Part 11 (1/2)

'You don't have to always do a full examination,' Abby continued as she had for the past twenty minutes. 'And you don't then have to go and spend another fifteen minutes writing up your notes. Not everything ends up in the coroner's court, Lorna. You don't have to constantly cover yourself.'

'I'm not covering covering myself,' Lorna said. 'I admit I am rather slow, but I like to take a thorough history. It's the way I work.' myself,' Lorna said. 'I admit I am rather slow, but I like to take a thorough history. It's the way I work.'

'In a rural GP setting,' Abby responded. 'Just see if you can pick up the pace a bit, Lorna, that's all I'm asking.'

'I will.' Lorna stood up and politely she said the right thing. 'Thanks for your guidance.'

'Any time.' Abby smiled.

Lorna was tempted to walk out the door, but instead she made a coffee and went and joined the team team who considered her irritating, and sat quietly among them. who considered her irritating, and sat quietly among them.

'Are you on nights too?' Lorna's flagging ego soared just a little when May, basket in one hand, mug of tea in the other, walked into the staffroom where the night team were getting ready to start work.

'I am!' May was less than impressed. 'I did a stint last month. Do they think I don't have a bed to get into at night? Stuck in this h.e.l.lhole on a Friday night, you're about to have your eyes opened, young lady.'

'I know.' Lorna admitted glumly, then rallied. 'I did my rotation in Edinburgh.'

'How many years ago was that?' May did nothing to soothe her. 'They've invented an entire new set of problems now-crack this and meth that, and there's no such thing as closing time now. Last drinks used to be at eleven, that's when they start start now. Just what do you do all night?' She asked Shona accusingly, as if she were the entire youth problem. now. Just what do you do all night?' She asked Shona accusingly, as if she were the entire youth problem.

'We dance!' Shona said. Young, gorgeous and minus insecurities, she did a strange s.p.a.ced-out motion that had every one giggling, even Lorna. 'Like this!'

'That's not dancing!' May jeered. 'This is dancing.' And she took Shona by the hand and spun her round till the whole room was laughing, even Lorna, and she loved them. She loved them all and wanted to fit in, wanted to be one of them, but she could never be so loose with herself and anyway there was no point really, because in a couple of weeks she'd be gone. In a couple of weeks, if she did get a job, if James did put in a word, she'd be in another London hospital and starting all over again.

'Come on, Lorna!' May gave her a very nice smile. 'I'll look after you.'

She certainly did. May, Lorna realised, looked after everyone. She had her finger on every pulse and not just the patients'. She could smell trouble before it even arrived and there was something so stoic about her, something so right, right, that she commanded respect even from those who never usually gave it-because, Lorna worked out, watching her chatting to Rita, a tired s.e.x worker who was holding a wad of gauze to her scalp, May respected them. that she commanded respect even from those who never usually gave it-because, Lorna worked out, watching her chatting to Rita, a tired s.e.x worker who was holding a wad of gauze to her scalp, May respected them.

And so too did Lorna.

A London A and E brought in a very fresh set of problems-some she recognised, some she didn't, but always Lorna tried.

'It doesn't have to be this way,' she said to Rita at two a.m. when she finally got around to st.i.tching her scalp.

The language that followed defied imagination. May put on the kettle and prepared to mop up tears, but Lorna wasn't crying.

'You can't change the world,' May said.

'No!' A little prim face stared her right in the eye. 'But if she'd let me, I'd change it for her.'

It was rather uplifting when at six a.m. a street-weary face reappeared and asked for the 'posh Scottish doctor'. May duly buzzed Lorna and her pale, sleep-deprived face appeared.

May wasn't privy to what was said. Lorna took two mugs of coffee into the interview room and emerged a good hour later. But as May filled in her time sheet and rinsed her Thermos before placing it in her basket, at some level she knew something good had been done at the crack of dawn-something very good indeed.

Nothing that would change the world, of course, May thought as her beloved husband kissed her h.e.l.lo, her tea and toast waiting just as it always was when she did nights. He kissed her goodbye this morning as he dashed to his own work but May sat in the living room for a quiet moment of reflection before heading off to bed. Yes, something had been done this morning that would hopefully change one person's world.

It was plenty to get to sleep on.

Chapter Eighteen

SHE wore her gla.s.ses chain. It was actually very useful, even if she did look like a sour old spinster, but she didn't care. No, what Lorna cared about more was when James was called in at eleven on the Sat.u.r.day night. wore her gla.s.ses chain. It was actually very useful, even if she did look like a sour old spinster, but she didn't care. No, what Lorna cared about more was when James was called in at eleven on the Sat.u.r.day night.

'Sorry, James.' She heard Abby call out to him as Lorna sat perched on the end of a gurney in Resus, taking a cardiac history from a recent arrival. 'We've had two stabbings and trauma and the surgeons are all in Theatre. I can't stop this arm bleeding.'

'No problem,' James said, and Abby glanced over, saw him tying a plastic ap.r.o.n over his going-out-on-a-Sat.u.r.day-night clothes and pulling on some rubber gloves. He nodded over to her, a polite nod, not a hint of suggestiveness, or the teeny wink that he would normally have given, and Lorna knew that the door to his heart was finally closed to her.

'Ellie didn't seem too impressed at me pulling you away.'

For just a second their eyes met, James a touch uncomfortable, Lorna trying to pretend that a six-inch knife hadn't just plunged through her heart.

'Ellie's used to it,' James said. And that, as they say, was that.

Lorna dropped her gaze and carried on taking the patient history. James pulled back the gauze on the arterial bleed and called for the light to be lowered and for a pair of forceps. They did their best to get on with the rest of the night.

'He just needed st.i.tching.' Abby popped her head into the suture theatre later, where Lorna was checking a patient's BP. The place was steaming. A thick pile of white cards was clipped to the theatre door and every one of them was waiting to be sutured.

She'd been working her way through them, trying not to care that James had long since gone, trying not to think about his nice big bed and Ellie in it. She had sutured Mr Devlon's hand wound as Abby had instructed, but just as Lavinia was setting up for the next one, the patient had a dizzy turn as he climbed down off the theatre bed.

'I'll take him to one of the cubicles. He can have a little rest before he goes home.' Lavinia offered, only Lorna wasn't happy with that.

She had, had, even though it had hurt, taken on board Abby's criticism and had picked up speed, trying not to stall on minor details, which was, Lorna admitted to herself, her usual way. She had found out why doctors had a reputation for messy writing as she'd signed her name at the bottom of countless casualty cards and done her very best not to take a lengthy history and then do a full body examination for a straightforward sprained ankle. even though it had hurt, taken on board Abby's criticism and had picked up speed, trying not to stall on minor details, which was, Lorna admitted to herself, her usual way. She had found out why doctors had a reputation for messy writing as she'd signed her name at the bottom of countless casualty cards and done her very best not to take a lengthy history and then do a full body examination for a straightforward sprained ankle.

Only it went against her methodical mind-if the doctor wasn't looking for trouble, then who else would?

And Mr Devlon was a tough man, a carpenter by trade who had, as he'd told her, been st.i.tched more times than he could remember, so why was he looking so grey and about to faint?

'It happens sometimes after st.i.tching.' Lavinia had his head down and was telling him to take deep breaths, and, of course, patients often did feel sick or faint after st.i.tching, Lorna knew that that much, but there was something about Mr Devlon that didn't seem right to her. much, but there was something about Mr Devlon that didn't seem right to her.

'Pop him into a cubicle,' Lorna said, 'and get him into a gown and I'll come and take a proper look at him.'

'Abby's already examined him,' Lavinia said. 'He's for discharge after st.i.tching.'

'Except he's about to faint.' Lorna was having great difficulty a.s.serting herself, but Abby had told her to after all! 'Just put him in a cubicle, please.'

She could almost feel the daggers Abby was shooting into her back as she headed for the cubicle, but at three a.m. this Sunday morning, even if she cared, she cared about her patients more. She refused to practise sticky-plaster medicine, just because some registrar told her that was how it should be done!

Lavinia had got him into a gown and, of course, he looked the picture of health now, smiling and joking away to the nurse as Lorna walked in.

'How are you feeling now, Mr Devlon?'

'Grand!' he said. 'I don't know what happened in there.'