Emergency: Christmas. Alison Roberts
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‘That was half a lifetime ago. Do you know, my mother had four children all going to school by the time she was my age?’
‘Fate worse than death,’ Belinda stated cheerfully. ‘I should know. Been there, done that.’
‘You didn’t have any kids.’
‘No, thank goodness.’ Belinda reached to switch off the overhead lights. ‘Look, Pen, you can have a baby when you’re in your forties these days. You’ve got another whole decade of freedom.’
‘I don’t want freedom,’ Penelope responded with conviction. ‘I want...’ She sighed heavily. ‘I want Jeremy Lane.’
‘Fine.’ Belinda sounded decisive. ‘You can have him.’
Penelope grinned, pausing as she headed for the doors pushing a linen bag. ‘How?’
‘Leave it with me. I’ll think of something.’ Belinda followed Penelope out of the trauma room. ‘Just don’t marry the man.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, are you planning to change your name when you get married?’
‘Probably.’ Penelope skirted the ambulance stretcher waiting by the sorting desk. A middle-aged man was holding a blood-soaked towel under his nose. ‘Why?’
‘Have you considered what your name would be if you married Jeremy?’
‘Shh!’ Penelope’s glance around them was anxious but the emergency department staff were all gainfully employed at enough of a distance not to overhear Belinda’s indiscreet query. Still, Penelope kept her voice well down, unable to resist a response. ‘Penelope Lane,’ she whispered. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘‘‘Penny Lane’’? You know—the Beatles’ song?’ Belinda began humming loudly.
‘Go away, Bindy.’ Penelope couldn’t help laughing. ‘I’ve got work to do.’
Penelope was still smiling as she moved back to the sorting desk. Her name was on the whiteboard to take the next patient and it looked like she had a nosebleed to sort out. She had to concede that Penny Lane might be a name that could cause some amusement but Penelope Lane had a much more dignified ring to it.
In fact, it had a very nice ring to it indeed.
CHAPTER TWO
THERE was something distinctly unsettling about pale-coloured eyes.
These were pale blue eyes with a darker rim that seemed to emphasise the intensity of the stare that Penelope was receiving.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Penny.’ Penelope glanced at the booking-in paperwork in her hand. ‘And you’re Aaron, aren’t you?’
He nodded without returning the smile. ‘Aaron Jacobs. Do you like being a nurse?’
‘Of course. It’s my job. Come this way, Aaron. Have you been waiting long?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I know how busy you guys are. Where are we going?’
‘Cubicle 10. It’s this way.’
‘What’s going to happen? Are you coming with me, Penny?’
‘I’m going to be your nurse,’ Penelope confirmed. ‘I’ll check you out and then one of the doctors will come to see you. It’s your wrist that you’ve hurt, isn’t it?’ She glanced at the tall, lanky young man walking beside her. His right hand cradled his left elbow, the injured wrist and hand tucked inside a faded and grubby denim jacket.
‘That’s right. I whacked it with a hammer.’
‘Accidentally, I hope!’ Penelope laughed and her patient finally smiled at her. ‘Here we are, Aaron. Let’s get your jacket off so I can see your wrist and then I’ll get you to climb up on the bed.’
Penelope unbuttoned the cuffs of the jacket and eased it carefully off the injured side. The left wrist looked very swollen, a nasty pale lump with an inflamed red edge at the base of the thumb.
‘You’ve certainly given that a good thump,’ Penelope observed. ‘What were you using? A sledgehammer?’
Aaron smiled again as he climbed up to sit on the edge of the bed. He held his left arm out towards Penelope. ‘It hurts,’ he informed her.
‘I’m not surprised. Can you wiggle your fingers?’
Aaron complied with a groan. ‘That hurts, too.’
Penelope took hold of the hand gently. ‘Can you squeeze my fingers?’
The pressure was surprisingly firm. ‘That’s pretty good.’ Penelope nodded. ‘OK, you can let go now.’
‘Do you like being a nurse?’
Penelope’s nod was brisk. She took a careful breath, trying to detect any recent alcohol consumption on her patient’s part. It wasn’t just that Aaron was repeating the question he had asked only minutes before. There was something about his stare that was vaguely disturbing.
‘Nurses help people, don’t they?’
‘They do.’ Penelope picked up the clipboard and pen lying on the end of the bed. ‘I need to write a few more details for the doctor here, Aaron. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-five. How old are you, Penny?’
‘A lot older than you.’ Penelope wasn’t going to encourage a personal conversation. ‘What were you doing at the time of your accident?’
‘Knocking a hole in my wall.’
‘And what happened?’
‘I was holding a bit of wood that got stuck. I aimed a really big hit at the end of it but I missed.’
‘What time did this happen?’
‘Dunno. I don’t wear a watch.’
‘Was it this afternoon?’
‘Yeah. Couple of hours ago, I guess.’
About the time that the resuscitation on Richard Milne had been in full swing. Penelope’s thoughts were diverted momentarily as she wondered how the young paraglider was doing. There had been no time to follow up any developments because of the stream of minor cases she’d had under her care. No opportunities to talk to Belinda or even think about the plans her friend might be hatching to get her a little closer to Jeremy. Penelope sighed lightly. No chance of having to call in an anaesthetics registrar for this patient. She pulled the blood-pressure stand towards the bed.
‘I’m going to take your blood pressure, Aaron. I need to wrap this cuff around your arm. Can you pull your shirtsleeve up for me, please?’
‘Sure.’
Penelope had to stand closer to her patient as she applied the cuff. She avoided eye contact but she could feel his gaze on her.
‘You’re beautiful, Penny.’
Penelope’s smile was extremely brief. She fitted the earpieces of her stethoscope into place and positioned the disc on the inside of Aaron’s elbow, apparently concentrating on her task. The vital sign measurement was automatic, however, and Penelope’s thoughts strayed again. Did Jeremy think she was beautiful? He had certainly managed to make her feel attractive over the last few weeks but did she have genuine cause to believe that? The comments had been few in reality but treasured all the more for their rarity.
Like the day she hadn’t tried to tame her wildly curly black hair into its usual short ponytail. She had just taken a section from the front at both sides and drawn them into a small plait at the back, leaving the rest of her curls to cover her ears with the ends just touching her shoulders. Rules about hairstyles were much more relaxed these