More Than Time

She thought again of Ross’s words. Did he really think he was unlovable? That was crazy. He was warm, generous, funny, professionally extremely competent and thorough, quick to anger but even quicker to forgive, as she had found out. All that, coupled with his striking good looks and lazy sensuality—no woman in her right mind could fail to love him, Lizzi thought, and then the heat washed over her again, leaving her trembling with fear and anticipation—and surprise.

Surely not? No! She couldn’t fall for him—she wouldn’t allow it! To expose herself to that terrible agony of loss all over again—no, it was out of the question. Anyway, it was probably just hormones. She would ignore him, she decided, and he would give up.

But what if he didn’t? What if he persisted in unravelling her, as he had put it? What would she do then? What she had done in the past—freeze him out. They gave up quickly, usually. Men hated rejection; it was bad for the ego. She didn’t want to hurt Ross, and for that reason it would be best to act immediately, before he felt he had a hope. Her mind made up, she turned over, punched the pillow into shape and fell instantly asleep.

It was another busy morning. Jennifer Adams had had a restless night and was in pain, and Oliver came up to see her and adjust her drugs.

‘Ross was in a towering paddy last night, by the way,’ he commented. ‘Seems someone wrapped his new car in the car park yesterday.’

Lizzi blushed, and he eyed her speculatively. ‘Was it you?’ She nodded, and he cleared his throat. She thought it sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh. ‘Have you seen him yet?’

‘As a matter of fact, I have, we sorted it out last night, but I’d be grateful if you didn’t spread it around.’

Trust me,’ he said with a wicked twinkle, and left the ward for Outpatients. As she turned round, Lizzi almost fell over Dan Haig, the houseman. He was smirking.

‘Haven’t you got anything to do?’ she snapped, and marched into her office.

Ross was thankfully absent, as it was his list that morning, and he was tucked away in Theatre, leaving her in peace.

At twelve Lucy Hallett came into the office and told her that Jennifer Adams wanted to talk to her. She made her way to the little side-ward, and perched on the edge of the chair beside the bed.

Jennifer was young, only twenty-three, and understandably frightened and unhappy. Her soft brown eyes were puzzled, and she was pale. She gripped Lizzi’s hand.

‘How’s Peter?’ she asked. ‘Nobody seems to know how he’s getting on. Someone told me he might be moved to Addenbrookes, but not why, and now I can’t seem to get any further information out of anyone. I have to know how he is!’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ Lizzi answered honestly. ‘I’ll do my best to find out.’

‘Why would they take him to Addenbrookes? That’s where they take the head injuries, isn’t it?’

Lizzi remembered that Jennifer’s husband had been the one in ITU the previous morning, who was to have been moved as soon as he was stabilised enough. ‘That’s right. I understand he did have head injuries, which is why they were moving him, but I have no idea of the extent of the injuries, or even if he’s been transferred yet. I’ll find out for you. And don’t worry, you’ll soon be feeling better and then you’ll be able to see him.’

She left the room and went back to her office, troubled. Why hadn’t the consultants told Mrs Adams about her husband’s condition? She flicked through the Kardex, but there was no relèvent note on it. She phoned ITU, and the sister there told her that Mr Adams hadn’t been transferred.

Oh, good. He must be less severe than at first thought, then?’ Lizzi speculated.

‘Unfortunately not. He’s too fragile to move. He had a massive depressed fracture and they did a craniotomy, but his intra-cranial pressure’s risen and he’s leaking CSF from his nose. We’re ice-packing him now to induce hypothermia—that might reduce it, but he’s been on the life-support since they admitted him. They’re about to repeat the brain-stem test, but I think it’s just a formality. He’s got no reflexes and his pupils are fixed. I’ll keep you posted.’

Lizzi thanked her and hung up. It was worse, far worse than she had anticipated. She went back to Jennifer, put on a bright face and smiled.

‘He’s still here, and they’re running some more tests. I’ll let you know the results as soon as we have them.’

She went up to lunch, and poked a salad around her plate for ten minutes before giving up and taking her coffee into the lounge. Ross was there, slouched in a chair with his feet on a table, laughing with Oliver and his wife Bron. They looked up and waved her over to them. There was a cluster of people around the bulletin board, and as she walked across the room she noticed nudging and giggling aimed in her direction.

Her brow twitched into a puzzled frown. ‘What’s that all about?’ she asked.

‘I take it you haven’t seen it yet, then?’ Bron said, trying to hide her smile.

‘Seen what?’

Ross hauled himself up the chair and grinned. ‘The cartoon. Some wise guy’s decided to lampoon us.’

‘Us?’ she squeaked. ‘What us?’

‘You and me.’

‘I didn’t know we were an us!’

His mouth quirked. ‘Give me time,’ he murmured, so quietly that only she heard. She blushed instantly, and he smiled knowingly.

‘So,’ she repeated, ‘what us?’

‘Go and look,’ Oliver suggested, grinning.

Just then there was a shout of laughter from the vicinity of the board, and a tall black man wove his way between the tables and dropped into a chair beside Lizzi.

‘Hello, Dr Marumba. Seen something funny?’

‘Oh, Lizzi, it’s a classic! I love it! The Ice Maiden and the Abominable Snowman!’ He slapped his leg and rocked with laughter.

She glanced up at the board again. The crowd around it had faded away, and she just had to know—excusing herself, she stood up and crossed the room quickly.

There, in the middle of all the notices about job vacancies, training courses and voluntary aid programmes, was a cartoon showing her little car squaring up to Ross’s Daimler. Both cars were growling and pawing the ground, and Lizzi and Ross were standing on the top of the cars like charioteers, she looking aloof and victorious, he unmistakable with his shock of white hair, standing with his feet apart, brandishing a huge sword, challenging her.

The caption read,

Ice Maiden Targets The Abominable Snowman—does this herald a new ice-age? As the Yeti brings Arctic conditions with him, so Bizzi Lizzi tackles the invader. Has Sister Killjoy met her match, or is she in her element? Watch this space for further developments in the Cold War!

‘Good, isn’t it?’

Lizzi jumped, and turned to glare at him. ‘Good? Ross, are you out of your mind?’

‘Not at all. You have to learn to take a joke. I like the symbolism!’

‘Symbolism?’

‘Of the sword. Impressive, isn’t it?’

She blushed furiously as his meaning sank in. ‘Don’t be absurd!’

He grinned that infuriating lop-sided grin. ‘I’m rather flattered, actually.’

She ignored him and, snatching the cartoon down from the board, she walked away, her cheeks still touched with fire. Abandoning the remains of her coffee, she stalked back to the ward, incensed with rage, and marched into her office.

Lucy Hallett was just jotting down a note. ‘Oh, Sister, I’m glad you’re back. ITU just rang. They got the results of the brain-stem test on Mr Adams, and he’s been certified brain dead. He had a massive intracerebral haemorrhage, apparently, as well as the fractures. They’ve turned off the machine. The neurologist’s just coming up to tell his wife.’

Her anger drained away, leaving a huge void in its place. She stared sightlessly out of the window, remembering another time, another place, another young woman whose life had been shattered …

‘Sister? Are you all right?’

She turned back to Lucy, her eyes wide, and pulled herself together visibly. Thank you, Staff. I’ll deal with it. Perhaps you and Staff Nurse Tucker could do the drugs?’

Lucy nodded and left, and Lizzi sank down at the desk. Oh, God. Poor Jennifer. Most people would be able to distance themselves from the tragedy, and most of the time Lizzi could, but this case—these people, she corrected herself, were just too close to home. She felt cold, so cold, as if icy fingers were clutching at her heart.

When the neurologist tapped on her door and came in, he found her busy working at her desk, her face outwardly calm—at least, Lizzi hoped she looked calm. Inside she was a seething mass of dread, but she was used to putting on a front, and today was no different from many others.

She got up and went with him, and watched his gentle but systematic destruction of the young woman’s life with as much distance as she could manage.

When Jennifer started to cry, he stood by helplessly waiting for Lizzi to comfort her, and eventually she did, moving mechanically to cradle the young woman against her taut chest while she thought vainly of sea breezes and long walks in the country, how she would reconcile the following week’s duty rota with everyone wanting Easter off, and whether she needed to go to the supermarket on her way home. There was also the nagging question of her car. It would need to go into the garage at some point for inspection by the insurance company’s assessor, prior to being repaired—good, her tears were subsiding. Lizzi eased away from her, smoothed her hair back from her face and smiled.

‘I’ll get you a cup of tea, and I’ll find a nurse to come and sit with you.’

She stood up, led the neurologist out of the room and went back to her office.

‘Does she really need a cup of tea?’ the neurologist asked with a quirk to his eyebrows.

She shrugged. ‘Universal panacea. They don’t often want it, but drinking it gives them something to do. Did you want something?’

He shook his head, raised one eyebrow at her rather curt dismissal and left.

She wanted to scream, to sob and rage and throw herself down and weep for hours, but it was impossible. After she had detailed a nurse to take Mrs Adams a cup of tea and sit with her, she did the next best thing and took some junior nurses round the ward for a teaching session. She was unreasonably hard on them, and several times they exchanged glances of commiseration with each other, but they all stuck it out and came away wiser.

Lizzi went into her office and closed the door. ignoring their comments behind her back. They all knew she was in a grotty mood, but of course they thought it was because of the cartoon. It would never occur to them that the cool, detached Sister Killjoy could possibly feel any emotion because someone had done something as everyday as die!

She heard her door open and shut, but she didn’t lift her head.

‘Hiding?’

The voice was soft, Scots and full of teasing good humour. She put down her pen with a sigh.

‘No, Mr Hamilton, I’m not hiding. I’m working, unlike some people. If you want to kill time, perhaps you’d find somewhere else to do it!’

Her glare wiped the grin off his face, and he dropped into the chair opposite and steepled his fingers, then lifting his head he gave her a level look.

‘I have very good reasons for being here, Sister Lovejoy,’ he said, with just the barest of emphasis. ‘It may have slipped your attention that you have six patients on your ward who were on my list this morning, and who are now in your care, but it hasn’t slipped mine. I’ve come to see how they are, and I wondered if you would care to come round with me. That is,’ he said with a heavy layer of sarcasm, ‘if it isn’t too inconvenient!’

Lizzi blushed under the implied rebuke. ‘It is never inconvenient. You’re welcome to come and see your patients at any hour of the day or night. I’ve finished what I was doing, anyway.’ Ages ago, she thought, but pushed back her chair and stood up and joined him at the door.

As they went round she watched him, conferring with the nurses specialing the post-op patients and examining the patients themselves, asking how they were feeling and giving them details of the operations and how they went; Lizzi thought again what a good doctor he was. He had that easy blend of charm and sincerity that put people immediately at ease, and he was never patronising.

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