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Delford General A and E before we get cracking.’

      Patrick looked at Jandy with interest as he followed her out of the room—so she had a child as well. For some reason he’d imagined her to be a free agent, but just because she had no wedding ring it didn’t mean she was unattached. He felt a momentary stab of disappointment, the reflex emotion of a hot-blooded male to a stunning woman who was already in a relationship, then shrugged inwardly. Speculating on a social life was the last thing he needed at the moment—looking after his father and little daughter would absorb all his time, and of course getting heavily involved with someone could be very dangerous, as he’d learned to his cost. At least, he reflected, there was help on hand now to look after Livy when she wasn’t at school, and she would have a lovely home and gardens to play in.

      Jandy having shown him the layout of the theatres and X-ray department, they went back to the central station where computers monitoring the stage of every emergency patient’s treatment flickered and changed as the results of tests came through. On the wall behind the large curving desk were the whiteboards that listed which cubicle each patient was in, with a short résumé of their condition. A gradual building up of activity in the department had started, and a steady flow of patients was waiting to be seen by the triage nurse. In the background a child wailed from one of the cubicles in the paediatric section and a man was arguing loudly with the receptionist in the waiting room.

      ‘I thought this would happen,’ said Bob Thoms mournfully as he went off to one of the cubicles to examine an abscess on someone’s back. ‘I was hoping to get some new tyres from that garage opposite if we got ten minutes off for lunch, but it looks as if it’s going to be solid patients wall to wall.’

      Tim Vernon, immaculate in his white coat and neatly knotted tie, came up to Patrick. ‘Sorry to leave you just then, Patrick, but you’ll soon get the hang of things, I’m sure, after all your experience in London. Anyway, it’s good to have you in the department—and I bet your father is delighted you’ve come back here to live with him. That place of his is far too big for one person. Tell him I miss our games of golf.’

      So he’d moved his family in with his father, thought Jandy, standing near them as she flicked through the admissions chart. She wondered idly whereabouts in Delford Patrick’s father lived and smiled wryly. There was no chance of Abigail, her sister and herself moving in with her widowed mother while she was looking for a new place—her mother lived in a tiny house in Scotland and was busy running a truck stop café, with her boyfriend. Chloe Marshall loved her daughters and grandchild dearly, but she didn’t encourage long visits from her family—a few days were all she could tolerate!

      Dr Vernon looked down at his clipboard and cleared his throat. ‘Right—let’s get started shall we? Staff Nurse—would you go with Dr Sinclair and look at the little boy in the paediatric department, number one cubicle? He’s got a gash on his leg, and a worrying bump on the head—I don’t know how he acquired it. You’d better book an X-ray.’

      Tilly Rodman, passed by, pushing a dripstand, and whispered to Jandy, ‘Lucky you…send Dr Sinclair along to the plaster room when you’ve finished with him!’

      For heaven’s sake, Jandy thought impatiently, the man was going to be intolerable if he felt that all the women in the unit were falling for him. She just hoped that he was good at his job.

      They both walked quickly to the small wing off the main A and E department that had been designated for children. It was a small area that had been used in the past for high-dependency patients and although the walls had been decorated with nursery-rhyme characters to try and make it more child-friendly, it badly needed a make-over—and much more space.

      Patrick Sinclair looked round it assessingly. ‘This is the paediatric section?’ he remarked with slight incredulity. ‘Is there a play area here for children that are waiting to be seen?’

      ‘We’re in line to have a larger wing very soon,’ said Jandy defensively. ‘It’s better than it used to be in the main department—of course, I’m sure you’re used to state-of-the-art facilities, but we’re short of cash here.’

      He looked at her shrewdly as if he realised she was annoyed. ‘I’m not making comparisons—Cuthbert’s was a newly built hospital, so it wouldn’t be fair to do so. I was merely making an observation,’ he said smoothly. ‘Right—shall we get started?’

      Annoyed by what she took to be rather high-handed criticism of her beloved Delford Infirmary, Jandy followed him into the cubicle.

      Her heart went out to the little boy—large frightened eyes looked at them owlishly through wirerimmed glasses on a pale little face, and there were tear stains on his round cheeks. When they came in he knuckled his hand into his eyes to try and stop crying. She knew it wasn’t only the pain that upset him—it was the alien surroundings and not knowing what was going to happen to him next. Despite the efforts to make the room more child-friendly to a five-year-old, the place was deeply intimidating.

      A purpling bump like a dark egg was on one of the child’s temples and one small leg had a long deep gash down the calf. There was something pathetic about that little limb laid across the bed.

      A woman sat in a corner, looking at a magazine and chewing gum but not doing much to comfort the little boy—in fact, not taking any notice of him at all. She looked up at Patrick and Jandy with little interest, giving them a nod, and went back to her magazine.

      Patrick said, ‘Good morning,’ to her courteously, then sat down on a chair by the bed and leaned forward to the child, trying to get his attention and distract him from his present terror. He smiled cheerfully and patted one plump little hand comfortingly.

      ‘Hello—you’re Jimmy Tate, aren’t you?’ he asked gently, having a swift look at the file he’d been given. ‘I’m Dr Sinclair and this is Nurse Marshall, and we’re going to be looking after you. Don’t you worry, we’ll have you feeling better in no time, Jimmy.’

      Patrick’s voice was soothing and the familiar clichés reassuring. Gradually Jimmy’s sobs became intermittent, just the odd one shaking his little body, and although his lip still trembled, now he was looking at Patrick, gradually relaxing a little.

      Jandy swivelled the overhead light above the child so that his wounds could be seen more clearly, and reflected almost with surprise that the new registrar seemed to have a good manner with his small patient—getting Jimmy to relax and trust him went a long way towards recovery. If Dr Sinclair was arrogant, he was hiding it at the moment and she relented.

      ‘You’re a brave boy,’ Patrick said, looking closely at the bruise on the child’s temple and then the cut on his leg. He looked up at Jandy. ‘I think we can use steristrips for this, don’t you?’

      Jandy nodded and smiled reassuringly at the little boy. ‘It really will feel better when I’ve put the magic strips on,’ she said. She went to a cupboard which, when opened, revealed a stock of toys from which she pulled out a kaleidoscope. ‘Have you seen one of these, Jimmy? While I’m bandaging your poorly leg, I want you to shake that and look down it—you’ll see some lovely patterns there.’

      Slowly Jimmy reached for the toy and put his eye to it. Jandy watched as the little boy became absorbed in what he was seeing then she started to swab the wound gently with saline solution.

      Patrick turned to the woman, who’d barely looked up as they’d come in, continuing to be engrossed in her magazine. She seemed totally uninterested in what was happening to Jimmy.

      ‘Excuse me.’ His voice was courteous but firm—meant to be heeded. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

      The woman stopped chewing her gum for a second and brushed a lock of greasy hair from her eyes. She had the unkempt look of someone who had lost interest in life and herself, reflected Jandy. There were a lot like her who came to Casualty.

      ‘He fell off his bicycle and hit his head on the steps,’ she said tersely. ‘I told him not to ride it in the back garden with the dogs around.’

      ‘I take it you’re

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