by Peter James
And was unhappy with what he saw.
Roger’s condition should have started to deteriorate a lot more by now, but instead all the indications were that he was fairly stable. Blood pressure wasn’t great, nor was his heart rate. But neither of them was in any danger zone.
Resmes was looking at them, too.
‘He’s stable,’ Marcus said, pointedly, to his student.
The Romanian nodded, staring at the displays, looking thoughtful.
Marcus comforted himself that this stability would not last. It could not. Roger was like a ship that had an undetected leak deep in its bowels, and eventually the weight of water would cause it to start listing, he thought. He smiled approvingly, liking the analogy that had just popped into his head.
Bowels!
He nearly turned to his student to share the joke with him. Before remembering that it wasn’t appropriate, particularly bearing in mind Resmes’s concerns.
Stuff was popping into Marcus’s head all the time since he had met Georgie. She was attached to every thought he had, like protons attached to a nucleus; she had become part of the fabric of his DNA. Another analogy. He liked that one, too.
He liked the way she smelled, also. Very much. A faint musky tang of scent rising from her skin. It aroused him.
‘Hello, Georgie!’ he said quietly, laying on the deepest sympathy in his tone.
She turned around, looking startled. ‘Oh, hi! You gave me a fright!’
‘Am I that frightening?’ he smiled, locking eyes, connecting, until she glanced away, looking embarrassed. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all. I – I just didn’t hear you. How – how is he doing?’
Without introducing his student, he stared down at Roger for some while, in silence. She waited for him to say something. But he continued to just stare at him. Studying the monitors, she thought. Checking all was OK, she assumed gratefully.
But he was only glancing at them cursorily. What he was really doing was thinking about time. And dates.
And breathing in her intoxicating scent.
One month – almost – to Valentine’s Day.
My special day!
Are you going to be my Valentine, Georgie?
Perhaps an anonymous card. Something neutral and tasteful. From a secret admirer letting her know there was life beyond Roger – regardless of whether he survived or died.
S.W.A.L.K!
This was a bum deal for Roger, wasn’t it? His friend, Roger. Do it, don’t do it. Those decisions constantly rattling through his head. It was getting out of his control, and Roger really was getting in the way of his Georgie now. This was his lucky chance and he wasn’t going to let it pass him by.
He turned to her. ‘I think he’s recovering well, Georgie. I’m happy with how he’s doing.’
‘They seem worried that he’s not progressing as fast as they’d hoped,’ she replied, anxiously.
Of course they are, they’re not stupid in here!
‘Everyone responds differently to major surgery, Georgie.’ He turned to Resmes, expecting a nod of affirmation. But the Romanian, studying all the displays intently, appeared not to have heard him.
‘How soon do you think he’ll be coming home?’ Georgie asked.
Depends how you define ‘coming home’, my gorgeous. If you are thinking about bringing home an urn containing his cremated ashes, then two or three weeks, I would hope. At the very most.
It was such an opportunity that had fallen into his lap! Such a big prize if he played it right. He chose his words carefully. ‘Difficult to say, Georgie, but if he progresses well, in less than a week.’
‘Thank you for all you are doing,’ she said. ‘I really appreciate it.’ She gave him a weak smile.
‘That’s what we are here for. To save life.’ He returned the smile. Thinking.
Primum non nocere.
First, do no harm.
People attributed that, mistakenly, to the Hippocratic Oath, the ethical principles to which all medics adhered. But, actually, the maxim had appeared centuries after that old Greek doctor’s death. Hey, no matter. In removing Roger’s spleen he’d adhered to the principle, totally. He had a clear conscience.
He’d done no harm. He’d always be able to look Georgie in the eye with a clear conscience in their future life together. He had it all mapped out in his mind. Just a few more obstacles in the way: one he was dealing with now, the others he had plans for. And then the issue of Claire and the children, but that was further down the line and wouldn’t be a problem. Deal with the pressing one first, hey-ho!
‘How does Roger look to you?’ he asked. Sounding kind and genuinely concerned.
‘I don’t know. Maybe a little better than yesterday,’ she said, hopefully. ‘But his blood pressure and heart rate don’t look that good to me.’
Valentine made a show of studying first Roger and then the readouts again. He wasn’t acting when he assured her, ‘All the signs are good.’
Too damned good. But that would change. It must!
‘He’s going to be OK, isn’t he, Marcus? Do you think he’s out of danger?’
‘Well, that’s too early to say for sure, Georgie. He’s been through a big trauma and had major surgery, in addition to concussion.’ He patted her on the shoulder, reassuringly. ‘But I would say his prognosis is encouraging. As I told you before, most people go on to make a complete recovery after a splenectomy.’
Most.
She looked up at him. ‘I didn’t sleep a wink last night – I was so scared – you know – I – love him so much.’
He gave her a sickly smile. Of course you do.
The young student doctor in scrubs with him was looking at her intently through black-rimmed glasses. His expression was stern.
‘I lay there praying,’ she said. ‘It may sound silly, I’ve never really believed in God, but last night I prayed.’
It was tempting, so very tempting, Marcus thought, to quote Shakespeare back at her. King Lear, Act Four, Scene One. And so appropriate!
‘The worst is not, so long as we can say this is the worst.’
But maybe not a good idea, she wouldn’t be amused.
But he was. Very amused. It really was turning into quite an interesting day. He shook his head. Thinking. Doing his best to study his patient with a solemn expression, to give the impression of how much he cared.
You’ve no idea what’s in store. He’s not been through the worst yet. He’s not even been through the beginning of the worst. But don’t you worry, I’ll be here to hold your hand through that. Sure, he’s had a bounce today, all that blood removed from his abdomen. That cheeky ruptured spleen, causing all those problems, is now lying in a toxic waste bin.
No one knows yet about the stuff that is slowly, steadily, seeping into his blood system from that tear in his bowel. Poisoning him from within. A doomed ship!
With a bit of luck – bad luck for him, good luck for me – you’ll be weeping and putting flowers onto his coffin in a week or two. Three at the most. Sepsis is a terrible thing. A horrible death.
And, of course, I can intervene at any point I deem suitable. Take him back into theatre and open him up again, discover that tiny tear in his bowel and heroically save his life.
Ensuring your eternal gratitude!
But what then? How would you show that gratitude? By marrying him and rejecting me yet again?
On the other hand, if he died, I would be here to comfort you, my lovely.
So many options going through his mind, he thought. Such power!
Georgie, you prayed last night to a god you’ve never believed in. Poor, sweet girl, you prayed to the wrong god, really you did.
You should have prayed to me.
He led her away out of sight and earshot of his student, dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small glass vial of tiny pills. ‘Georgie, I knew you might have trouble sleeping. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I want to because we are friends.’ He handed her the vial, discreetly.
‘Take one tonight half an hour before bed. Everything will seem much better in the morning after a good night’s rest.’
‘That’s very kind of you, thank you. I will, I’ve got to get some decent sleep.’
She slipped them into her handbag.
‘All I want is the very best for all of you, including our Bump here.’ Marcus smiled.
‘I appreciate that.’
He smiled again, then, followed by his silent student, he walked off.
54
Wednesday 16 January
Georgie felt in turmoil after she watched Valentine and Resmes stop to use the hand sanitizer and then exit through the door. Marcus had now not given her any reassurance about Roger’s condition. If anything, the reverse. And she hadn’t liked Kath’s reaction when she’d told her about the blood in her urine.
The risk, however tiny – and it is tiny – of something nasty developing.
How tiny?
Clearly not tiny enough to dismiss. If it was really that tiny, would Kath have been so keen to fit her in for a colposcopy this week?
She rummaged anxiously in her handbag for the card Kath had given her, retrieved it and stepped away from Roger’s bedside, not wanting to wake him. She dialled and Kath Clow’s secretary answered keenly, clearly expecting her call. She made an appointment.
Then she sat back down beside Roger, stroking his forehead, staring at his face, watching his fluttering eyelids. This gorgeous, funny, caring man she loved so much – and had so nearly lost. When he was better, would she worry even more every time he went off to the airfield?
It was gone half past one. Lunchtime, but she wasn’t hungry. A cold, wintry draught swirled inside her. Marcus came across as a little arrogant, but thinking back, she realized that some of the consultants she’d seen in the past, on her long journey to become pregnant, had been similarly arrogant.
Roger stirred. For a moment, Georgie was hopeful he was waking. But he continued to sleep.
Valentine’s voice echoed in her head. But I would say his prognosis is encouraging. As I told you before, most people go on to make a complete recovery after a splenectomy.
Most.
Leaving unsaid the words, but some do not.
Kiera had told her Roger was not making as good progress as they had expected. So why hadn’t Marcus Valentine commented on that?
The optimist in her said that was because he’d seen no need for concern. The pessimist said he hadn’t wanted to worry her.
She looked around the ward. Two women at the nursing station were chatting. Another monitor alarm beeped. A medic hurried past. She felt so helpless. Afraid. Everyone spoke highly of Valentine, but he was an obstetrician, not a general surgeon. Might Roger be recovering more quickly if a specialist in spleens had done the operation?
No, stop these negative thoughts. Roger needs positivity now.
She studied all the monitors again, her insides knotted with worry. Worry which increased as the afternoon wore on, with nurses carrying out regular checks on Roger. She felt she could read the increasing concern in their demeanour. Twice during this time a doctor had been summoned, and the curtains had been closed around Roger.
Something was not right. She was becoming more and more certain of that. And the nurses were being evasive, brushing her off with smiles and platitudes.
To distract herself, she logged on to eBay to check the status on her bid for the flying jacket. She was pleased she was still the highest, with six hours to go. Fingers crossed, she’d get it. It would make a great coming home gift for Roger.
When he came home.
If he came home.
There was a whole ton of messages on her phone – texts, WhatsApps and emails from concerned friends and family who had seen the news. She did her best to respond to each, updating them with everything she knew.
Late afternoon, the ward round team reappeared, and Nurse Dale, about to go off shift, asked Georgie to step away whilst they drew curtains once more around Roger.
‘What – what’s going on?’ she asked, her voice trembling. ‘No one’s telling me anything. Roger’s not right, is he?’
Kiera’s face confirmed her fears.
‘I don’t want you to be worried, Georgie, we are monitoring him very closely and he’s in the best possible hands here. But there’s something going on that we need to get to the bottom of.’
‘What do you mean? Like what going on?’
‘Well, his heart rate is a little high and his blood pressure lower than we would like to see at this period of time after his operation. And his lactate level is elevated.’
‘Elevated?’
‘To be honest with you, it’s just not quite the improvement in his condition we’d expect. But there’s really nothing to worry about.’
‘Really? I’m not an idiot. Tell me the truth. You don’t have to dress anything up for me.’
‘I am telling you everything, Georgie, honestly. There’s a little abnormal swelling in his tummy, which indicates something’s not quite right. But this could simply still be a reaction to the operation. He is also showing symptoms of pain. We’re going to give him intravenous fluids to try to bring his blood pressure up, and we’ll give him supplementary oxygen, which we’ll be monitoring through the night.’
‘If that doesn’t work?’ Georgie asked, fearfully.
‘Let’s be positive and hope it does!’ she said. ‘There’s a possibility – very remote – that he’s picked up an infection, which we’ll be able to knock out very quickly with antibiotics.’
Georgie looked at her, dubiously.
‘If it’s any comfort to you, I’ve been an ICU nurse for nine years. In all this time I’ve worked on countless splenectomy patients, every single one of whom has gone on to make a complete recovery. Does that reassure you?’
‘I’d like to say yes. But—’
Kiera smiled, expectantly.
‘This is going to sound silly.’
‘Try me!’
‘Well, I used to be terrified of flying. At one point, I would only fly to airports where there had been a major air disaster, on the basis that it was highly unlikely there would be another at the same place.’
Kiera frowned. ‘Are you saying you’d feel happier if we’d recently had a patient who’d died following a splenectomy?’
Georgie gave a nervous smile. ‘I’m sorry, I realize how stupid that sounds – stupid and selfish.’
The nurse smiled. ‘I like your logic. I just hope that none of our patients here ever needs to become a statistic that helps you prove it!’
So do I, Georgie thought, looking at the closed curtains around Roger’s bed.
55
Wednesday 16 January
Marcus Valentine arrived home shortly after 8 p.m. He needed just time and patience for now. Sure, Georgie was worried sick about her man. He could understand that. It was only natural. But what he could not understand was why Roger was still so stable. He wasn’t recovering as well as the ICU team expected, but neither was he going downhill as fast as he had hoped. Was it possible the tear in his bowel had healed? That could happen, although it was extremely unlikely.
So what the hell was going on?
He stopped in the porch and stared at the mess of his children’s shoes – and Claire’s – littering the place. Why couldn’t his family ever clear up after themselves?
He knelt and put the shoes in their correct cubby holes. Then he went into the hall, where there was a tantalizing smell of food, and called out, ‘Hi, I’m home.’
‘I’m upstairs!’ Claire called back.
Claire was lying on their bed, holding a Jojo Moyes paperback, the television on with a bunch of half-dressed hunks on a beach on the screen. She was wearing a short, floral dressing gown which she had bought a couple of years back, on a holiday blessedly without the kids in Portofino. It was just covering the top of her thighs, showing her long, bare, white legs. He used to fancy her in it, and the reading glasses made her
even more alluring. ‘That sexy librarian look’, he called it.
But it wasn’t working like it used to.
‘Hi, what are you watching?’
‘Catching up with Shipwrecked.’
He could never understand how she could read and watch TV at the same time. ‘You all right?’
‘Dreadful, since you asked. Cormac’s been a bloody nightmare and I’m exhausted. The twins are fine though. You? How was your day?’
He tried to remember the last time they’d had sex. Two weeks ago, or was it three? Four? He should be raring to go, but . . .
‘There’s a beef casserole in the Aga, top left, with a baked potato, and salad in the fridge. And there’s half a bottle of a nice Rioja on the table. I thought we might have an early night.’ She gave him a smile.
An invitation.
He hesitated, wondering whether to go through the motions, make her happy, play the attentive husband. But could he, really, when he had other things on his mind? A plan that had been forming on his drive home. Just a little way to feel closer to Georgie.
‘Thanks, but I’m on call, I can’t drink.’
‘You were on call last week,’ she said, looking genuinely disappointed. She moved, stretching out a bare leg, revealing even more of her thigh, and for a moment he was tempted, so tempted.
But he had an even stronger urge, pulling him in a different direction. The plan that had been hatching in his mind during the past hour. One he liked more and more.
‘Yep, I’m having to cover for someone who’s away,’ he replied. He began to strip off.
‘Mmmmnnn!’ Claire said. ‘I’m liking what I’m seeing. So you are coming to bed after all?’
‘No, I’m going for a run.’
56
Wednesday 16 January
After Marcus had departed for the day, Resmes stayed on in the hospital, with an hour or so to kill before—
His date!
Tilly Roberts. A young nurse in the Maternity ward he’d been sweet on for weeks, ever since he’d first noticed her. But being awkwardly shy with women he fancied, it had taken him time to strike up a conversation with her. Then, a few days later, he’d plucked up the courage to ask her out for a date tonight, after work. She came off shift at 10 p.m.
