by Kate Hardy
Climbing.
The thing he missed more than anything. The one thing that could make him feel better. Feeling the wind in his hair, pushing his body to the limits, being at one with the earth. But he also knew he wasn’t fit enough to do it, and he wasn’t going to be selfish enough to put a rescue team at risk just because he was out of sorts.
Instead, he spent most of Saturday cleaning his flat and hating every minute of it.
The place still didn’t feel like home, even after he’d followed through on the ideas of putting family photographs on the mantelpiece. How did his twin manage to make somewhere feel like home within ten minutes, while everything Rob did felt temporary?
‘For pity’s sake, stop whining and snap out of it,’ he told himself crossly. ‘You’re so, so lucky. You’ve got a family who loves you as much as you love them—including a brother who loves you enough to give you a kidney so can you function again instead of being stuck in a hospital bed. You’re doing the job that gives your life meaning. You’ve got a roof over your head. You have friends, even if most of them happen to be on the opposite side of the country right now. You have absolutely nothing to be miserable about.’
Though the thought wouldn’t go.
What was so wrong with him that Florence had backed away from him so fast?
Was it because he’d suggested it being just a one-night thing and she thought it had been a mistake?
And maybe she was right. He didn’t have a great track record, How many relationships had he let fizzle out because he hadn’t been prepared to put enough effort in? How many women had he hurt—without meaning to—because he hadn’t thought about anything but the next challenge, the next adventure?
* * *
He still didn’t have an answer by the time he saw her again in the department on Monday.
His skin suddenly felt too tight. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.
‘Good morning!’ she said, all bright and breezy and smiley—just as she was with all their other colleagues.
But he noticed that she didn’t meet his eyes. Clearly this was awkward for her, too.
No way could he discuss the situation with her, especially here. The last thing he wanted was gossip running like wildfire around the hospital; he might be here only temporarily, but she wasn’t, and it wouldn’t be fair to make her the centre of gossip.
He was just going to have to make the best of it. Treat her as if she was just any other team member, and not the woman who’d made him feel as if he’d come back properly to life.
He switched into polite professional mode, too. ‘Morning.’ Hopefully they wouldn’t be rostered in Resus together today, where they’d have to work closely together—and, even worse, risk accidentally touching. He was relieved to discover that they were both on Minors, which would mean they were unlikely to see each other unless one of them needed a second opinion, and he could focus on his patients.
All went according to plan until mid-afternoon, when he could hear someone literally bellowing with pain.
‘Please excuse me a second,’ he said to the patient whose sprained ankle he’d been examining, and headed for the bay where the ambulance had brought in a man whose arm was in a sling but who was clearly in terrific pain because he yelled and swore every time the movement of the trolley affected his arm.
Florence was a few moments in front of him. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘This is Joe, aged forty-five. He’s a builder, fell backwards into a hole, and he’s hurt his shoulder,’ the paramedic said. ‘I’m guessing it’s a dislocation. We’ve given some pain relief but it hasn’t touched the pain, and we’ve put his arm in a sling and a blanket between his arm and chest to support it.’
‘I’ve dislocated a shoulder before, playing rugby, and it didn’t hurt anything like this,’ Joe said, then roared with pain and swore again. ‘For pity’s sake, please don’t move my shoulder! You’re killing me!’
‘I need to check whether it’s a dislocation or a fracture before I can give you any real pain relief,’ Florence said. ‘So I’m sending you for an X-ray—I’m sorry, you’re clearly in a lot of pain, but if you can grit your teeth and put up with it for a few more minutes we’ll know what we’re dealing with and can treat you properly. If it’s a dislocation, we can fix it here—we’ll give you a sedative to relax you and pull it back into place. If it’s a fracture, you might need surgery. Either way, it’s going to take a couple of months to heal because there will be soft tissue damage.’
‘OK. Thanks for being honest,’ Joe said. ‘And I’m sorry for swearing. It just—Argh!’
‘Let’s get you to X-Ray,’ Florence said. ‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’
‘It’s OK. They called my wife from the ambulance and she’s on her way in.’
‘If it’s a dislocation,’ Rob said, ‘I’ll help with the traction.’
She didn’t look at him, but nodded. ‘Thanks.’
The X-ray files came through on the computer a few minutes later, showing that Joe had indeed dislocated his shoulder—but it was like no dislocation Rob had ever seen before. ‘It’s wedged,’ he said in disbelief. ‘No wonder he’s in so much pain.’
‘I’ve never seen anything like that in fourteen years of medicine,’ she said.
Fourteen years. Assuming that included her years as a student, that made her two years older than him. And, strictly speaking, Florence was his senior, so he’d better listen to her. ‘What’s the plan?’ he asked.
‘More pain relief, sedation to relax him, and traction,’ she said. This time, she looked at Rob. ‘You’re sure you’re OK to help?’
Oh, for pity’s sake. If she hadn’t slept with him, she wouldn’t have seen the scar and he wouldn’t have told her about the transplant. She’d promised not to treat him any differently—and yet that was exactly what she was doing. Last week, she wouldn’t even have questioned whether he was OK to help. He wouldn’t be here in the first place if he wasn’t OK to work.
So much for thinking that he’d come to a place where they’d see him for himself, not as someone who needed special treatment. Annoyance made him sharp. ‘Yes,’ he said tightly. ‘The information I gave you about my kidney was privileged. I’ve already told you I would never put a patient at risk, so I’d prefer you not to mention it again. Fortunately nobody else is here to overhear you. I really don’t want that information spreading.’
She flinched slightly at the rebuke, and there was a slash of colour across her cheeks. ‘I was out of order. Sorry.’
‘Apology accepted. We’ll draw a line under it and move on,’ he said.
And he didn’t mean just her comment about his operation. They needed to move on from the weekend. From the mistake they’d both made. The one that loomed between them and made everything awkward and scratchy. He held her gaze for long enough that he hoped she’d worked out what he wasn’t saying.
She nodded. ‘Agreed.’
‘Good.’
She gave Joe a mild sedative and painkiller. ‘I think this is going to need three of us.’
Because she still thought he was under par?
Either he’d said it aloud or it was written all over his face, because she said, ‘Because it’s wedged, and it’s going to need more than two people to sort it.’
It was a good call, and he knew he was being oversensitive. ‘I’ll go and grab someone,’ he said.
The first person he found was Ranj, one of the junior doctors. ‘Ranj, have you got a minute?’ he asked. ‘We’ve got a patient with a dislocated shoulder—it’s wedged—and Florence thinks it’ll take three of us for the traction.’
‘Wedged?’ Ranj whistled. ‘That sounds horrific.’
‘He’s in a lot of pain,’ Rob said.
‘Poor guy. I’ll help,’ Ranj said, and followed him back to the patient.
; Florence was sitting next to Joe, holding his hand and talking him through what they were about to do. ‘We’ll try to be as fast as we can, Joe, and the sedative should take most of the edge off it,’ she said, ‘but if you need to swear your head off to get through the traction, do it because none of us will be offended. We’ve all heard worse. Or tell us the most terrible dad jokes you know. You’ve got a captive audience and we’ll be forced to laugh.’
Rob liked the way she’d assessed Joe’s character so quickly and put him at ease; Joe was still clearly in a great deal of pain, but thanks to Florence he was much more relaxed than when he’d first come into the department.
‘I can’t think of any jokes,’ Joe said.
‘Right. Then tell us about the best Christmas dinner you’ve ever had,’ she suggested.
‘My mum’s,’ Joe said. ‘She does everything you can think of. Loads of veg, all the trimmings, and she does the best roast potatoes in the world. They’re fluffy in the middle and crispy on the outside. But don’t tell my wife—she’s competitive about roast potatoes, and she and Mum fight over the best way to do it.’
‘Choose your potato wisely, make sure you have edges when you cut them, shake them after you parboil them and use very hot fat,’ she said promptly. ‘None of that covering in semolina malarkey.’
So she was a cook? Rob wouldn’t have a clue how to do roast potatoes. Not unless you could get them for the microwave.
‘I dunno about semolina,’ Ranj said, ‘but my mum covers her roast potatoes with a spice mix before she puts them in the oven and they’re awesome.’
Between them, they got Joe talking and distracted—and did the traction to unwedge his dislocated shoulder.
‘All right. You’re done,’ Florence said. ‘Don’t go rolling your shoulder for a few days, but I’d like you to try lifting your arm for me now.’
Joe looked unsure, as if remembering the severe pain last time he’d tried lifting his arm, but he did as she’d asked. ‘Oh, my God. I can actually move my arm again and it doesn’t hurt!’ His grimace turned to a beaming smile. ‘That’s amazing. Thank you so much.’
‘It’s still going to hurt a bit when those painkillers and sedative wear off,’ Florence warned. ‘You’re going to need painkillers for a few days. I’m also going to put you in a sling, and you need to rest that arm for the next five days.’
Horror flashed across Joe’s face. ‘I can’t do that! I’ve got loads to do at work.’
Yeah. Rob knew how that felt: wanting to get on with your job and being told to rest instead. The unbearable frustration. Ranj had gone again, so he felt safe admitting to his past. ‘For what it’s worth, mate, I’ve learned the hard way that it’s better to do as you’re told and rest,’ he said quietly. ‘Otherwise you end up having to rest even longer to fix the damage you did by doing things too early.’
‘You dislocated your shoulder?’ Joe asked.
‘Burst appendix,’ Rob said. ‘And there’s nothing worse than having to sit about and rest for even longer than you were originally told, and realising it’s your own fault for being stubborn and not listening to someone who does actually know better. Trust me.’
‘Trust you, you’re a doctor?’ Joe asked with a grin.
‘Something like that.’ Rob exchanged a glance with Florence, and felt as if he’d been seared. Her brown eyes were almost sparking with anger. Though it wasn’t surprising that she was annoyed. He’d bitten her head off for alluding to his transplant, and here he was shooting his mouth off about precisely the same thing just a few minutes later. What a hypocrite.
‘No heavy lifting for at least six weeks,’ Florence said. ‘It looks as if there’s a bit of tissue damage, but hopefully we can manage it with physio—otherwise you’ll need surgery.’
‘Which means even more time off work?’ Joe asked.
‘Got it in one,’ Florence said. ‘I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I’m afraid Dr Langley’s right. Healing takes time. I can give you some exercises to do over the next few days to help with stiffness, and I’ll refer you to physio.’
‘I’ll leave you to it and go back to my patient,’ Rob said. ‘All the best, Joe. And listen to Dr Jacobs. She knows her stuff.’ Even if things weren’t great between them personally, right now, he respected her professionally.
He went back to his patient with the sprained ankle, strapped it up and gave advice for ongoing care. He tried not to be disappointed that Florence still seemed to be avoiding him. And he lied to Oliver that evening on the phone, saying that he was absolutely fine. He wasn’t fine. At all. But he also didn’t know how to even start fixing this.
CHAPTER FOUR
THERE WAS NO thaw between Rob and Florence during the next week.
Maybe he’d been a bit too sharp, he thought, snapping at her when she’d asked if he was really OK to help with traction. She clearly hadn’t meant it as a dig at him. She’d been concerned about both her patient and her colleague. If he was completely honest with himself, in her shoes he would’ve asked the same question.
He would’ve apologised to her, except he was still smarting from the way she’d walked out on him the morning after the Christmas party. Previously, he’d always stayed on friendly terms with anyone he’d dated—well, OK, he hadn’t actually dated Florence, he’d done it the wrong way round and slept with her before dating her—and it rankled that she’d been so desperate to leave that she hadn’t even had breakfast with him the next morning. She’d made it very clear that she didn’t want to date him.
Suck it up and move on, he told himself.
He needed to treat her the same as he treated all his other colleagues, or someone would notice and rumours would start flying, which would make things even worse.
He just about managed it.
But on Friday he felt distinctly rough in the middle of his shift. Hot, and shivery, and there was a pain in his lower back.
If a patient with his own medical history had walked into the department with those symptoms, Rob would have sent him straight to the renal department for an urgent consultation.
Was this a sign of the transplant failing? He knew the stats. Twenty per cent of transplants failed in the first year, despite the patient taking medication to stop their body rejecting the new organ.
Intellectually, he knew that it was more likely he’d come down with some other kind of infection; the immunosuppressants he was taking to avoid his body rejecting the transplant meant he was more susceptible to viruses and urinary tract infections. But the fear still rippled through him. What if his body was rejecting Oliver’s kidney? Would he end up back on dialysis, stuck in bed and resting for months and months until another kidney was available, resenting every second he was stuck inside?
He didn’t want to walk out of his shift, but he wasn’t going to be stubborn and leave it too long. He was on an early shift, so he’d finish work mid-afternoon. He’d go and have a chat with the renal team then. In the meantime, he needed to keep going. The best way to get his temperature down a bit and take some of the edge off the pain would be paracetamol. He headed to the staff kitchen, and had just grabbed some water and taken two tablets out of a foil pack when Florence walked in.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘Fine, thank you.’ He winced inwardly as he heard how snippy he sounded. He hadn’t meant to be mean.
‘You look like crap,’ she said.
Right. So she wasn’t pulling punches, either.
She gave him a very pointed look. ‘So I’ll ask you again. Are you all right?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he admitted. ‘I was fine when I came to work.’
‘And now?’
He might as well tell her. Then she could tell him that he probably had a bug or a UTI. Confirm his self-diagnosis. And he could go back to work. ‘Hot, shivery and there’s a bit of a pain in my lower b
ack.’
She took the temperature gun from its box in the first-aid drawer and aimed it at his forehead. ‘Thirty-eight point five,’ she said, showing him the red screen.
Officially a fever. No wonder he felt hot and shivery.
‘Go to the renal department,’ she said. ‘Now.’
He’d already thought this through. ‘I’ll go in a couple of hours’ time, at the end of my shift.’
‘No, you’ll go now.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m in charge of Minors today, and you’re on my team, so you’ll do as I tell you.’
She was pulling rank on him? For a second, he stared at her in shock. Then he dropped his gaze. ‘Bossy,’ he muttered.
‘It’s most likely to be a bug or a UTI, but there’s also the chance it’s what you fear it is, and you need to get it checked out,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard you telling our patients not to be stubborn and do what they’re told. So I suggest, Dr Langley, that you take your own advice.’ She folded her arms. ‘Actually—to make sure you do, I’m coming with you.’
‘You don’t need to do that.’
‘Yes, I do. I’m responsible for my team’s well-being.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m in the middle of my shift. I can’t just walk out and leave everyone to pick up the slack.’
‘You’re on an early.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘That means we’ve got three hours until you were done anyway. If they sign you off, we can manage until the end of the shift. And I haven’t had my break yet, so I’m taking it now. We’re going to the renal department.’
He was feeling rough enough to give in gracefully and let her usher him to the renal department.
‘Let me know when he’s done,’ she said to the secretary, ‘and I’ll sort out transport.’
‘I can dr—’ he began, then stopped as she gave him a very pointed look. Since when could brown eyes freeze you like that?