LITMIR.BIZ

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case Amy was also responsible for in cubicle 2.

      The sudden movement of the curtain behind Amy made her jump. The orderly, Derek, grinned widely.

      ‘Gave you a fright, didn’t I?’ he observed. ‘Who did you think I was?’

      Amy smiled but ignored the query. She also resisted the urge to look over Derek’s shoulder to see who might be standing at the counter being amused by Laura, the sorting-desk clerk. She stifled the slight sense of annoyance that anybody could find being in an emergency department amusing, but her sense of disquiet couldn’t be displaced so easily onto some stranger or his laughter. Amy had no one to blame except herself. Her nerves were due to the fact that she was rapidly running out of time. And it wasn’t at all funny. Amy touched her patient’s hand gently.

      ‘Mrs Benny? Derek is here to take you up to X-ray. How’s the pain at the moment?’

      Gladys Benny opened her eyes and smiled faintly. ‘Much better, thank you, dear. That injection you gave me did the trick nicely. I think I even fell asleep.’

      ‘That’s good. We’ll see you again as soon as you get back from X-ray.’ Amy stood aside as Derek began pushing the bed clear of the cubicle, but Mrs Benny caught hold of Amy’s hand and halted the progress.

      ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ she queried anxiously.

      Amy squeezed the frail hand gently. ‘It seems likely that you’ve broken your hip, Mrs Benny. If the X-rays confirm that, then you’re going to need an operation, I’m afraid.’

      ‘Oh, dear.’ Faded blue eyes filled with tears and the old woman’s voice wobbled. ‘Where are they going to take me?’

      ‘To X-ray,’ Amy reminded her patiently. ‘Then you’ll come back here and we’ll ask the orthopaedic doctors to come and see you. If you do need an operation, we’ll arrange admission to one of the wards.’

      ‘So I’m coming back here?’ The watery gaze fixed on Amy begged for reassurance.

      ‘Yes, you are, Mrs Benny.’ Amy smiled. ‘And your daughter’s on her way in. I expect she’ll be here by the time you get back.’

      Amy watched the bed as it was manoeuvred between the sorting-desk counter and an empty ambulance stretcher. Her gaze continued a sweep around the emergency department. The stranger had vanished. Several cubicles and a resus area were empty and the atmosphere was relaxed, with several staff members heading towards the staffroom for a quick break. Jennifer Bowman was amongst the group, in animated conversation with a junior doctor. Amy smiled to herself at the play of expression on her colleague’s face.

      Jennifer was naturally lively. Gregarious, outspoken—even outrageous at times. To a casual observer, she couldn’t have provided much more of a contrast to Amy. It often surprised people to find that the two young women were flatmates, let alone the closest of friends. Amy’s inward smile faded and she sighed audibly. It was now past lunchtime on Friday and she was still no closer to the goal she’d set herself a week ago. The pursuit of that goal would have to be postponed yet again if the noises emanating from cubicle 2 were anything to go by.

      Amy donned gloves and collected some towels, one of which she dampened at the washbasin. She used the moist towel to clean the face of her patient in cubicle 2.

      ‘Are you feeling better now, Patrick?’

      ‘Aye.’ Bleary, bloodshot eyes regarded Amy and then focused to produce a hint of a familiar twinkle. ‘You’re an angel, so you are, Amy Brooks.’

      ‘Mmm.’ Amy shook her head as she smiled. Patrick Moore was a regular customer, a lonely old Irishman who collected his pension on a Thursday and was often brought into Emergency on a Friday morning, having been discovered hypothermic and drunk in a public park. Unlike many similar patients, Patrick was always grateful for the attention he received and he had a charm that even excessive alcohol abuse couldn’t obliterate.

      ‘An angel,’ Patrick repeated fervently. ‘You’ve even got a halo.’ The old man’s expression was so reverent that Amy wondered if he might be experiencing visual disturbances. She held up one hand.

      ‘How many fingers can you see, Patrick?’

      ‘Three,’ he told her promptly. ‘And beautiful fingers they are, too. Long and dainty—just like the rest of you.’ Patrick hiccuped softly and returned his gaze to her head. ‘An angel of mercy,’ he whispered contentedly. ‘With a beautiful golden halo.’

      Amy’s hand went to her head despite herself. Then she chuckled. ‘It’s just my hair, Patrick.’

      Patrick shook his head and closed his eyes. ‘Your hair’s all tied up in that fancy knot. It’s even speared with that little stick. And it’s dark, not shiny and golden. I know a halo when I see one, lassie.’

      Amy folded back the blanket covering her patient. There wasn’t much point in explaining to Patrick that she’d run out of the hairspray that normally controlled the wispy short tendrils currently escaping her neat hairstyle, and that because it was new growth it was much blonder than the rest of her hair. Or the fact that standing in front of the light source in the cubicle had highlighted the effect. If Patrick wanted to think of her as an angel then that was OK with her.

      ‘It’s time to go home again, Patrick,’ Amy announced. Mrs Benny would be back from X-ray soon and the increase in general activity and noise beyond the cubicle curtain indicated that the quiet spell was over. Amy helped Patrick to his feet where he stood for a moment, swaying slightly. She pulled back the curtain, glancing up automatically as she did so.

      It seemed as though the stranger had been waiting for her to appear. How else could she have caught his eye so instantly? He wasn’t laughing this time. Not even smiling, but Amy recognised him. She tore her gaze away. It was like a physical touch, that eye contact. It was too personal. Intimate, even, which was ridiculous. Amy made eye contact with perfect strangers all the time. Why on earth should this man be any different?

      ‘Come on, Patrick. You’re all right now.’

      Amy turned so that she was side on to the stranger. He was talking to Noel Fenton, an orthopaedic registrar who was probably on his way to see Mrs Benny. Could the man be a relative perhaps? Mrs Benny’s son? Amy shook her head unconsciously. No. Mrs Benny was in her eighties and this man didn’t look much over thirty. A grandson, maybe.

      Amy waited patiently while Patrick collected his hat and walking stick from the end of his bed. She was quite aware of the men in her peripheral line of vision, however. Noel was introducing the man to Gareth Harvey. Amy risked another glance as he shook hands with the consultant. He was smiling again now. His manner was as relaxed and casual as his faded jeans and the leather jacket over an open-necked shirt. Not a frantically worried relative, then.

      Amy turned away quickly as the trio of men started moving towards her. Her movement coincided with Patrick’s tentative foray back into the world, and the old man staggered a little. He caught Amy’s arm and then hooked her waist with a bony hand.

      ‘You’re an angel, Amy Brooks,’ he proclaimed loudly. ‘I love you. Will you marry me?’

      Amy prised the hand from her waist. ‘Come on, Patrick.’ She could sense the proximity of the consultant and his companions. She heard the appreciative chuckle that could only have come from one person. Amy gritted her teeth and spoke with quiet desperation.

      ‘Come on, Patrick.’ Amy kept hold of her charge’s arm and began to steer him very firmly towards the door. Patrick was looking back over his shoulder.

      ‘Sent by heaven, she was,’ he informed the department triumphantly. ‘An angel, to be sure.’

      Amy’s blush had finally receded by the time she had signed Patrick out and seen him to the taxi stand outside the waiting room. The nurse manager, Peter Milne, signalled to her on her return.

      ‘Can you give Jennifer a hand to sort out Resus 1? It’s still a bit of a mess.’

      ‘Sure.’

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