‘Lucky you. Well, if you don’t need me, I’ve got another fracture to reduce. See you tomorrow.’
David headed back towards A & E, Michael and Clare towards the residence. She opened the door of her flat and Michael stumbled in behind her, swearing softly under his breath.
‘For heaven’s sake get the weight off that stump before you damage the thing!’ she scolded, and led him through to the bedroom. ‘There, take your clothes off and lie down—I’ll give you a back massage while the kettle boils.’
She left him for a moment while she put the kettle on, and when she came back he was naked, face down on the quilt, asleep. With the competence of years of practice, she rolled him over, got the quilt out from under him and covered him up. The hot drink and painkillers could wait. What he needed most of all was rest.
She changed and made herself a drink, and sat in the easy chair in front of the television. It was on quietly, to deaden the contrast between the silence of the night and the hushed bustle of a hospital during the graveyard shift—the ringing phones, the doors banging, hurried footsteps. After the cottage it must seem unbearably noisy. She knew it had to her.
She must have dozed, because she awoke with a start some time later. Michael was muttering, shifting restlessly on the bed. She waited for the dream but it didn’t come, at least not in its most terrifying form, evidently. After a while he grew quiet again, and then she heard his voice softly in the half-darkness.
‘Clare? Are you awake?’
Yes.’ She stood up stiffly and went through to the bedroom. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Lonely—how about you?’ He sounded sad, and very much alone.
‘Me, too.’
She knew it was madness—knew she would regret it in the morning, but she had to have one last chance to hold him, to be close to him without rows or jealousy or routine coming between them. Slipping off her robe, she lifted the quilt and slid into the narrow bed beside him.
His arms closed around her and he sighed with satisfaction. That’s better,’ he murmured. ‘God, Clare, I’ve missed you.’
She pressed her lips against his chest and hugged him gently. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘Mmm.’ Seconds later, his steady, even breathing told her that he had done exactly that.
When the alarm woke her in the morning, he was gone. She jumped out of bed and ran into the sitting-room, but she knew from the quality of the silence that the flat was empty. There was a note propped against the kettle.
‘Bless you. Michael.’
She dressed hurriedly, anxious to get up to the ward and see him again. She knew he would be around to see the young woman whose legs he had fought to save, and she wanted to be there. He had been different last night—more approachable. Perhaps now, if they talked, they could unravel the mess they had got themselves in, because she was now quite certain that Ross was right and Michael still loved her. Where Jo Harding fitted in to all this, Clare wasn’t sure, but she could even forgive him that if she could have him back. After all, everybody was allowed one mistake, surely?
She arrived on the ward at half-past seven, to find that he had already been to see the young woman, and had gone home to change. Clare was ridiculously disappointed.
Mary O’Brien appeared at a quarter to eight. ‘I gather you had high drama last night,’ she said immediately. ‘I’ve just seen David Blake—he tells me we’ve got a young woman with multiple fractures and soft tissue injuries, and that Michael was up half the night trying to save her legs.’
Clare nodded. ‘That’s right. His scrub nurse passed out and I had to go up and assist—Mary, it was grim.’
‘I believe it,’ she said with a tight smile. ‘Now we have to stand back and let nature take its course. Let’s find out how she is.’
They went into the office for the report.
Judith looked up and smiled. ‘Morning, Mary—oh, hello, Clare. I wasn’t sure if we’d see you today—Michael said you’d been assisting on Sally Pierce till one and might be late.’
‘What time was he in?’
‘Oh, six—something like that. Wanted to check her circulation.’
‘How is it?’
‘Good—fine. He was very pleased. I must say, she’s a rare mess. I specialled her myself for the first four hours, because I was quite sure she was going to haemorrhage or arrest or something! Anyway, she’s settled well. She’s still on quarter-hourly obs, and Michael wants Tim Mayhew to have a look at her when he comes round. Apparently he isn’t happy with the neurological responses in the right foot, but, as he says, the nerves were damaged so it could take time. Her fiancé’s in the day-room, wearing a hole in the carpet, by the way, but she isn’t up to visitors yet. Michael said maybe later.’
The rest of the ward had had the usual sort of night—insomnia in the elderly, pain in the post-ops, and Barry Warner had developed a pin track infection in his right leg where the screws of the external fixator penetrated the skin. He was on antibiotics and hourly obs until it stabilised, but it had been caught early on and should respond well to treatment. Apart from that there had been two new admissions who David Blake had been working on while Clare and Michael had been in Theatre.
‘Right—I’m off to bed. Haven’t had such a busy night for ages! See you tomorrow.’
Sister O’Brien turned to Clare. ‘Right, well, as you were in on it from the start, perhaps you could special Sally Pierce for me?’
‘Fine.’ She made her way to the single room opposite the nursing station where first Michael and then Alan Beedale had been and relieved the staff nurse coming off night duty.
Sally was asleep, her long dark hair lying tangled on the pillow, her face pale except for the vivid bruise over her left eye. She looked extraordinarily young, and very pretty. Clare checked her chart. She was twenty-two. I wonder what she does for a living, Clare thought. She seemed reasonably stable, although her pulse-rate had fluctuated a bit. That could be stressrelated, though, depending on whether she had been awake or asleep.
Clare checked the flow of the IVI and the Pethidine pump, and wondered when Michael would be back to see her. Perhaps then——
‘Good morning,’ he said softly, his eyes crinkling with laughter as she jumped and turned towards him.
‘Good morning yourself,’ she said with an answering smile. ‘You startled me. Are you better?’
‘Much, thanks to the TLC. Clare, I think——’
But she never found out what he thought, because there was a quiet moan from the bed, and he stopped talking and bent over the young woman.
‘Sally? Sally, you’re all right. You’re in hospital. Can you open your eyes?’
Her lids flickered up, and she focused slowly.
‘How are you feeling? Can you tell me where it hurts?’
‘Everywhere,’ she whispered. ‘My chest hurts, and my legs—my legs are so sore. What happened?’
‘You had a car accident. We’ve done an operation on your legs to line up the bones, but you’re doing well now. You’ve got a few broken ribs, too, but nothing to worry about. OK?’
‘Did I break my legs?’
Michael nodded. ‘Yes, you did. Don’t worry about them now, they’ll be fine. I’ll give you something to take away the pain, and then try and go back to sleep, all right? You’ll feel better later.’
‘Can I see Steve?’
‘Is that your fiancé?’
She nodded. Michael looked up and met Clare’s eyes. ‘Is he in the day-room still?’
‘I believe so. Shall I go and see?’
‘No, I’ll have a word with him first. I won’t be long.’
Sally turned her head slightly and looked at Clare. ‘Do I look OK?’ she whispered. ‘My make-up must be all over the place——’
‘You look fine,’ Clare reassured her. Good grief, if she was worried about her make-up, how would she cope when she saw her legs?
A few minutes later Michael returned with a stocky young man.
‘Hello, Sal,’ he said gruffly. ‘How are you?’
‘Pretty grim. I must look a fright—I’m sorry …’
‘Oh, Sal, as if I care about that——’ His voice cracked, and he crouched beside her, his jaw working.
She reached for his hand, and he squeezed it gently, pressing it to his lips. ‘You must rest and get better, eh? And remember, I love you.’
‘Love you, too …’ she sighed. Her eyes drifted shut, and Steve’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with panic.
‘She’s dead!’ he whispered rawly.
‘No, she isn’t,’ Michael assured him. ‘She’s gone to sleep. I’ve just increased her pain relief, quite apart from which her system is full of the anaesthetic still, and she’ll probably doze on and off for the next twenty-four hours, at least. It’s better that she does.’
Tim Mayhew arrived then, and Clare ushered Steve out, promising to keep him in touch.
They turned back the bedclothes and studied the damaged limbs in silence for a second. Then Mr Mayhew raised an eyebrow. ‘And I thought you’d worked a miracle with Barry Warner!’
Michael smiled wearily. ‘I couldn’t give up on her, Tim.’
Mayhew nodded. ‘No, I realise that. Well, I think you’ve done the right thing—her feet are both warm and pink, and neurologically she’s got plenty of time for regeneration before we need to worry. No, I think that looks good. Well done.’
He scanned her chart, nodded again and they left the room. Clare did her TPR and BP, and sat down again beside her patient.
It was a long morning. Sally dozed most of the time, and Michael was obviously busy in Outpatients. He popped up again at lunchtime, but Sally was awake and so Clare was unable to talk to him.
She was feeling much more alert, although still in a certain amount of pain, but now she wanted questions answered.
‘How bad are my legs?’ she asked him.
He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, taking her hand in his.
‘They were very severely injured—not just fractured, but extensive damage to the muscles and blood vessels. It’ll be a long, slow road to recovery, I’m afraid.’
Her eyes were wide and serious. ‘Will I walk again?’ she asked.
Michael hesitated, obviously torn between the whole truth and a palatable dilution. He chose the truth.
‘Your right leg is still touch and go. Your left leg is much less badly damaged, and I think it will heal well in time. Provided the right leg stabilises, and the bone knits together, yes, you’ll walk again.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘We may have to amputate it below the knee.’
She went quite pale. ‘Steve would hate that,’ she murmured.
Michael gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Nobody likes it,’ he said drily. ‘However, it is quite possible to get over it and get on with life.’
His bleep went, and he switched it off and stood up. ‘Excuse me, I have to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Clare watched him as he limped down the corridor, and turned back to Sally.
She was staring down the corridor after Michael. ‘Has he got an artificial leg?’ she whispered, her voice filled with horror.
‘Yes. Yes, he has.’
‘How dreadful! Was it an accident?’
Clare sat down beside her, in the chair Michael had used, and took her hand.
‘Yes, it was an accident—it was six weeks ago today.’
Sally’s eyes flew up and met Clare’s in astonishment. ‘Is that all?’
‘Yes. He’s really pushed himself, but he’s come out on top. We’re all very proud of him.’
‘Oh, God, I hope it doesn’t happen to me—Steve would never get over it. I’d lose him for sure——’
‘Not necessarily. There are more important things in a relationship than how many legs you’ve got, you know.’
She shook her head. ‘He always tells me I’ve got such sexy legs—when he makes love to me—oh, no!’
‘Sally, come on, it may not happen. And anyway, if that’s all it takes to put him off, he can’t really love you.’
She turned back to Clare, her eyes wide with distress. ‘That doctor—how did his wife cope?’
‘He—he’s not married.’ She hesitated, unsure how far professionalism could prevent her from giving this young woman the assurance she needed, and then decided her need was greater than Michael’s need for privacy.
‘We got engaged two weeks before the accident. Everything was wonderful—I’d never been so happy. And then, suddenly, our whole world fell apart. He was so brave—he fought back every inch of the way, and he was up and about in no time.’
‘Didn’t you hate it—his leg?’
‘No, of course not. I hated the accident which had caused it, but nothing could make me hate Michael or anything about him.’
‘How did it happen?’
Clare closed her eyes. She still felt chilled when she thought about that day. ‘There was a derailment. We had to work in dangerous conditions because the carriages were very unstable. He stayed in a dangerous place because an elderly lady was dying and he wouldn’t leave her, and then a gust of wind caught the carriage above and it crashed down and trapped him. It was awful, but it could have been much worse—he could easily have died.’
Sally closed her eyes. ‘I wish I’d died.’
‘No—you mustn’t say that! It isn’t true. In a few days you’ll feel much better, and by then we’ll know if your leg will recover.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
Clare squeezed her hand. ‘Then you’ll be brave, as Michael was brave, and Steve will stand by you, and you’ll find that there are more important things in life than being perfect.’
‘But he won’t want to touch me any more——’
‘That isn’t necessarily true. It hasn’t put me off Michael. On the contrary, his courage and determination have just deepened my feelings for him.’
Sally met her eyes. ‘You must love him very much to have stood by him like this.’
‘I had no choice—I love him, come hell or high water. He means the world to me, and without him, I’m nothing.’
Sally looked over Clare’s shoulder then, and smiled sadly. ‘Here he is—you’re a lucky man. I wish I could be sure that Steve loved me so much.’
Her heart pounding, Clare turned in the chair and met Michael’s eyes. They were guarded, his face a rigid mask.
‘Thank you,’ he said stiffly. ‘Could I have a word, Staff?’
‘Of course.’ She stood up and walked towards him, unable to meet his eyes.
‘In the office—Mary’s doing drugs.’ He closed the door behind them, and Clare twisted her hands together.
‘Michael, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to tell her so much, but she was so afraid——’
‘Was it really fair to raise her hopes with those empty promises?’ His voice sounded strained.
‘What empty promises?’ She turned to face him, her heart in her eyes. ‘I only told her the truth.’
He stared at her endlessly, as if he was afraid to believe what he could see.
‘What time are you off?’
‘Four—why?’
‘Because I think it’s time we talked to each other—really talked. I just hope to God it’s not too late.’
She could hardly breathe for the sudden pounding of her heart. ‘Too late for what?’
‘For us.’ His voice was gruff. ‘I have to go—I’ll see you at the main entrance at four.’
And he was gone, leaving her speechless and trembling in the middle of the office, rooted to the floor.
When her feet came to their senses, she went back to Sally Pierce’s room. ‘You’re looking better—would you like to see Steve if I can find him?’
‘Do you think he’ll want to see me?’
Clare picked up on the uncertainty in her voice, and hastened to reassure her. ‘He was here all night, apparently, asking every passing nurse how you
were. He hasn’t left the hospital since you were brought in. I would say he wants to see you!’
Sally smiled weakly. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Yes, I’d love to see him for a little while.’
Clare went up to the day-room and found Steve slumped in a chair, head propped on his hand, fast asleep. She shook him gently awake. ‘Steve? Sally’s feeling a bit better. She’d like to see you.’
He straightened, flexing his wrist, and tried to smile, then his face crumpled and he buried it in his hands. ‘I thought I’d lost her—I thought for sure she’d die. God, if you could have seen the car——’ A choked sob escaped him, and Clare perched on the arm of the chair and put her arm around his shoulders.
‘Come on—she’s going to be all right. Maybe not perfect, but she’s very much alive, and just now she’s sure you aren’t going to want to see her.’
‘What?’ He lifted his tear-stained face and gazed at Clare incredulously. ‘Is the woman nuts? Of course I want to see her …’
‘Come on, then, or she’ll think I’m having to talk you into it. I should go and wash your face and then come down when you’re ready.’
He stayed with Sally for half an hour, during which Clare sat outside at the nurses’ station to give them some privacy, but near enough to be immediately available should she be needed, and as she listened to the murmured exchanges she prayed that they would come through without all the pain and heartache she and Michael had suffered.
CHAPTER TEN
CLARE wasn’t a clock-watcher, but that afternoon she found her eyes straying to her watch with monotonous regularity. The hands seemed to crawl round, and all the time her nerves were winding up tighter and tighter.
Finally it was time to go, and with trembling hands she straightened her hair before making her way down to the main entrance.
Michael was standing by the door waiting, and as she drew nearer she could see the lines of strain etched clearly on his face.
‘Hi,’ she greeted him, her voice a little taut.
‘Hi. I thought we’d go to my place. Are you ready to go?’
She nodded. ‘My car’s round the side. Do you want me to bring it?’
A Perfect Hero Page 15
