by Aimée
Paul gave her a weak grin but she could see he was in pain. From the way the blood was squirting out, she knew the knife had nicked an artery, and she would probably have to suture the wound.
“I’m going to have to cut your sleeve, Paul, all right?”
She didn’t wait for his answer and she exposed a gashing wound on his forearm. After cleaning it with iodine, she decided it would be better to suture it right there – Paul had closed his eyes, and she thought he might have fainted. When he opened them again, she was just preparing a tetanus shot – better safe than sorry. She handed him a glass of water and a pill which he swallowed obediently.
“Back with me, Sleeping Beauty? All done – a nice bit of embroidery on your arm. You were very lucky – the blade missed the nerves.”
“That’s one way to see it, I guess – thanks, Doc.”
“You can call me Grey, you know.”
“Right – listen – can I buy you a drink to say thank you?”
Greyson looked at the young man speculatively: “Not sure that’s a good idea – you should go home and rest. Moreover, I’ve just given you a strong painkiller and there’s no way I’m going to let you drink with that in your system.”
“I’ll drink a Coke – and you can have a real drink for me. Come on, Grey – you can let your hair down a little, you know. I’m sure there’s a real human being behind that frosty demeanour.”
Greyson stiffened and she felt herself blush – along the years, she had done her best to fight her natural reserve, but she was well aware she could appear cold and standoffish. She hid her shyness under a brusque manner and since she had had no time to socialise with the other members of the staff, they probably thought she was stuck-up as well. Since she hadn’t really spent any time with them except for a few minutes near the coffee machine, she hadn’t told them about her time in the army. Anyway, it would probably do nothing for her image if she did. She had never been a “hail fellow well-met” person and among her friends, no one had believed her when she’d said she wanted to join the Forces. Going to medical school had not really been her choice – it had been expected of her. Rather than argue against a dynasty of doctors – she also had two grand-fathers in the medical profession – she had obeyed, especially since she couldn’t see why not. At sixteen, she had had no other special passion, and as her friends chose degrees in economics, political science or literature, she joined the ranks of the future medics. Joining the army had definitely been her own decision – a kind of belated teenage rebellion and a way to satisfy a need for adventure while being safe. Not that deployment was ever safe – but the army, with its rules and its framework, gave her a sense of security. No one had believed she would even manage the training course at Sandhurst. Her frail silhouette and her quiet character had deceived everyone – a testimony to how few people really knew her. And yet, from a reserved and gauche teenager, she had morphed into a steely officer.
“Ok, then – let me grab my things and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Luckily for her, Paul Essner didn’t mind making small talk about himself, and it helped her relax. That, and the atrocious pub food they had been served. They had decided they might as well have something to eat since it was already seven o’clock and they had discovered they had both skipped lunch. The crust on the mustard, the sweaty ketchup bottle and the less-than-clean toilets should have warned them, but they persisted. Faced with a plate of semi-defrosted fish with soggy chips and another of leathery unidentifiable meat drowning in watery gravy, Paul made a dismayed face and Greyson burst into laughter: “Cheer up – I’ve eaten much, much worse!”
“Really?”
“Oh yes – like a sheep’s head and trotters boiled with lemon and cinnamon, for instance – or crocodile – or grilled crickets…” Greyson saw Paul going slightly green and stopped her list.
“You certainly like to go local during your holidays.” Paul said while examining a chip closely.
Greyson blushed – she hadn’t intended to come clean about her past, but she was a terrible liar: “I tend to prefer cold and rainy England for holidays – wastes less time in travel too. My culinary experiments happened when I was in the Army.”
“You were in the Army? Wow – that must have been exciting!”
“Exciting may not be the word I’d use, exactly. Not now, anyway – that’s what I thought when I first enlisted. But then you find yourself in a war zone, and you realise that the guns are firing real bullets, you have to wear protective gear to step out of the clinic and people – not only soldiers, but civilians – are dying. And then it stops being exciting and …”
She paused and gnawed on her bottom lip. “And yes, you’re right – it’s still exciting, but it’s also bloody terrifying!”
She hadn’t said as much to anyone about it since she’d got back from her last deployment. She focused on her plate to hide her discomfort and put a piece of meat in her mouth, chewing it slowly before swallowing. Feeling Paul’s eyes on her, she looked up: “What? Didn’t your mother tell you to chew each bite? It’s much better for your health, too.”
“Hmm – if you’re after health food, Grey, this is definitely not the place…”
Greyson giggled: “I don’t know – after all, inedible food is quite a good idea if you’re on a diet.”
“Yeah – hadn’t thought about it that way, but …I probably should come with Carl, then – he’s always complaining about his beer belly.”
Seeing Greyson’s questioning look, Paul elaborated: “Carl’s my husband – we got married last year.”
“Congratulations. How long have you been together?”
Greyson couldn’t help but marvel at the ease with which Paul spoke about “his husband” – maybe it was easier for men? Or maybe she was just too old, too traditional, too cowardly… Not that she had any significant other in her life right now, but if she had, she would never be able to be as open about it as Paul was.
“Nearly four years now – so we thought it was time. What about you? Anyone in your life?”
“No – not really – mostly married to the job, you know…”
Paul must have sensed her reluctance because he switched the conversation to more mundane topics. When they parted at the end of the meal, she had agreed to interview for the locum position at the Three Trees surgery.
Chapter 5
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalms 34:18
Angela finally made it. It took her two more weeks to be able to cross the school hall and go up the stairs to the relative safety of her office. Once she’d switched on the coffee machine and her computer, she sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. An hour later, she was seeing off prospective parents and their daughter at the door and slowly beginning to relax. Maybe she should have gone to her GP for pills – James’ wife had told her that she wouldn’t survive without her quart-pill of Prozac a day. Not that anything had happened to Mélanie, except for a childhood spent shunted from one divorced parent to another. So she, as a – there was no actual word for who she was – an orphaned parent, maybe – was more than entitled to avail herself of the benefits of modern medicine. She had registered at a surgery long ago, when she had first moved, and had never darkened its door since. However, she knew that the school doctor worked at the same surgery, so it wouldn’t be too complicated to make an appointment if she wanted to. Not that she knew the school doctor very well either. She had sometimes encountered the previous one, an elderly man, in the corridors on the day he came for the weekly visit. The school employed a very efficient nurse who also served as intermediary between the doctor and herself. Moreover, St Hilda’s students rarely needed medical help for major issues. So far, they had been lucky in that department. She seemed to remember a recent letter telling her that a new doctor would be taking charge of the school, too – or maybe two from the surgery would take turns – she couldn’t remember, and hadn’t met any of them.
When she went home at the end of the day, she was drained – smiling politely and making conversation had taken a lot of her. Too tired to cook, she popped a ready-made lasagne in the micro-wave and settled in front of the television. The reporter from Channel 4 was presenting directly from the cathedral, introducing various participants to the Three Choirs Festival, held that year in Gloucester. The reportage ended up with a mention of the vocation crisis in the Anglican church, reminding the viewers that many of the retiring ministers wouldn’t be replaced due to a shortage of younger ordinands. “No wonder”, muttered Angela to herself. Who on earth would be tempted by that kind of job? Although nowadays people believed anything they read on the internet – why wouldn’t they believe in an omnipotent God? She didn’t actually mind religion – she minded its consequences. Like when it led to wars – or acts of terrorism. Or when the Church said contraception was a sin. And homosexuality. And abortion…When she was in the sixth form, Mike, one of her friends had been thrown out of his home by his parents when they had discovered he was gay. His very religious parents had told him he could either behave “normally” or get out. They had called in the parish priest, to explain to Mike why his behaviour was offensive to God, and why he ought to think about finding a good Christian girl to marry and have a family with. Mike had chosen to get out. Her very bright – and very camp – friend had ended up living at another of their friends until his A-Levels. Mike had had two dreams – make it on the West End stage, or study philosophy. In the end, he managed neither – cut off by his parents, he had been unable to finance his dreams. After one year of university, the very promising young man had ended up as a cashier at the local Tesco. Without Mike, she might never have become a teacher. They had been a tight little gang of four – Mike, Fran, Liz and herself. So appalled by the school system they had decided to open their own school one day. A school as different as possible to the local comprehensive they were at. They were a mottled crew, none of them quite fitting in. Mike and his tendency to live life as a musical, no-nonsense Fran, whose parents were both dentists and had produced a brood of five, of which Fran was the eldest, Liz, the only daughter of a single mother, who did her best to hide her council estate background, and herself. Angela Arlingham. Daughter of the Earl of Arlingham. The very broke, very shabby Earl. Who had had to send his daughter to the comprehensive, because sending his two sons to public school had all but emptied the family pockets.
In the end, she had been the only one to end up working in education. Fran had decided that after all, she didn’t want anything to do with kids – all the messes she had had to mop up after her siblings had steered her away from teaching, and she now worked as a chemist. And Liz, always more at ease with numbers than with people, had become an accountant and was now working her way up to auditor. She and the other girls had lost touch with Mike, but the three of them still met for boozy evenings quite regularly. With Sybil at boarding school, her evenings had been her own. Fran was single, and Liz’s husband had his own set of pals. Since her bereavement, she hadn’t returned any of their calls. She had sent brief texts to reassure them she was still alive, but talking to them – talking to anyone, really – had felt unsurmountable. She ought to phone them – to arrange an evening together. It wasn’t fair of her to ignore them. They could go out for dinner, and she could get drunk – very drunk, mind-wipingly drunk. Her friends would get her home.
Eventually, maybe they could help her clean Sybil’s room too. The idea of giving her things away tore at her heart, but what good did it do to keep the room as a mausoleum? She would have moved if she had been able to, but the house belonged to St Hilda’s. Far enough from the main school building that it offered her some privacy, but still on the campus. So she was stuck there for the foreseeable future.
When she finally went to sleep that night, a drugged sleep provided courtesy of over-the-counter pills, she felt relieved that she had some kind of plan. She would work, she would drown her sorrows in alcohol and she would get some anti-depressants. The future still looked bleak, but at least it was almost organised.
Chapter 6
Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Psalms 127:3-5
Two months later, Greyson had settled at the Three Trees Surgery. Luckily, the army had taught her how to multi-task and to adapt quickly to new environments, because she now had to wear three caps at once – she had kept one morning a week at the shelter and the rest of her time was split between her locum job at the surgery and her other duties. Moreover, the locum job also included a fortnightly visit to St Hilda’s, the local sixth form college, where her goddaughter boarded. Not that she had been able to see the teenager – on her first visit, Julie had been away on a school daytrip and on her subsequent visits, not available. Greyson had promised Phillip and Aurélie, Julie’s parents, to keep an eye on her, but the elusive teenager didn’t make the task easy. She still remembered Julie’s birth in vivid details and she intended to stick to her word, though, however difficult it might be. She had been one of the first medics deployed to Afghanistan in 2003 with the 34 Field Hospital. At just thirty, it was her first foray in a war zone and only her second deployment abroad. Even though they had trained for war medicine, she had still been surprised by the rudimentary conditions. It had taken her a few days to adapt to working under tents, without running water, with electricity provided sparingly by dynamos. Her bowels had needed even longer to get used to the open latrines. The surrounding landscape - the Hindu Kush mountains – had an almost lunar appearance, both magnificent and desolate. In stark contrast to the quiet peace they reflected, the minefields and the remains of wrecked aircrafts reminded them all too much of the reality of war.
With their limited facilities, they treated emergencies and helped to stabilise the worst casualties before they could get airlifted. The wounded came in with bullet or shrapnel wounds, but some soldiers also came in with smaller complaints such as blisters or stomach aches. Lieutenant Aurélie Marquet had a stomach ache. As less than a month after the medical unit’s arrival, a significant number of soldiers and medics had succumbed to a mysterious gastric bug, the young woman’s complaint didn’t seem particularly significant to Greyson. However, a week after her first visit to the hospital, the corporal had come back, a little paler than the first time, looking even more tired and still complaining of the same pains. This time Greyson had frowned and accompanied her to the CT scan tent. When the image appeared, she had to muster all her professional self-control not to appear flustered. In a calm voice, she announced: “I think we have found the origin of your pains, Lieutenant. It appears you’re pregnant, and from the position of the foetus, we have to assume your baby is almost ready to make her appearance.”
Aurélie Marquet gasped: “What? But – but I can’t! That’s impossible. I – would have known! And anyway, I’m on the pill. My CO is going to kill me!”
“I sincerely doubt that, Lieutenant – haven’t you heard the army is short of recruits? We need to keep the ones we have alive. Anyway, we have more pressing matters to attend to. May I examine you?”
The lieutenant nodded and Greyson proceeded to do a pelvic examination. It only confirmed what she had seen on the CT. A few minutes later, she told the young woman to get dressed and they both went back to the other tent. As Aurélie was sitting down, Greyson saw her blush.
“What’s wrong,
Lieutenant?”
“I’m sorry, I think – that was a bit too much to take. I’ve …” The younger woman reddened even further. “I’ve wet myself”, she whispered.
Greyson grinned: “Hmm – this little one seems to be eager to be born… Let’s get you into theatre, love. I’ll try to find one of my colleagues.”
“No – please – I want you to …You know – help me! Please, Major!”
Greyson bit her lips and nodded. She hadn’t attended a birth since that time during her first deployment, and it had been traumatic enough for her not to want to repeat the experience. But the young lieutenant trusted her and they were short-staffed due to the gastric flu epidemic. She knew the surgeons were all busy with the victims of a roadside IED. She would have to manage by herself. She hailed one of the nurses and together they prepared the room for a delivery. Meanwhile, the mother-to-be paced in the room, occasionally stopping to bend over for a contraction. Greyson could hear her muttering to herself – Aurélie seemed to be alternatively making a to-do list in her head and calling herself stupid. Greyson wanted to ask about a partner, but she didn’t want to make the young woman uncomfortable. Moreover, she had other concerns – the field hospital had not been planned for deliveries, and if the baby needed help, they weren’t equipped. They had no incubators, and no paediatrician on hand. She sent a quick prayer for help and invited the lieutenant to come and sit on the bed.
Aurélie answered her unasked question: “I won’t even be able to contact my partner. Philip is in the Forces too – a pilot. Oh fuck! I still can’t believe it.”
Greyson was glad to hear that the young woman had a partner, even a non-present one. A stifled cry followed Aurelie’s statement and when Greyson went to examine her again, she saw the baby’s head. Half an hour later, a pink wrinkled little bundle was crying her lungs out, the mother laid exhausted on the bed, and Greyson and the nurse breathed a sigh of relief. The birth had gone as well as possible and the baby appeared fit and healthy. Even though they had encouraged the lieutenant to scream as much as she needed to and offered an epidural, the young woman had refused the shot, gritted her teeth and made little fuss, explaining that she didn’t want “the others to think she was a wuss as well as a numpty.” When the nurse took the baby out of the room, the other members of the medical steam and the few wounded soldiers around all applauded, which made the baby scream even louder. Suddenly Greyson felt overwhelmed and after asking a colleague to take over, she nearly fled from the room. Luckily, the tent she shared with another female medic was empty - she collapsed on her knees at the side of her bed and put her head in her hands, thanking God for the easy birth before she began to cry silent sobs. About half an hour later, as she was finally ready to face her team again, someone called her name outside the tent. She straightened up and got out, coming face-to-face with her latest patient.