Chapter 3
Rose
Ileaned against the cabinets in the small staff kitchen and unfortunately rested my head against an upper door handle, which rudely knocked me out of a moment of self-pity to pain then more self-pity. The handle summed up the day.
“Wardle’s looking for you. I think he wants you to stay on – we’ve just had another emergency.” Nina, one of the nurses, dashed into the kitchen, grabbing a half-clean cup and filling in with water – a quick drink because that was all there would be time for.
“I’m meant to be meeting Fallon for dinner.” I felt my shoulders slump. “Where’s Annabelle?”
Annabelle was one of the other ward psychologists who’d just come back after maternity leave. She was a few years older than me, and disillusioned with her job and life in general.
“Running late. Isla’s running a fever so her mother-in-law’s said she can’t look after her while Annabelle’s husband gets back.
She’ll be in as soon as he’s home and she’s gotten here.
” Nina gave me the news like she was telling me what she was having for dinner.
This happened fairly routinely and I’d heard several discussions about why Annabelle wouldn’t just fork out for a childminder or au pair.
I found the strength to move away from the cupboards, accepting of my fate. “What time did Annabelle call in?”
“A couple of hours ago. She said Phil will be back about half six.” Nina rinsed the glass out and put it to drain. “She’ll be in for seven.”
That wasn’t too bad. Phil worked all over London and didn’t have a predictable time for getting home – this had happened multiple times before. It was just after six now; I had a spare change of clothes in my locker, so I could still meet Fallon on time.
“I better go and check this emergency then.” I fixed on my game face and headed back onto a ward that was starting to feel kind of wild.
We had patients with an array of difficulties, all emergencies and staying with us until they were discharged or moved onto a different ward where inpatient treatment could be delivered long term. Most of the cases were in for a few days or just overnight, depending on a multitude of factors.
The newest addition had been brought in by an ambulance with police presence after assaulting a member of staff in their care home.
There were signs of disassociation and distress, and I forgot about Annabelle and Fallon and the fact I was hungry and couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a drink, because I became absorbed in working with James, a thirteen-year-old who I learned had been having rather a hard time of it.
The next twenty minutes involved helping him to regulate, quickly learning his patterns of behaviour, and that he had a strong left hook that struck me right on the temple.
I took it, it wasn’t the first time a child’s crisis presented in this manner, and it wouldn’t be the last. He started to breathe, shifting out of fight mode, with no need for restraint, which I’d quickly learned would only over-stimulate him.
We were dealing with trauma and probably not yet diagnosed neurodiversity, the bigger picture being dripped fed to me by the carer who was with him, and then a hurried social worker who looked like she hadn’t slept for three days.
I walked off the ward onto the corridor with a throbbing cheekbone that I knew wouldn’t need blusher any time soon, and straight into Carter in a white medical coat, smirking at me not having noticed him sooner.
“In the wars?” he pushed his hands in his pockets and looked far too unbusy.
“Don’t.” I touched my face. It felt tender and needed an ice pack. “Busy shift.”
“Want first aid?” He pointed to the nearby staffroom where there would be ice packs.
“I can sort it myself. Fallon’s going to love commenting on this.” He followed me through the door and went straight to the medical fridge, entering the code to open it and pulling out an ice pack.
“Put this on your face.” He stepped towards me, checking the area and holding the pack to my skin. “Will this do?”
I replaced his hand with mine and sat down on a torn seat. “Thank you.” My exhale was long and cleansing. “I didn’t know you were here today?”
“Last minute thing. I finish in an hour – just waiting about to check a couple of patients who’ve been surgery.” He sat next to me, the warmth of his body heating mine. Rain hit the window behind us. “Where are you meeting Fallon?”
“The Rose and Garter near my apartment, then I think she’s staying at mine. Neither of us are working tomorrow.” Or the next day, thankfully. I was ready for a long, lazy day of doing absolutely nothing apart from getting friendly with at least one book.
“I’ve not been there for years.” He gazed into space, obviously thinking about something. “A proper English pub.”
“I’ll probably have a steak and ale pie with triple cooked chips. Or mashed potato.” Hunger was going to take over very soon, and I didn’t do hangry well.
“With what pudding?”
“Sticky toffee and custard. There’s no other choice really.” Something stodgy, especially when winter was lashing outside.
“Think of me when you’re eating your body weight. I’ll be grabbing a burger on the way home – I’m on an early tomorrow. Five scheduled surgeries.” He didn’t look unhappy about it.
“Fun. I’ll probably still be asleep by the time you finish.”
“That sounds amazing. I’m still running on a different time to everyone else. What else have you got planned?”
“You’re asking like I enjoy socialising.” I raised my brows because he really should know better. “I’m going to an author event tomorrow night though – three crime writers discussing how they come up with their murders.”
“The idea of that scares me – no one needs to give you ideas on how to commit a murder.” He moved the ice pack away from my face, the palm of his hand cupping over mine.
I realised I wasn’t breathing.
“I think the world is safe from my murderous ways. I’ve developed patience being part of my family.
” This was true ten times over. I’d already had a dozen text messages from Eliza about her flatmate since lunchtime, which had been ten minutes nabbed in the staffroom with a stale sandwich, and a voicemail from one of my brothers involving panic over a birthday present for our sister.
There were at least five messages in our immediate family group which could range from someone having been ‘given’ a snake, to whether or not you could use washing-up liquid in a dishwasher (the other brother).
The kitchen floor was now sparkly clean, my mother’s language not so much.
“How long have you been on shift?” It was a sudden U-turn with regards to topic.
Carter frowned, his brow creasing, brown eyes curious. “Seven hours. Why?”
“You still smell good.” And there it was, that neurodiverse characteristic of saying exactly what I was thinking without considering how the other person would take it.
As soon as the words had ejaculated from my mouth I braced myself for the uncomfortable feeling that was about to immerse me like a tsunami.
Carter laughed, pulling the ice pack away from my face. “It’s camouflage. I ended up dealing with a patient who’d collapsed into horse manure.”
“Should I ask any more?”
“Please don’t. That’s going to bruise like a peach.”
“Yep. Like I need any help with that.” I glanced down at my thighs.
A rainbow of bruises usually adorned them, on my shins and thighs, especially at table height.
I was hypermobile, which linked with my lack of proprioception skills and the plethora of incidents caused by what had been deemed clumsiness.
Carter chuckled. He’d teased me mercilessly about my rainbow legs when we kids, and my ridiculous lack of co-ordination.
I’d been continuously chosen last for team games in PE at school, lacked balance, suffered with aching joints and was amazingly good at twisting my ankle.
I’d been twenty-three and suffering from a bad back when a physio helpfully suggested hypermobility and I realised that being as bendy as I was wasn’t actually ‘normal’.
“Good to see things haven’t changed.”
“What did you expect? I’d have taken up gymnastics and ballet?” We all knew there was more chance of me sprouting wings and flying to the moon.
“Not quite.” He didn’t elaborate any further. “Are you finishing now?”
I nodded, realising the throbbing on my face was actually quite bad but nothing that a rare glass of wine wouldn’t sort. “Thankfully. What are you doing after your shift?”
“Sleeping. I’m on the work and sleep lifestyle. It’s good for putting off unpacking clothes.” He stepped away. “I better head back to do the last set of rounds. Some of the patients won’t even realise I’ve left the hospital.” He shook his head. “Different country, same old shit.”
“You’re not enjoying it?”
He grinned. “Elements of it. The paperwork, no. Some personnel, no. The fact that being short staffed is the norm, no. The rest of it, I can live with. Better than being a teacher.”
“You considered being a teacher?” That was the last thing Carter was cut out for.
“For about twenty seconds. The holidays looked attractive. I need to get back to the ward. Maybe see you tomorrow?” He kissed the top of my head, easy for him to do when he was eight inches taller than me.
In his house, the house where I’d spent time before he’d moved in, was a chart written on the wall with my dad’s siblings’ heights. Mine was added to it from the day I first met my step-grandparents and then the heights of my cousins and then siblings.
Carter’s parents had kept it, adding Carter’s height to it. We added the few inches I grew as a teen, the distance between us in height growing as we aged, until we grew no more.
“Be safe walking round London at night.”
“You realise I’ve been walking around London at night my entire life.”
“So you know how to be safe. I’m just reminding you. Don’t get complacent.” He managed to sound even more patronising than he was usually capable of doing.