CONSULTANT IN CRISIS

by Alison Roberts

  Was it her imagination or was Fletch having more trouble than she was, negotiating the uneven terrain? Kelly had almost forgotten she was watching out for signs of drug dependency. Had Fletch’s irritation been purely the result of the added tension the identity of their patient had created, or could it have something to do with withdrawal symptoms? Kelly’s suspicions sharpened as Fletch gave a lurch sideways that was obvious enough to attract Dave’s attention.

  ‘You OK, mate?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ The response was curt.

  ‘Watch your feet, then,’ Dave grinned as he shook his head. ‘You look like you’ve had one too many.’

  Kelly could feel a chill tracing the length of her spine. Yes. That was exactly how Fletch looked. Intoxicated. But she’d been with him for hours and he’d drunk nothing other than the water in the bottle he carried. Or was it water? Vodka wouldn’t look any different, would it? Maybe Fletch had used the encouragement they all received to stay hydrated to keep himself topped up with something a little stronger. The memory of what Kelly had seen in the toilets flashed back repeatedly like some kind of subliminal message. She sighed miserably. Add that issue to the list of personal disasters she had stepped into by joining this group.

  There was an expectant small crowd in the main mall near the entrance.

  ‘They’ve found Joe,’ someone called out to them. ‘And the kid.’

  ‘Really?’ Surely people wouldn’t be looking this excited if the news wasn’t good?

  ‘They got themselves into a furniture van in the car park. They’re safe.’

  ‘Are they injured?’

  ‘Apparently not. They’re just breaking through to the space they’re in now. They should be out any minute.’

  ‘You should see the media waiting for them outside!’

  Even Ross was smiling as much as he was capable of with the neck collar holding his jaw and his face half-covered with the oxygen mask. They kept moving. It was good news. Great news. Fletch wasn’t smiling, however. He had dropped further away from the procession carrying Ross and he became separated as they edged through the much larger crowd waiting outside the mall. TV crews, journalists and photographers made a human barrier which the authorities were having difficulty confining. Lights dazzled the emerging figures as flashbulbs went on and spotlights were redirected.

  ‘Is this the doctor that fell?’

  ‘Is it true he’s broken his back?’

  ‘Can we have a few words? Is Dr Turnball able to talk?’

  ‘No.’ Dave brushed them aside. ‘Make way, would you?’ He caught Kelly’s attention. ‘Where’s Fletch?’

  Kelly turned her head but couldn’t see him. ‘I’ll find him. Get Ross into triage and we’ll join you in a minute.’

  She pushed back through the journalists and photographers that had closed in behind their procession. Questions bounced around her ears.

  ‘What’s your name, love?’

  ‘How far away is that helicopter chap? And the little boy?’

  ‘Any truth in the rumour that they’re both still alive?’

  Kelly could see Fletch now, moving in the wrong direction to get to the ambulance triage tent. He was heading towards the buses that were the USAR base. He stopped before Kelly caught up. She could see him leaning against the side of an army truck. He had dropped his leather gloves and was staring blankly at the now retreating journalists.

  ‘What’s the matter, Fletch?’

  ‘Nothing. Go away, Kelly.’

  Kelly caught his wrist. He shook off her hand but not before she had registered the rapid pulse under her fingers and felt how clammy and cool his skin was.

  ‘You’re sick,’ she stated.

  Fletch shook his head. ‘My health is none of your business, Kelly. Leave me alone.’

  ‘I think it is my business,’ Kelly retorted. ‘You’re needed, Fletch. Ross is expecting you to travel into Emergency with him. We’re on the same team at the moment, in case you’ve forgotten.’ She was trying to assess Fletch visually as she spoke. He was still staring past her with an almost blank expression. He was pale and she could see beads of perspiration on his forehead. ‘What’s more, you have a professional position in an area that is also my business. If you’re putting the safety of patients in jeopardy with your health problems, I’m going to have to do something about it.’

  Fletch was ignoring her. He had turned and was continuing to walk towards the USAR buses. Kelly followed him.

  ‘Don’t forget that I saw what you were doing in the toilets, Fletch.’

  ‘Just clear off, Kelly.’ Fletch jerked his head dismissively. ‘If you get out of my face for two minutes, I’ll be able to deal with this myself.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you will,’ Kelly said coolly.

  Fletch had reached the door of the bus. It seemed an effort to pull himself up to the first step. He turned slowly. ‘So? What are you waiting for?’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Kelly informed him. ‘I think I should find out just how you plan to “deal” with this.’

  Fletch snorted impatiently. ‘The same way I usually do.’

  Kelly followed him up the steps into the deserted bus. Her expression was incredulous. ‘You’re not even ashamed of yourself, are you?’

  ‘I don’t have anything to be ashamed of.’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion. If you’re not ashamed of it, why are you trying to hide?’

  ‘I’m not.’ Fletch was pulling at a carry bag he had left on the seat of the bus. ‘Just go away, Kelly. This has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ she contradicted. ‘I’m not going to cover for you, Fletch. If you tell me to go again, I will. I’ll go straight to whoever is in charge of the emergency department tonight and I’ll let them know that you’re incapable of doing your job without shooting up periodically.’

  Fletch abandoned his attempt to open the zip fastening of the bag. He seemed to be focusing on Kelly properly for the first time. ‘Shooting up?’ His lips curved into a caricature of a smile. ‘Just what the hell do you think I’m planning to take? Heroin?’

  ‘Morphine’s probably more easily accessible for an ED consultant.’

  Fletch shook his head very slowly. He concentrated on the zip again. ‘You’re amazing.’ He also seemed to be concentrating on his speech. The words were apparently more of an effort to enunciate now. ‘Do you think that being dumped by you would send me into the depths of drug addiction?’ He had the bag open now. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you, Kelly Drummond.’ Fletch lowered himself onto the seat, clutching a small orange box. ‘You wouldn’t have been worth it.’

  Kelly was staring at a container she recognised. ‘Glucagon? You’re taking glucagon?’

  Fletch was unsuccessfully trying to open the box. ‘Yep.’

  Kelly took the box from his hand. ‘Here, give that to me.’

  ‘No. Give it back.’

  It was simple to avoid the clutch of his hand. ‘You’re not co-ordinated enough to do this for yourself. I’m not even sure you should be doing it. Have you tested your blood-glucose level?’

  ‘I don’t need to. I’ve lived with this long enough to know what I need. Give me the bloody syringe.’

  ‘Roll up your sleeve.’ Kelly was quite prepared to believe Fletch. He certainly had all the signs of being hypoglycaemic. She quickly filled the syringe with the ampoule of water provided to mix with the powder it contained, swabbed the skin on his upper arm, flattened the skin, inserted the needle and injected its contents.

  ‘I’ve got jellybeans in here.’ Fletch was pulling his bum bag to one side. ‘I’ll be able to eat them in a few minutes without throwing up.’

  Kelly’s radio crackled. She picked it up and identified herself.

  ‘Kelly, where are you? Where’s Fletch? They’re ready to load Ross here.’

  ‘Give us five minutes,’ Kelly responded. ‘We’ll be there.’ She looked at Fletch. ‘Why did you never tell me you were a diabeti
c, Fletch?’

  ‘You weren’t around to tell.’

  She had been, though. He could have told her at any time during the three months of their intense relationship. But, then, she’d had things she hadn’t told Fletch, hadn’t she? Was his illness something he had been ashamed of? She took a deep breath.

  ‘The last time I saw you—two years ago—when we went out to dinner? When I thought you were terribly drunk? You were hypo then, weren’t you?’

  Fletch shrugged. ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

  ‘I have a vague memory that we were going out somewhere. Or planning to go out somewhere. But I didn’t remember anything and there was no one around who could tell me.’

  ‘We went out to dinner.’ Kelly stared at Fletch as she spoke, trying to determine whether he was telling the truth. ‘You chose that really expensive restaurant because you said we had to celebrate the one-month anniversary of our engagement. You ordered a whole bottle of champagne even though you knew I wouldn’t drink any of it.’ Kelly turned away. ‘We’d better go, Fletch. They’re waiting for us. Ross needs you.’

  ‘Wait.’ Fletch was staring at Kelly now. He was clearly focused again. The glucagon and the jellybeans were having a rapid effect. ‘You know the answers. The gap between when life was everything I wanted and when it fell apart. I need to know, Kelly. I have to know.’

  ‘There isn’t much to know.’ Kelly knew that Fletch was following her as she led the way from the privacy of the bus. ‘We went out. You got very drunk, or so everybody thought. We had an argument and there was a scene in the restaurant.’

  ‘What kind of scene?’

  ‘Kelly? Where the hell are you?’

  She pushed the button on her radio. ‘Almost there, Dave.’ Kelly shook her head slightly. ‘I ordered a taxi for you, Fletch. I tried to ring you the next day and your flatmate said you were sick. I wasn’t surprised.’

  ‘You thought I had a hangover.’ Fletch was nodding as though a puzzle was being solved.

  Kelly returned the nod. They were passing the incident command trucks now. She could see the ambulance beside the triage tent, its beacons flashing. The back doors were open and Wendy was sitting on one stretcher, her arm extended as she held Ross’s hand. An ambulance officer was standing by the back doors, waiting for Fletch. He held the signs that would be slotted across the doors when they were shut to indicate the transfer of an unstable spinal injury patient. SLOW TRANSPORT. PASS WITH CARE.

  Kelly’s steps slowed. She looked at Fletch again. ‘But you didn’t have a hangover, did you? You weren’t drunk. You were hypoglycaemic.’

  ‘I had been in a taxi,’ he said quietly. ‘Someone saw the taxi driver stop and leave me at the side of the road. I’d been vomiting and I expect he made the same assumption you did.’ Fletch’s expression gave nothing away. ‘Luckily that same person called the police who called an ambulance. I was having a seizure by the time they arrived. I spent a week in Intensive Care before I came out of the coma I went into.’

  ‘What?’ Kelly stopped in her tracks but Fletch kept walking. He went up the steps into the ambulance and Kelly saw him bend towards Ross and start talking.

  Why had Fletch been in the intensive care unit? In a coma? How sick had he been, and why the hell hadn’t she known anything about it?

  She knew the answer to at least one of those questions. She hadn’t known because she’d never tried to find out. She had made her assumptions and then her decisions and had acted on those decisions before allowing any time or influences that might change her mind.

  And she had been wrong. Terribly wrong. The horror of that discovery made everything else pale into insignificance for the space of several heartbeats as Kelly watched the doors of the ambulance swing shut and cut off her view of Fletch.

  She had thrown away her dreams. Her future with the only man that she had ever truly loved. And the choice had been based on a terrible mistake.

  But it wasn’t the end of the world, was it? Sometimes mistakes could be fixed. Fletch would understand once he knew why she’d had no choice but to make those decisions. There might even be some way to put things right.

  There had to be a way.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  REPERCUSSIONS from the disaster took on lives of their own.

  Nobody could forget the impact the incident had had on so many people as the clean-up operation of Westgate Mall got into full swing during the following week. Coverage still dominated the media. TV cameras were present at every associated funeral. Newspapers followed the start of official inquiries into how the disaster had occurred. It was difficult to come to terms with the fact that the explosion had been a deliberate act of sabotage but blame was also being laid at the feet of a property development company and the City Council. The size of the blast might not have had such a devastating impact if building codes had been tighter and more strictly enforced.

  Magazines and newspapers began to pick up human-interest stories from the lucky survivors and the families of those who had not been so lucky. The condition and progress of the seriously injured was being updated at frequent intervals. Lisa McCloud had been one of the unlucky ones. Kelly hoped that she had not regained consciousness enough to learn the fate of her precious daughters and her heart went out to Lisa’s husband, who had lost his entire family.

  Those who had been injured or affected whilst involved in the operations of the rescue services attracted the attention of the media and the sympathy of the public more than any others. Joe Barrington was a hero. He had risked his own life to save a five-year-old child. That the child was the son of another rescuer whose own mother had been killed in the incident was a bonus. The front-page picture in Wednesday morning’s newspaper of Joe with Ricky in his arms and the accompanying account of the race through the rain of debris, the search for a frightened child and the long hours sheltering together in the back of a furniture truck made gripping reading. It also caused some amusement at ambulance headquarters. Kelly was back at work the day the article was published.

  ‘Gorgeous photo, Joe,’ she told him. ‘I think you’ve been having us all on about hating kids.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t.’ Kelly’s crew partner, Callum Jones, was grinning. ‘You’ve never worked with Joe, Kelly. You have no idea of the grumbling that comes with any job involving rug rats.’

  Joe’s expression gave nothing away. ‘Ricky’s all right…for a kid. At least he’s quiet.’

  ‘Says here he’s autistic.’

  ‘No wonder you managed to survive all that time shut in a van with him,’ someone else quipped. ‘You had a lot in common.’

  ‘Can he talk?’ Kelly asked. ‘Jessica never said very much about his problems.’

  ‘He can talk.’ Joe sounded casual. He walked towards the kitchen area to make coffee. ‘When he wants to.’

  ‘His mother’s a bit of all right.’ Callum had turned to page three where there was a photograph of Jessica, her mother and a slightly younger Ricky.

  ‘How is Jessica?’ Kelly followed Joe away from the central table where crews were gathering ready to start the day shift. ‘Did you see her last night? It was too late for me to get in after I’d been to visit Ross.’

  ‘They’re going to discharge Ricky today. Or maybe tomorrow. The swelling from his broken arm has gone down enough to change the cast and his other bruising is settling well.’

  ‘I’m going down south with Jess tomorrow night. Her mother’s funeral is on Friday. I’ve arranged a day off.’

  ‘I know.’ Joe smiled at Kelly. ‘She told me. You’re a good friend.’

  ‘She’ll need help. She’s worried about how Ricky’s going to cope.’

  ‘She’s not going to take him.’

  ‘Really?’ It was news to Kelly. ‘But he’s due to be discharged.’

  ‘He’s going to stay with me.’ Joe seemed embarrassed by Kelly’s surprise. ‘Jessica’s coming back after the funeral. The
re’s a social worker at the hospital who’s persuaded her to have Ricky assessed by a specialist educational service. He’s going to go to school here for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Oh…’ Kelly paused as the implications of this particular ripple surfaced. Then she smiled. Maybe something good might come out of this disaster after all. ‘Good for you, Joe,’ she said. ‘Sounds like I’m not the only good friend Jessica’s got.’

  Joe shrugged off the praise. ‘So how’s Ross? I saw him just after the surgery yesterday. Sounds like it went pretty well.’

  ‘They’ve stabilised the fracture dislocation at T10. The cervical fracture is stable enough to get away with a collar rather than traction. They won’t know how good the result is going to be until after the spinal shock resolves, of course. It could take weeks.’

  ‘He may get a good recovery.’

  Kelly nodded. ‘I doubt that he’ll be running the Coast to Coast again, though.’

  ‘Wendy must be devastated.’

  ‘She is.’ Kelly’s quiet comment carried real empathy. Wendy and Ross had had so much in common with their love of physical pursuits. And they had been so obviously deeply in love with each other. Was there any way their relationship could survive? It was more likely that this crisis had occurred too early and the fledgling love would be crushed under the strain. Kelly’s heart went out to Wendy. She knew what it was like to be that much in love and to be faced with something that destroyed the kind of dreams for the future that all lovers cherished.

  Kelly had been touched by the incident at a very personal level herself but there was no one with whom she could share the impact that Fletch’s revelation had had. Her mother had too much to deal with right now. So had Wendy and Jessica. The more she thought about it over the next week, the worse it all seemed, however, and the more questions formed that Kelly wanted answers to. If Fletch had diabetes that was unstable enough to have caused such a major crisis, how could she not have noticed anything about it? It couldn’t have been diagnosed that way. Or could it?