‘You’ve had no bleeding?’ Angus checked.
‘None. Just this pain. I’m losing my baby, aren’t I?’
‘Let me take a look at you,’ Angus said firmly, ‘before we rush to any conclusions. Now, have you had any nausea or vomiting?’
‘I feel sick,’ Louise said, ‘but I haven’t been sick.’
‘How’s your appetite?’
‘I can’t eat.’
‘OK …’ Angus checked the card which had her observations recorded. ‘I’m just going to get the Doppler.’
‘Doppler?’ Louise’s eyes darted to Imogen.
‘It’s just a little machine, so he can listen to the baby’s heartbeat.’
‘Oh, God!’
‘Just try and take it easy,’ Imogen said gently, but even though she was calm and reassuring, Imogen did let out a breath when, after only a few seconds of trying to locate it, the delicious sounds of a strong, regular foetal heartbeat was picked up.
‘OK …’ Angus gave a thin smile at the heartbeat. ‘That’s certainly good news. You’re a bit dehydrated. I see Heather put in a drip and took some bloods—I’m going to get those sent straight to the lab and I’m going to get some IV fluids started on you …’
‘Aren’t you going to examine me?’ Louise flushed. ‘I mean …’
‘I’m not going to do a PV,’ Angus said, ‘because the obstetrician is going to want to do one and if your uterus is a bit irritable, I don’t want to disturb things. I’m just going to speak with a colleague and then I’ll come back and talk to you.’
‘What do you think is wrong?’
‘Let me just have a quick word with the surgeon and then I’ll be back.’
‘The surgeon!’ Louise startled, but Angus was already gone, leaving Imogen to deal with a less than impressed husband.
‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Are we too menial to even be told what he’s thinking?’
‘We’ve got a surgical emergency in Resus,’ Imogen said calmly. ‘I suspect he wants to catch the team before they race off to Theatre.’
‘Oh.’
Which was exactly the case, as it turned out. The surgical consultant made a brief appearance and examined Louise, then went outside the cubicle to talk to Angus as the couple became more agitated. Once Louise had been for an urgent ultrasound, Imogen did her observations regularly and tried to reassure them, only she was practically running between patients as the waiting room filled fit to burst, nurses, doctors everywhere calling out for assistance. If they’d had double the staff on tonight, it still wouldn’t have been enough.
‘Will someone please have the decency to tell us what the hell is going on!’
Imogen, wearing gloves and holding up an inebriated patient’s tea towel–wrapped hand that contained a partially severed finger wasn’t really in a position to calm the furious Mr Williams as he stormed out of the cubicle. ‘My wife’s in bloody agony and all you lot keep saying is that you’re waiting for blood results.’
‘The obstetrician’s on his way down,’ Imogen said, ‘just as soon—’
‘I don’t want to hear how busy he is!’ Mr Williams roared, coming up to her, shouting right in her face. ‘I don’t want to know about other patients, when my wife …’
As his voice trailed off Imogen actually thought he was going to hit her, could do nothing to defend herself as she held on to her patient. She could see the hairs up his nose and the veins bulging in his forehead, could hear her patient slurring obscenities in her defence, and then she realized that he was going to hit her. She could see his fist, and behind that Angus dropping the phone and racing over, but Security got there first, grabbing his hand before it made contact, coming between the relative and the nurse, taking control of the situation, as they often did.
It was a non-event really—something that happened, something she was more than used to dealing with. She was just utterly weary to the bone of being used to dealing with it.
‘I’ll take him for you.’
Cassie saw Imogen’s pale face and relieved her of her drunken patient as Imogen peeled off her bloodied gloves while Angus read the Riot Act.
‘If you ever threaten or verbally abuse my staff again I will have you removed from the department and arrested!’ There was no doubt from his voice that he meant every word.
‘I didn’t threaten her!’
Even though Angus was completely in control, his anger was palpable, contempt lacing every word as he responded to Mr Williams.
‘When a six-foot man gets in the face of a woman and shouts, believe me, sir, it’s extremely threatening. And when that same man raises his fist …’
‘I wasn’t going to hit her!’
Debatable perhaps—only there simply wasn’t time.
‘Now …’ Angus let out a long breath. ‘Even though it seems you have been here ages, it has, in fact, been an hour. In that time your wife has been examined by myself and the surgeon, she has had an IV started and bloods taken and has been sent for an ultrasound. I was actually on the phone just now getting some results and was about to come in and talk to you.’
‘Hi, there.’ Whistling as he walked, grinning as he came over, Oliver Hanson, incredibly laid-back, dressed in theatre scrubs and oblivious to all that had occurred, joined the little gathering. ‘Hi, there, Imogen—good to see you.’ Then he raised his eyebrows to Angus. ‘I hear you’ve got a suspected appendicitis for me to see—twenty weeks gestation.’
Which wasn’t the best way to deliver the potential diagnosis, but then the whole exercise had been a bit of a disaster. A touch pale in the face and a bit grim-lipped, Imogen followed the doctors and Mr Williams into the cubicle as Security hovered outside.
‘I’m sorry!’ Mr Williams glanced over at Imogen, who nodded.
‘He didn’t mean to scare you.’ Louise was in tears. ‘He’s just worried about me.’
‘Let’s listen to the doctors.’ Imogen forced a smile, told herself that it wasn’t Louise’s fault she was married to this man. It was simply her job to put the patient at ease, only it was getting harder and harder to do.
‘We think you have appendicitis,’ Angus started. ‘It’s difficult to diagnose in pregnancy as there are some tests we can’t do because they may affect the baby. Some of the changes in blood that happen during pregnancy make the lab findings more difficult to interpret too. The ultrasound of your abdomen appears normal, which has ruled out some other tentative diagnoses and I’ve spoken again to Mr Lucas, the surgeon who saw you, and he agrees that appendicitis is the most likely diagnosis. However, until you have the operation, we won’t know for sure.’
‘But isn’t that dangerous for the baby?’
‘It’s far more dangerous for the baby if your appendix ruptures,’ Oliver explained. ‘That’s why we’d prefer not to wait. Yes, there is a chance that the surgery might cause premature labour, but I’ll start an infusion that should hopefully prevent that, and we’ll work closely with the anaesthetist. We all want your pregnancy to continue.’
‘So there’s no real choice?’ Mr Williams’s voice was gruff.
‘No.’ Angus spoke to his patient. ‘Mr Lucas is in Theatre and he’ll be ready for you soon, so the best thing we can do is get you up as quickly as possible. You’ve had some IV fluids so you’re better hydrated now and the anaesthetist is going to come down and talk to you but, yes, we’ll get you up as soon as possible.’
‘You’ll be OK.’ Imogen smiled once all the doctors had gone and she prepared Louise for Theatre, collecting all her notes and going through the endless check lists.
‘I never even thought it could be appendicitis—I thought I was losing the baby.’
‘It’s always your first thought when you’re pregnant, but appendicitis is just as common during pregnancy as it is at other times—just more complicated. You’ll go up to Maternity after the operation so they can watch the baby closely.’
‘You’ve seen this before then?’
‘I’m a midwife.’
Imogen nodded. ‘So, yes, I’ve seen it before.’
‘A midwife?’ Louise frowned. ‘So what are you doing working here?’
‘Earning a living.’ Imogen answered, as the porter clicked off the brakes on the trolley and they headed through the bedlam of the emergency department, tears stinging her eyes as she gave the wrong but honest answer.
‘You’ve been marvellous as always, Imogen!’ Always generous with praise for her staff, Heather thanked Imogen profusely as she signed her time sheet at seven-thirty a.m. The place was still full, patients everywhere, linen skips and bins overflowing, but order was slowly being restored. ‘Have a look at the roster before you go and take your pick—there are plenty of shifts to be filled this week.’
‘No, thanks!’ Pulling off her hair-tie, Imogen hoisted her bag on her shoulder. ‘I’m done.’
‘I thought you were here for a little while longer?’
‘I mean with Emergency.’ Oh, so casually she’d said it, but Heather quickly noticed the wobble in her voice. ‘I’m calling it a day.’
‘Imogen!’ Heather’s voice was full of concern, causing a few nurses to turn round. ‘Did that incident with Mr Williams—?’
‘I’d made up my mind before that,’ Imogen interrupted. ‘I’m just …’ she gave a helpless shrug ‘… tired of it, I guess. Burnt out—isn’t that what they say? I love Emergency and everything. It’s just getting too much, since I had Heath.’
‘Excuse me!’ Looking nothing like the angry, raging man from earlier, Mr Williams appeared at the nurses’ station. ‘Louise had her operation and the baby seems fine.’
‘That’s good to know,’ Imogen said, and the smile she gave was genuine because it was good to know.
‘About before.’ He was red in the face again, but for different reasons this time. ‘I really am sorry for what happened.’
His apology was genuine, Imogen knew that.
And she was about to open her mouth, to tell him it was OK, that he had been stressed and worried about his wife and the baby and that it didn’t matter.
Only it did.
It mattered a lot.
Mr Williams wasn’t the reason she was giving up a job she loved, but the Mr Williamses of the world were a big part of it.
And somehow sorry wasn’t enough for Imogen this morning.
His apology, no matter how genuine, just one she couldn’t accept any more. Without a word she walked off and left him standing there, tears streaming down her face as she exited through the ambulance bay, before finally she said the words she’d really wanted to.
‘So you should be!’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SHE so did not need this.
Stamping through the slush, Imogen wished she’d been more assertive, wished she’d just stuck to her guns and refused to take the shift.
OK, they’d assured her that she wouldn’t actually be in Emergency, that the nurse unit manager had agreed that she could stay in the observation ward. Only that made it worse somehow—being there and not doing anything, hearing the buzz of Emergency and not being a part of it.
Seeing Angus again.
The only thing worse than that was the thought of not seeing him again.
It had been four days since they’d last kissed, four days since she’d, cryptically perhaps, laid her heart on the line and four days when he hadn’t done a thing about it.
No phone call.
No text.
Nothing.
So what if he’d said he loved her? For all he knew she could be on a plane already winging her way back to Queensland with Heath, which was probably what he wanted, Imogen thought, her face stinging as the heat of the hospital hit her frozen cheeks. Yes, once she was safely out the country there would be no chance of their embarrassing little interlude coming out, no explanations necessary.
The heat had nothing to do with the tears that suddenly pricked her eyes.
‘Hi, Imogen …’ Cassie greeted her warmly. ‘Go and grab a coffee before handover.’
‘I’m in Obs.’ Imogen forced a smile. ‘I’ll just head straight round there.’
‘You’ve got time for a coffee,’ Cassie insisted. ‘Actually, I’ll join you. I never got my break this morning, the place was bedlam as usual …’ She chatted away as they walked, two nurses heading off to the staffroom. Cassie could never have known how much it hurt Imogen to glimpse Resus, see the machines, the patients, the buzz of Emergency that she loved but which didn’t love her back, that just hurt too much to stay.
She actually wanted to turn and run—she could turn and run. She was an agency nurse, easily replaced, could plead a migraine, anything, as long as she didn’t have to put herself through it.
‘Surprise!’
Opening the staffroom door, it really was one.
Colleagues and friends she had only just made all standing there to greet her, the table laid with Chinese take-aways and cola and crisps. Emergency staff only ever needed a teeny excuse to throw a party, but that they might throw one for her—an agency nurse who had done just a very few shifts—was unfathomable.
‘Now …’ Heather handed her a cup of cola and took the floor. ‘We don’t do this for everyone, but we’re not losing an agency nurse—the nursing world’s losing a good emergency nurse and we figured she deserved a bit of a send-off! How long have you been one of us?’
‘Ten years?’ Imogen gulped.
‘Then you’ve more than earned a party.’
They’d signed a card and her eyes blurred as she read the messages, especially Angus’s. Short and sweet, he’d wished her luck in her new career, thanked her for her hard work here and signed it without love, and with very best wishes for her future—just not theirs.
Which was to be expected, of course.
It just hurt.
Hurt too that he couldn’t make it, Heather explained, because he was recording his TV show.
And when the party was over, sitting in the obs ward, her one head injury patient snoring his head off, Imogen knew that ten cardiac arrests and a few stabbings would be much easier to deal with than her own thoughts.
Sitting in a busy department in a busy city, never had she felt more alone.
‘Why don’t you have your break?’ Heather bustled round. ‘I’ll watch Mr Knight.’
‘I’ve been sitting down for three hours!’ Imogen pulled her head out of the book she was desperately trying to concentrate on. ‘I don’t need a break.’
‘Well, I do!’ Heather said, sliding into the seat beside her. ‘I really am glad you came in today.’
‘I am too. It was really thoughtful of you all …’ Imogen flushed. ‘I wasn’t expecting it.’
‘Not just for that. That incident with Mr Williams … I didn’t want you leaving on a bad note …’
‘He’s not the reason I’m finishing up.’
‘I know that, but it did upset you.’
‘It didn’t used to,’ Imogen explained. ‘I used to be able to shrug it off. I just can’t any more. So now it’s either get upset or get hard and cynical—and I don’t want that to be me.’
‘That isn’t you,’ Heather agreed. ‘I do know how you feel, after the week we’ve had here, what with Maria Vanaldi and everything …’
‘Maria?’
‘You haven’t seen the news?’
‘They don’t have televisions in the rooms at the youth hostel—what about Maria?’
‘It wasn’t an accident.’
‘The car lost control …’
‘It had been tampered with. It was her husband’s family apparently.’
And Imogen closed her eyes, knowing in that moment that the choice she’d struggled so hard to come to had, for her, been the right one.
‘Go and have your break,’ Heather said again, and this time Imogen didn’t refuse.
His voice in the room hurt.
Imogen was glad that even though she’d joked with Maria about it, she’d never actually thought to record Angus’s show b
ecause, seeing him, hearing him and not being able to have him hurt in a way it didn’t when she watched Brad.
She knew that if she did have a recording, she’d torture herself over and over, watching his beautiful, proud face, slightly defiant as the carefully scripted interview commenced.
She put more bread in the toaster and stood in the empty staffroom, tears streaming down her face as she rammed the lovely buttery toast into her mouth and waited for the next round to toast, wishing it would fill the hole in her soul. She listened as they spoke about viewers who were lonely and ill over Christmas, listened as they talked about the miracle that should be Christmas but in reality how incredibly hard it was for some people at this time of year.
And then came the difficult part.
Imogen could hear the shift in tone from the interviewer and watched Angus’s chin lift a fraction, ready to face the public music. Only it wasn’t quite the tune she was expecting to hear.
‘A lot of our viewers are going to be sorry to hear that this is to be your final regular appearance on the show.’
‘That’s correct.’ Angus nodded.
‘We’ve seen in the newspapers this week—’ his colleague, no doubt his friend, cleared her throat just a touch ‘—that your own marriage just ended.’
‘It did.’ And because he was a so-called celebrity, because part of his job was asking people to bare their lives, Imogen screwed her eyes closed as Angus, this private, beautiful man, was forced to open up—if not for the good of himself, then for the good of all.
‘Did that have any impact on your decision to leave the show?’
‘Of course,’ Angus answered brusquely, and Imogen could only smile at his closed-off expression, the same one she’d seen when they’d sat in the café that first time together.
‘It must be a painful time.’
‘It’s a …’ There was a pause, just a beat of a pause that had her open her eyes, that had the interviewer frowning just a touch, as maybe, just maybe, Angus deviated from the script. ‘It’s a searching time,’ he said carefully, but on behalf of so many, so, so eloquently he added, ‘For all involved.’
Celebration: Italian Boss, Ruthless RevengeOne Magical ChristmasHired: The Italian’s Convenient Mistress Page 27
