22. CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 22
C lara had been on high alert as the ambulance screamed along, running every traffic light in their rush to get to the hospital, the lights and sirens clearing their way.
They had only stayed long enough in the emergency department to perform a formal ECG and call upstairs to the cardiac catheterisation lab before they were on the move again.
Clara had gone as far as the doors, watching the director being wheeled out of sight, then she sat down on the hard plastic chairs in the corridor outside and waited.
While she sat, the cold of the air conditioning was seeping through the thin t-shirt and jeans she had on. Rubbing her arms, she tried to get some warmth back into them. But exhaustion dragged at her, making her more sensitive to the chill.
Her stomach chose that moment to make a loud gurgle of hunger, and she reached down for her handbag. It wasn’t there; in fact, she knew exactly where it was. It was back on the movie set. All her stuff was in there: phone, wallet, car keys and the sandwich she had shoved in there that morning. She had her watch, but that was analogue, so it didn’t help her at all.
Pushing down her discomfort, she resigned herself to waiting and hoping that someone from the movie would turn up and that they could give her a ride.
Clara leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She might as well take a nap while she waited. It wasn’t long before her exhaustion dragged her into unconsciousness.
“Dr Upford?”
Clara jolted awake at a woman’s voice close to her, and she swiped a hand over her face, trying to push away the remnants of sleep.
“Yes,” she answered groggily, blinking up at the nurse standing in front of her.
“Great. I wanted to let you know that Mr Atrosky’s procedure has been successful. He’s remained stable, and we’re moving him to the intensive care unit,” the nurse informed her. “Did you want to go and see him?”
“Yes, that would be great.” Getting to her feet, she followed the nurse along the corridor and through another set of doors that led into the intensive care unit.
“Do you have any details on his next of kin?” the nurse questioned as they walked.
“No, sorry. I don’t.” Clara shook her head. She hadn’t even been able to tell them his date of birth. “He’s a film director. I’m the medical adviser. We were working when this all happened.”
“No problems. And is what they said true?” the nurse asked.
“Is what true?” Clara wasn’t sure what the nurse was talking about.
“That you had fully resuscitated him, including intubation and cannulation, before the ambulance arrived?” The nurse swiped her name badge over a sensor, and the doors to the intensive care opened.
Clara nodded. “Yeah. I’d set up a full operating theatre for the movie. We were in there.”
“He’s a very, very lucky man that he had his heart attack when he did,” the nurse said as she pointed to the bed Mr Atrosky was in.
Clara agreed, “Yeah, it was.”
Standing beside the bed, her eyes scanned the equipment and infusion pumps. They had him on sedation but nothing to support his blood pressure, so that was good.
His colour looked better, no longer the pasty grey of a dying man but instead the pink skin of someone who had been given another chance to live.
“Thanks. It’s always good to see people with your own eyes. I’m sure someone from the movie will be here soon, so you can contact his next of kin,” Clara said to the nurse who stood quietly beside her.
“Could you call one of them? You can use our desk phone,” the nurse offered.
Clara shook her head. She had no idea of anyone’s phone numbers. “I’m sorry. I left everything behind, even my phone, and I don’t know anyone’s number. I don’t even know how I’m going to get back there.” Shrugging, she turned away from the bed to leave.
“Oh.” Sympathy shone on the nurse’s face. “If you go and wait outside, I’ll see if we can sort you out a taxi voucher. They’ve got them in the emergency department.”
“That’s so kind of you. Thanks, I appreciate it.”
The nurse escorted Clara back to the door, making small talk as they went. When the doors swung open, a tall man in a surgical mask with a baseball cap pulled low down over his eyes stood there, about to press the buzzer to the intensive care unit.
“Can I help you?” the nurse enquired, stilling his hand.
Clara’s eyes were drawn to the bright blue handbag on his arm, one very similar to her own. In fact, it was her handbag. Her gaze shot up and met Taylor’s vivid blue eyes staring down at her.
“Hi,” Clara said in surprise.
“Hi. How’s Mr Atrosky? Did he make it?” Taylor asked.
Clara nodded. “Yeah. He’s looking good. Still unconscious. But stable.”
“Did you want to come and see him?” The nurse offered.
“No, thank you. I work for him; I don’t think he would want me to see him like that. I just came to collect Clara,” he said politely to the nurse.
“No problem. Clara, I won’t bother with the taxi voucher.” The nurse looked at Clara, who nodded in agreement. “I don’t suppose you have details of Mr Atrosky’s next of kin?” she asked Taylor.
“No, although I saw his assistant at the emergency room check-in desk. They’ll definitely know,” Taylor supplied.
“Fantastic. I’ll check on the computers.” The nurse lifted a hand to Clara and strode back into the intensive care.
Clara gazed at Taylor without saying anything.
“Sorry it took me so long to get here. I had to get rid of Devon.”
Despite the seriousness of the day’s events, Clara laughed at the disgust in his voice when he said Devon’s name.
“Where did you dump her body?” She chuckled—her black humour rearing.
“She was distraught. It took us a long time to calm her down, but a friend of hers, Helena, arrived and took her back to the hotel.”
Clara nodded. She didn’t want to talk about Devon, so she gestured down to her bag. “Nice handbag.”
“I agree.” He hefted her bag onto his shoulder and did a twirl for her.
“That blue is your colour,” Clara joked to hide her embarrassment at the state of her tatty old handbag.
“It is. However, I have one question. What on earth do you have in this thing? It weighs a tonne,” he grumbled, slumping over one way, pretending the bag was weighing him down.
Clara stepped forward and took the bag off him, unzipping it to show him. “Laptop, purse, drink bottle, sandwich.”
Taylor cut in, “Is that another petrol station sandwich?” He reached out and poked the plastic packet with a grimace.
“Yeah, just in case I didn’t get taken to craft services again. As you may have noticed, I get angry when I’m hungry.” Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she snatched the sandwich out of her bag. She didn’t care; she was eating it.
Taking two steps, she sat down on a plastic chair in the row that lined the corridor, grabbed the sandwich, opened it, and offered him half.
“I did notice the hangry,” Taylor said with a raised eyebrow. “And you won’t try and bite me if I accept half?”
“No, I won’t bite you. But you’d eat a cheese sandwich from a petrol station that’s been in my bag all day?” Clara handed him the half that he was staring longingly at.
“I don’t think I’m going to have work tomorrow. So if I get food poisoning, it’s not the end of the world.” He checked each way down the corridor to ensure it was empty before pulling his mask down and taking a large bite of the slightly stale bread. “Delicious.”
“Really?” Clara took a tentative bite.
“Not really. But it’s food, and I’m hungry.” He finished the sandwich in two bites. “That was terrible. But thanks for sharing.”
Clara finished her own half and winced a little at the plasticky flavour. She was pretty sure she couldn’t get food poisoning from something that more resembled plastic than cheese.
“No problem.” She rummaged in her bag again. “Tic-tac?”
“Thanks.” He held his hand out as she poured some mints onto his palm.
“Thanks for coming. I was a bit stuck without my handbag.”
“Yeah. I noticed it was still on the set and figured you couldn’t get very far, especially as you don’t have a smartwatch.” He tapped the glass of her watch.
Clara gaped at him in surprise. He had noticed that? And remembered. Her heart sped up, but she quickly stamped it down, replying as normally as she could manage. “How did you find me?” She popped another mint into her mouth.
“I, umm.” A faint blush rose up his cheeks. “I just asked at the front desk, and they told me.” Taylor glanced away from her.
“No, you didn’t. They wouldn’t have given out that information.” She rose from the chair. Now her stomach was shouting at her less; she was keen to get out of there.
“Yes, they did,” he replied, falling into step beside her.
“No, they didn’t. They wouldn’t have given out information to someone who wasn’t next of kin.” Clara thought for a second. “How many autographs did you have to sign?”
“None.”
She felt his step falter and tried again. “Not autographs. Selfies?”
“I did five live streams and three FaceTime calls before they told me where to find you,” he mumbled.
“So everyone knows you’re in the hospital?” Clara began to walk faster.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, his strides lengthening to keep pace with her.
“We probably shouldn’t have sat eating sandwiches. We should have been running,” Clara muttered, glancing back over her shoulder when she heard footsteps behind them. There was a group of young women hurrying along the corridor towards them. “Oh crap.”
Taylor also peered back, and when he noticed the group, who clearly all knew exactly who he was, he increased his speed.
They rounded a corner, and Clara whispered, “Stuff it, let’s just run.”
She broke into a sprint, aiming for the staircase at the end of the corridor, and Taylor ran right alongside her.
They barrelled through the staircase door, and it was about to swing shut when Clara caught it and let it close gently. She then shushed him when he opened his mouth to speak.
Listening hard, she heard the group of women rush past, all debating which way Taylor had gone.
When their voices faded, Clara burst into laughter and asked, “Is this part of your fitness regimen?”
She began to run down the stairs.
“What?” He jogged after her.
“Running from fans!”
“Yes. My trainer says I can count it as my cardio,” Taylor said seriously.
Clara chortled with laughter and skidded to a halt at the door on the ground floor. She waved him back so no one would see him when she opened the door.
Peering around the corner, she could see the coast was clear, and the entrance to the hospital was within sight.
When she heard her phone beep, she hesitated, letting the door close, and pulled it out of her bag to quickly check her messages.
‘ Schedule update: Mr Atrosky has undergone a medical episode. We will have a day’s delay in filming. Please be ready to resume your normal schedule on Thursday.’
Holding her phone up, she showed Taylor. “I guess I’m staying for the full two weeks.”
“That’s great. We’ve got lunch on Sunday.” Taylor reached over her head to push the door open.
Clara caught his arm to stop him, shaking her head and muttering, “I can’t go.”
“What? You can. Tony invited you.”
Clara, who had meant to let go of him, found herself running her hand down Taylor’s arm until their palms met and her fingers intertwined with his. Somehow, she was standing closer to him than before.
“I can’t. You’re dating Devon. You can’t take someone else to lunch with you. You have to take Devon,” she reminded him.
“Shit. I know, you’re right. Shit, I forgot. This is the worst,” Taylor sighed.
“Yeah. But if any rumours get out, your career is ruined.” Clara wished the words coming out of her mouth were different. She wished she could tell him they should try and be together.
“I know. I have to take Devon,” he murmured.
Clara felt a little tug on her hand, pulling her closer again until they were standing toe to toe.
“Today was a weird day.” Taylor tugged her closer again.
Clara’s breath hitched. She needed to step back. She had to step back. Tipping her head up to tell him, her eyes caught on his, and she was lost. She didn’t want to move away from him; she wanted to be in his arms, and she wanted to kiss him.
“Life’s short. We could try—“ Taylor whispered.
“Taylor, you know we can’t. You’ve worked so hard for your career. Don’t let stupid mistakes you made as a kid ruin it.”
“I know, but—“ Taylor’s voice was barely above a whisper as he unhooked his mask from his ears.
He tugged her closer again, and the hand that wasn’t holding tightly onto hers moved up and pushed the strands of her hair that had come loose from her ponytail back behind her ear.
Clara knew she should move away, and if she didn’t, her heart would take a long time to recover from the hurt that would inevitably follow.
He leaned down towards her, his eyes locked on hers, and goosebumps rippled over her skin everywhere he touched. He got closer, and she could see the dark blue ring around the edge of his irises.
“Taylor,” Clara breathed, her heart racing.
The stairway door swung open, hitting Clara in the back and shoving her into Taylor, who put a protective arm around her.
“Sorry,” the nurse who had rushed through the door called, then froze when she saw Taylor’s face.
“Oh, you look just like.” She peered closer. “You’re…, are you?”
Taylor reached up and hooked his mask back over his ear. “I get that a lot. It’s the height,” he replied, keeping his arm around Clara’s shoulder and hustling her out the door.
Clara couldn’t bring herself to pull out of his arms and let him rush them out of the hospital to his car.
They rode in silence back to the movie’s set, Clara staring out the window, her mind racing about the possibilities of what could have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted.
When they got to the hospital where they were filming, he pulled up in the car park next to her car.
Reaching over, Taylor took hold of her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” Clara gently pulled her hand out of his and got out of the car. She didn’t look back as she walked to her own car. She couldn’t.