in.

‘Are you OK? You looked a bit shaken up.’

‘Oh, yes, I’m fine. It all adds variety. You know what they say—the spice of life, and all that …’

Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat.

He gave a grim little smile. ‘If you say so, Irish. Got any of that coffee left?’

She handed him the cup and he swallowed the remains with a gulp.

‘Home, I think. Fancy a drink on the way?’

She remembered their inauspicious start, and her somewhat ungracious behaviour during the morning. Perhaps it would be an opportunity to smooth things over, to apologise again and make a fresh start.

Her mouth was opening, the reply ready, when there was a tap on the door.

‘Ah, Mr Lawrence—there’s a young man who’d like to talk to you. His name’s Danny Featherstone. I think he’s a friend of Steven Blowers.’

He nodded at the receptionist. ‘Put him in my office. I’ll be along in a tick.’

He turned back to Kathleen and shrugged.

‘Sorry.’

She took a deep breath.

‘Maybe later?’

He shook his head slightly. ‘Some other time, perhaps. I don’t know if I’d be very good company tonight after all. I’ll see you.’

And with that, he was gone.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was a strange car in the consultant’s slot the following day.

Kathleen found herself heaving a sigh of relief. If he had come by car, then she wouldn’t have to endure the sight of him in all that black leather gear looking like something from Star Wars. All he needed was a sweeping black cloak …

She hauled herself back to reality. Damn the man. He was persecuting her, and he didn’t even know it! She hadn’t been able to sleep at all the night before for thinking of him, and some of her thoughts had been unprintable.

But then, yesterday had been a funny old day, clouded as it was by the memory of Steve Blower’s traumatic and tragic death and the image of Jack comforting his parents. It seemed inconceivable that the man who had teased her so unforgivably in the morning had been so filled with compassionate understanding later in the same day. She had had him pegged as an emotional lightweight, probably good at his job in a technical sense but untroubled by messy feelings.

Instead, he had proved himself to be capable of great human emotion. Odd, that. Jim had been good with relatives, but Jack had some extra dimension to add to it.

She had pondered on it all night—that and the image of his laughing eyes and the way his full, firm lips tipped so readily into that wickedly sexy smile.

Just a flirt, she chastised herself, and probably a married flirt for all that. After all, he must be pushing forty at the very least to be a consultant in A and E, although he didn’t look it by any stretch of the imagination.

Well, only the once, when Steven Blowers had died and he had looked up at the parents, and then a curious bleakness had stolen over his face and drained the life away. Then he had looked older.

With a sigh, she got out of the car and locked it, walking deliberately by his car to peer curiously inside.

It was a very ordinary car, a middle of the range Ford in deep blue metallic with a roof-rack on it and the back full of—ropes? How odd.

She made her way into the department, greeting all the staff with a smile and a friendly word. Amy Winship was on earlies, and flashed her a grin.

‘Morning, Sister.’

‘Good morning, Amy. Is Mr Lawrence in his office?’

‘No, he’s gone to get some breakfast. He arrived at four, apparently. There was a pile-up—they called him in.’

She nodded. Yes, he would certainly earn his keep in this job, she thought drily.

She went into her office and took the report from the night sister, then swung cheerfully into her routine.

She was busy taking off a back-slab and replastering a fracture when Jack appeared, sticking his head round the door and grinning.

‘Morning, Irish.’

She shot him a black look and squeezed the water out of a bandage viciously. ‘Good morning, sir!’ she said pointedly.

His grin widened. ‘Having fun?’

‘Absolutely. Want to help?’

He shook his head. ‘You’re managing just fine, I’d only get in your way. I’ll watch, though.’

And he did, propping himself up against the wall and chatting lightheartedly to the patient while she wound the plaster bandage round the broken wrist.

‘There,’ she said with a smile when she had finished. ‘We’ll let that set for a little while, then X-ray it again to check that it’s nicely lined up. OK?’

The patient, a woman in her forties, nodded. ‘Thank you both. It feels much better already than it did yesterday.’

Kathleen forced a smile, showed the lady to the waiting area outside the X-ray room and went back to clear up her mess.

‘Thank you both, indeed!’ she muttered.

‘I did talk to her to set her at her ease,’ he justified mildly.

Kath snorted. ‘She was already at her ease, sir, and while we’re on the subject of putting people at their ease, my name is Sister Hennessy!’

He grinned, totally unabashed. ‘I’ll try and remember that, Irish.’

She wondered if she would lose her job if she tossed a sodden plaster bandage right at his grinning mouth.

Probably, but by God, it would be worth it!

A brow twitched. ‘I wouldn’t,’ he warned softly.

She lost the battle and laughed. ‘Now, would I?’

‘Quite likely!’

She met his eyes, searching for any lingering trace of the bleakness she had seen the night before, but there was none, only undiluted wickedness flirting with her senses.

Well, he was wasting his time because as far as he was concerned she had no senses left!

She wiped the sink down viciously. ‘Can I do anything for you?’

He chuckled. ‘Now that’s a thought to play with!’ he said softly.

‘Damn it, Jack Lawrence—’

She turned, the soggy, dripping plaster bandage in her hand, but he was gone, only the last swoosh of the swing door left to show he had ever been there.

She sighed and shook her head. Aggravating man. She mustn’t let him take the rise out of her like that. He just seemed to find it so infuriatingly easy!

She caught up with him later in the staff-room, cracking jokes about second-rate coffee.

‘So,’ she said, ‘how did you get on with that young man’s friend last night?’

His face lost its sparkle. ‘Ah, Danny. Well, he was very distressed, as you can imagine. They’d been lovers for some time, apparently. A few months ago they had a row, and Steve stormed off and went nightclubbing in London for the weekend. He caught HIV from a casual encounter, didn’t realise and they patched up the row. The rest, as they say, is history.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘How sad—what a dreadful waste.’

‘One of the dangers of casual, unprotected sex. If you’re going to live that life, you have to learn to do so responsibly.

‘You don’t have to engage in casual relationships,’ she replied, more sharply than she had intended.

He arched a brow. Tut, tut, Sister Hennessy. Your Catholic upbringing is showing.’

‘And what if it is?’ she retorted, her chin lifting.

He met her eyes reprovingly. ‘We’re here to help, not to pass judgement. It’s no business of ours to referee lifestyles.’

‘But that’s nonsense! I wouldn’t hesitate to tell an overweight, unfit man that he was putting his health at risk. Why should I be allowed to give him dietary advice and not be able to advise a young person not to engage in indiscriminate sexual activity?’

He grinned. ‘You don’t tell an overweight man not to eat, you tell him what he can eat safely. Ergo, when you give advice on sexual behaviour, you don’t say, “You mustn’t”, you say, “Do it like this”—likewise junkies. You have to give them clean needles and good habits, not moral outrage and prohibition.’

‘Who in the hell is talking about moral outrage?’ she demanded, her voice rising.

He just grinned wider, bent forwards and dropped a kiss on her startled lips.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured absently, and walked away, leaving her riveted to the spot, astonished.

‘Well, well, well—I do believe our dear Sister Hennessy is speechless!’

She glared at Ben Bradshaw, dragged some air into her deprived lungs and marched swiftly down the corridor into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Then she let out the breath and sagged against the desk. Dazed, she lifted her fingers and rested them against her lips. They felt—tinglingly alive, soft and warm and swollen, aching for—for what? For more?

With a whimper of disgust and confusion, she sank into her chair and stared absently at the mound of paperwork. Damn him. Why did he have to do that? As if he’d known she’d spent all night wondering about the feel of his lips on hers, about how it would be if he kissed her.

She’d never expected rockets to go off and stars to shoot in all directions—leastways, not from just a casual brush of flesh against flesh …

She suppressed a shiver. Damn him. There had been nothing casual about that kiss. Brief, yes, and outwardly innocent, but my God, packed with promise!

Well, it wasn’t about to happen again!

She got to her feet, checked her cap in the little mirror on the wall and marched out into her department.

She rapped on his door, swung it open and stood in the doorway, not trusting either of them if it was shut.

He raised his eyes from the paperwork on his desk and leant back in the chair, a lazy grin on his face.

‘I suppose you want an apology?’ he said unrepentantly.

‘Don’t you ever—ever!—pull a stunt like that again!’

The grin widened. ‘Sorry—didn’t you enjoy it? Perhaps next time——’

‘Didn’t you hear me?’ she returned, her voice torn between a growl and a whimper. ‘There will be no next time!’

‘Pity. I was rather looking forward to it.’

She glared at him. ‘You’re incorrigible.’

He shrugged, a laughing, arrogant, almost Gallic shrug. You would have thought it was a compliment, she thought crossly.

‘I try to be.’

‘Well, don’t. This is my department, and I won’t have you lolling around here undermining my authority——’

‘My dear girl, nothing I could do could possibly undermine your authority,’ he drawled lazily. ‘The entire department cowers at the sound of your voice. I should have thought a little evidence of human frailty would merely enhance your reputation—and the association would do mine a power of good!’

She snorted. ‘Your reputation would be greatly enhanced if you took yourself seriously!’

Something changed in his face then, some fleeting spectre that drained the life from his eyes and left them cold and hard.

Then he smiled, a dangerous, cynical smile.

‘Life’s too short to take it seriously, Irish. You should learn that, before it’s too late.’

And with that he picked up his pen and returned to his paperwork, dismissing her.

She was in the staff lounge making herself a drink when he came in half an hour later.

‘Coffee?’ she asked, more as a reflex than anything. He shuddered and shook his head.

‘Think I’ll pass. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. What’s hospital policy on HIV testing after an incident like yesterday?’

‘I don’t think we have a policy. It’s never been a problem before. If someone knows they’ve been contaminated by a needle or a knife, for instance, then I think the testing certainly is available.’

‘But not otherwise?’

She shook her head. ‘No. Why should it be necessary? I mean, I don’t think anyone took any risks, and we were all wearing gloves anyway because of the state he was in—I would be worried that it would make people panic unnecessarily. You know, rather like getting an adverse smear test, and before you know where you are you’ve convinced yourself you’ve got cancer when it was probably just a lousy smear and they didn’t get enough cells. Do you understand what I’m saying? I don’t think we should threaten people’s conception of their immortality unnecessarily, and I’m perfectly certain we’re all quite safe.’

He shrugged. ‘It was just an idea. Professionally, if I felt there was a risk I should want to know that I was clear so I was certain there was no danger of me passing anything on to a patient or a future partner. I mean, if you did contract it, wouldn’t you want to know?’

She met his eye determinedly. ‘Of course, if I felt there was a real risk, but I wouldn’t pass it on anyway. I’m extremely careful at work and I don’t have indiscriminate sexual relationships.’

He laughed softly, and it tickled up her spine. ‘Your rosary’s showing again, Irish. I didn’t say anything about indiscriminate sex. Take Ben, for example. He’s married. I gather his wife’s pregnant. Now how would he feel if he contracted the virus from a freak accident at work and gave it to his wife and child just because we had failed to test him?’

Kath stared at him, stupefied. ‘Maggie’s pregnant? When?’

He grinned lazily. ‘Well, I hardly liked to ask him that!’

She clicked her tongue irritably. ‘You know what I mean …’

‘Ask him—I’m sure it’s not a secret.’

‘I wonder why he hasn’t said anything?’ Kath mused.

‘I think they only knew this morning, and you’ve been so busy being cross——’

‘Huh! How would you like it if you were sexually harrassed?’

He grinned again. ‘Try me.’

She drew herself up and sniffed. ‘Don’t be absurd. Why would I want to do that?’

‘Because you’re curious? Because you’re secretly dying to press that delightful body up against me and find out how it feels?’

He was so close to the truth that she flushed and looked away. ‘Please,’ she muttered in a strangled voice. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

His deep chuckle curled round her insides and squeezed. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll leave you in peace with your atrocious coffee.’

Her head came up. ‘Jack?’

He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. ‘Hmm?’

‘About the testing—do you really think it’s necessary?’

‘In this case, no, but I think we should keep an open mind if anyone asks. I doubt if they will, but just keep your ears open.’

She nodded, and with a wink, he was gone, leaving her dealing with her curiosity about how his body would feel pressed against hers, and the slow recognition that the coffee was, indeed, atrocious.

‘Who is he, do we know?’

The ambulanceman shook his head. ‘Collapsed in the park. Nobody knows him, no ID. Passer-by saw him and reported him—thought he was drunk. He was unconscious when we got to him.’

‘Right, thank you, Sid.’

Kathleen bent over the unconscious patient and sniffed. No alcohol, but he was clammy and grey, and quite likely hypoglaecaemic. There was a pin-prick hole in the tip of his left thumb, and she nodded. Diabetic, gone into a coma from low blood sugar. She left the cubicle to find a blood test kit, and came back to find the new houseman, Joe Reynolds, ordering head X-rays and a neurologist’s opinion.