Epilogue
Two years later…
I t was nearing midnight when the crash bleep went off and by the time it finished squawking static at her, Violet was already jogging to the ward.
She knew that her foundation doctor Abdul had only been in post for two months and hadn’t attended an arrest before.
She wanted to get there before he did so that he might feel a little less shell-shocked by the whole experience.
The first question she asked when she arrived on the scene was the same one she asked at every resuscitation attempt.
‘Who here knows this patient best and is this the right thing to be doing?’ Often the most well-informed person was also the most junior member of staff and Violet found that by listening to them she learned a lot more about the patient than she would from the medical notes.
Tonight’s patient was a seventy-eight-year-old with good cardiac function and no other medical issues.
The resuscitation was successful and although Violet didn’t lead it (she left that to the anaesthetist who was significantly senior to her) she did ensure that the team had a full debrief afterwards to make sure that everyone was happy with how it had gone.
Walking back to the admissions unit afterwards she felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. She pulled it out, careful not to dislodge the folded letter from Mr Zeller she always kept there. Her heart lifted as she saw the face on the screen and she was beaming when she connected the call.
‘What are you doing up?’ she said.
‘Thinking of you,’ said Gus. ‘How can I possibly be expected to sleep when I know you’re running around the hospital being busy and important and gorgeous?’
‘I’ll be home in a few hours,’ she said. ‘And then this week’s done and we can head off to the Cotswolds for the nuptial extravaganza. Is Dev okay?’
‘Stressed,’ admitted Gus. ‘I took him out to the pub and he’s calmed down a bit but… you know what he’s like.’
‘Is he worried that the wedding’s going to be overtaken with all of the media attention since Marvin started on Drag Race ? I thought Ru-Paul couldn’t make it?’
‘Well…’ Gus’s voice was doubtful. ‘There has been talk of a surprise appearance. Michelle Visage is definitely coming.’
‘Oh, yes, I knew that. Marvin’s got her sat next to his boss Mr Fenwick at the wedding breakfast. He’s a massive fan apparently.’ She paused. ‘Speaking of surprise appearances, Amelia’s not going to be there is she? I know she got Marvin the Drag Race gig through her connections at the BBC but…’
‘No,’ said Gus. You’re fine. It’s amicable but not that amicable. I don’t want to be sat at a wedding with her.’
‘Not when you could have been sat at your own wedding having just married her.’
‘Jesus, there’s a thought. Funny how things turn out, isn’t it.’
‘Well– destiny is a fickle mistress,’ said Violet.
‘Who’s this Destiny character? I haven’t said I’ll marry them as well, have I?’
She laughed. ‘Shut up, you idiot.’
‘Anyway, I didn’t think you believed in destiny and fate and all that mumbo jumbo? Not my logically-minded little brain surgeon.’
‘It’s not brain surgery, Gus, as well you know. It’s a neuroscience research project.’
‘Which you just happen to have been selected to lead,’ he said, his voice full of pride. ‘Don’t pretend you’re not completely made up about it– you know you’re rubbish at lying.’
‘Maybe they just felt sorry for me, what with the grandmother-with-dementia backstory.’
‘Nonsense. You got there entirely on your own merits, Violet. Your gran gives you a bit of skin in the game, yes, but that just makes you passionate about dementia treatment. No research lab is going to fund anybody but the brightest, most fiercely intelligent candidate, and that was you. And you know it,’ he added.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I do.’
‘You’re brilliant,’ he said. ‘A brightly shining star. And you’re mine. How did I get so lucky?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘There must have been some sort of festive magic in the air the week we met.’
‘Festive magic. Hmmm. You got any evidence to back up that hypothesis?’
‘Yes,’ she said, smiling. ‘I think I do.’
Late December (not sure of the date, that’s the trouble with bloody hospitals)
Dear Dr Winters
I’ll keep it brief. I’m a person of few words. A bit like yourself.
I wanted to say thank you for the care and attention and all that stuff.
I see how hard you work and I know it can’t be an easy job but your kindness and honesty has made a difference to me these past few days.
It’s unusual for me to chat to anyone since Magda died.
I’m not much of a talker as a rule and I don’t like socialising.
I think perhaps we have that in common. But I forget sometimes that it’s important to engage with the people around me. No man is an island, as they say.
I hope you go on to do great things. I’m sure you will. And I hope you find someone who loves you like I loved my Magda. You deserve it. Anyone prepared to spend time with a cantankerous old goat like me in the last few days of his life, deserves a ruddy medal as far as I’m concerned.
Best wishes
Jakub Zeller