Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Sloan paced the corridor for the third time, all sharp edges and contained agitation.
The place was chaos—voices overlapping, phones ringing, the constant shuffle of trolleys and hurried footsteps.
Somewhere deeper in A&E, someone shouted for a porter.
Closer by, a child cried until they were hoarse.
Gloria lay on a trolley, her nightdress swapped for a thin gown that covered nothing properly. Her hair had been hastily brushed back, but it still looked slept in. She stared at the ceiling as if personally offended by it.
“This is ridiculous,” Sloan said, voice clipped. “She’s been here an hour.”
Matty stood at the foot of the trolley, arms folded, watching the flow of staff with the same practised patience she used behind a bar when the queue was six deep, and someone still wanted to complain about too much ice.
A nurse hurried past, ponytail bouncing, a stack of notes hugged to her chest. She didn’t stop.
Sloan stepped into the walkway. “Excuse me.”
The nurse slowed and turned around, eyes already apologetic. “I’m so sorry, love, it’s manic tonight. There’s been a crash on the motorway. We’re short-staffed and we’ve got ambulances queuing.”
“My mother is lying in a corridor,” Sloan said, each word precise, “in a gown that barely covers her. She’s in pain. She deserves to be treated properly.”
Gloria snorted. “Oh, don’t start. I’m not dying.”
Sloan didn’t look at her. Her focus stayed on the nurse, staring her down as if she could coerce the entire system into behaving properly through sheer force of will.
The nurse checked Gloria’s wristband, then the notes at the end of the trolley. “I understand. We’re doing our best. She’s been triaged. We’re waiting for X-ray to call for her.”
“And in the meantime?” Sloan asked. “She just lies here?”
“In the meantime,” the nurse said, voice gentler, “we keep her as comfortable as we can. Has she had pain relief?”
Gloria’s mouth tightened. “They offered me paracetamol like I’m a child with a headache.”
Sloan’s nostrils flared.
Matty moved without thinking. She stepped in, close to Sloan’s side, and placed her hand lightly on her forearm—steady, warm—a quiet anchor.
“Sloan,” she murmured, low enough that only Sloan could hear, “let’s not bite the head off the one person who’s actually helping.”
Sloan’s eyes flicked to Matty’s hand, then back to the nurse. Something in her expression tightened.
“I’m advocating,” she said.
“I know,” Matty said softly. “Just...breathe.”
Gloria watched them both with narrowed eyes, putting it all together. “If you’re finished,” she snapped, “I’d quite like my hip to stop feeling like it’s on fire.”
The nurse nodded briskly, grateful for the opportunity to do something practical. “Right. We can do something stronger than paracetamol if she needs it. I’ll get the doctor to review her analgesia. And I’ll see if we can get you a blanket, alright?”
Gloria sniffed. “Make it two. It’s freezing in here.”
The nurse gave a quick smile, tired, but real, and disappeared into the stream of bodies.
Sloan’s exhale was slow and controlled, forcing the air through clenched teeth. She turned back to the trolley, eyes dropping to Gloria’s face.
“Are you actually in pain?” she asked.
Gloria’s gaze slid away. “Of course I’m in pain. I fell off a bloody chairlift.”
Matty leaned in a little. “Did you hit your head at all? Any dizziness?”
Gloria rolled her eyes. “No. I’m not concussed. I’m just...sore.”
Sloan’s mouth tightened.
A porter appeared a few minutes later, sweat on his brow, eyes scanning for numbers. He stopped beside Gloria’s trolley.
“Gloria Slater?” he asked.
Gloria lifted her chin. “That’s me.”
“X-ray’s ready for you,” he said, already pulling the trolley round with practised efficiency.
Sloan stepped forward instinctively. “I’m coming with her.”
“You’ll have to wait here,” the porter said, not unkindly. “Space is tight.”
Gloria’s eyes flicked to Matty, then to Sloan, and something like satisfaction crept into her expression.
Sloan opened her mouth to argue, but the porter was already moving, and for once, Gloria was quiet. Pain had a way of stealing stamina, even from the most stubborn of women.
“Let’s go and sit down,” Matty said, steering them back towards the waiting room. There were two empty chairs, and she sat quickly before anyone else could claim one.
Sloan sat beside her, back straight, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Neither of them spoke at first.
The waiting room TV played something cheerful, with the volume too low to hear properly, and the contrast felt crude.
Matty glanced at Sloan’s hands. “You okay?”
Sloan’s laugh was short and humourless. “No.”
Matty nodded, like that was the only honest answer either of them could give.
“She’s going to be fine,” Matty said, not because she knew it, but because Sloan needed to hear it.
Sloan’s eyes stayed on the corridor where they’d taken Gloria. “She’s going to use this,” she said quietly. “She’ll use it to prove she can’t be left. To prove I can’t have a life of my own.”
Matty’s throat tightened. She shifted slightly, and Sloan looked away.
“Maybe,” Matty said. “But maybe she’s also just scared.”
Sloan’s gaze flicked back to her, intense. “She’s not scared.”
Matty held it. “She was on the floor, soaked through, in pain. She was scared…and humiliated. She just doesn’t know how to be anything other than defensive.”
“Why do you always defend her?”
“I’m not defending her. I’m trying to understand her, so this all gets easier for you.”
Sloan’s jaw worked. For a second, the ice-queen mask slipped, and there was something underneath it that looked dangerously like grief.
Matty reached out slowly, giving Sloan time to pull away if she wanted. Her fingers settled over Sloan’s knuckles.
Sloan didn’t move.
She just let Matty hold her there, in the middle of a busy A&E waiting room, while the world carried on around them.