‘Where’s she bleeding from?’
‘Haven’t found it yet.’ Ryan placed both hands around the heart. ‘I’m starting internal cardiac massage. Can you find and compress the aorta against the spine, Hannah? We want to maximise coronary and cerebral perfusion. I’ll clamp it in a minute.’
She was totally out of her depth here. It was a huge relief when back-up from the cardiothoracic surgeons finally arrived. They were impressed with Ryan’s management of the case so far, which was hardly surprising. Hannah wouldn’t have had the confidence or skill to go further than the chest drain insertion.
The thought that Ryan might deserve the consultant’s position more than she did was not a pleasant one.
Edged out as people with far more experience than she had took over, Hannah could only watch. It was hard, feeling the tension and increasing frustration as they failed to get the young woman’s heart started again, having controlled the haemorrhage from the damaged aorta.
Maureen’s signal, with the message that Brendon was now in the paediatric ICU and an invitation to discuss the results of the CT scan with the consultant, was welcome. Hannah slipped, unnoticed, from the resuscitation area.
She couldn’t afford to stand around admiring Ryan’s skill and thinking how easily he might win the position she’d wanted for so long. Or to share his disappointment at the inevitable failure he was facing. Empathy would create a connection that was too personal. Even worse than laughing at one of his stupid jokes. It would only make it that much harder to maintain the necessary distance between them.
Any reduction in that distance could only make her vulnerable.
And Hannah Jackson did not do vulnerable.
She’d always been the strong one. Ever since she was ten years old and her father’s sudden death had made her small family almost fall apart. Hannah had been strong for her mother. For Susie. For herself.
The lesson had been hard but valuable. Strength was protection. The only way to get through life without being scarred too deeply.
Being too tired didn’t help when it came to being strong.
When Hannah entered the staffroom nearly an hour later, she could feel Ryan’s dejection all too easily. He had his back to her as he made coffee but his body language said it all. Slumped shoulders. Bent head. The way he was stirring his mug so slowly. If it had been any other colleague she wouldn’t have hesitated in offering commiseration. A comforting touch or even a hug. But this was Ryan. Distance was obligatory.
‘No go, huh?’
‘Nah.’ Ryan straightened his back. ‘Didn’t really expect to win that one but it was worth a try. Want coffee?’
‘Sure, but I’ll make it.’
Ryan was already spooning coffee into a second mug. ‘You take sugar?’
‘No.’
‘Milk?’
‘No.’
He’d been in the department for three months and didn’t know how she took her coffee but she was willing to bet he’d know the preferences of all the female staff who responded to his flirting. And that was every one of them.
Except her.
‘So how’s your little guy, then?’
‘Not flash. He’s in paediatric ICU but the scan was horrible. Multi-focal bleeds. If he does survive, he’ll be badly brain damaged.’
‘Might be better if he doesn’t, then. You saw the father?’
‘Yeah.’ There was no need for further comment. The glance Ryan gave Hannah as he handed her the mug of black coffee told her he shared her opinion that the man she’d had to talk to about the serious condition of his child was an uncaring brute. Responsible for the death of his wife and quite likely his son, not to mention the admittedly less serious injuries sustained by the other drivers involved, and he hadn’t given the impression of being overly perturbed about any of it. ‘And they can’t even charge him for anything.’
‘No.’ Ryan went and sat down on one of the comfortable armchairs dotted around the edge of the room.
The silence was heavy. Too heavy.
Ryan cleared his throat. ‘Hey, have you heard the one about the blonde who didn’t like blonde jokes?’
Hannah sighed. She sat down at the central table, deliberately putting Ryan out of sight behind her right shoulder. Maybe it wasn’t good to sit in a depressed silence but this was going a bit too far in the other direction, wasn’t it? She sipped her coffee without saying anything but Ryan clearly ignored the signals of disinterest.
‘She went to this show where a ventriloquist was using his dummy to tell blonde jokes. You know, like, how do you change a blonde’s mind?’ He raised his voice and sounded as though he was trying to speak without moving his lips. “Blow in her ear!” And what do you do if a blonde throws a pin at you? “Run, she’s still holding the grenade.”’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Hannah allowed herself to sound annoyed. ‘I know.’
‘Well, so did this blonde in the audience. She was furious. She jumps to her feet. “I’ve had enough of this”, she shouts. “How dare you stereotype women this way? What does the colour of someone’s hair have to do with her worth as a human being? It’s people like you that keep women like me from reaching my full potential. You and your kind continue to perpetrate discrimination against not only blondes but women in general and it’s not funny!”’
‘Mmm.’ Despite herself, Hannah was listening to the joke. So Ryan was actually aware of why someone like herself might take offence at his humour? Interesting. Did that mean he was intentionally trying to get under her skin? That his charm with her was as fake as it had been with Doris Matheson and he actually disliked her type as much as she did his?
Ryan’s tone was deadpan. ‘The ventriloquist was highly embarrassed. He goes red and starts apologising profusely but the blonde yells at him again. “Stay out of this, mister. I’m talking to that little jerk on your knee!”’
Hannah snorted. Somehow she managed to disguise the reluctant laughter as a sound more like derision. She didn’t want to laugh, dammit! Not at one of Ryan’s jokes and not when she’d just been through a gruelling, heart-breaking and probably fruitless couple of hours’ work. She knew exactly why he was trying to make her laugh. It had to be the quickest way of defusing an overly emotional reaction to a case. But if she let him make her feel better, it would be worse than empathising with him. She could feel the connection there, waiting to happen. It needed dealing with. She had to push Ryan as far away as possible.
‘You just can’t help yourself, can you?’
‘I thought you might appreciate that one.’
‘What makes you think I’m in the mood for jokes right now?’ Hannah swivelled so that she could give Ryan a direct look. ‘Doesn’t anything dent your warped sense of humour? Even a battered wife who died trying to get her child to a safe place?’
‘That’s precisely why I thought a joke might be a good idea,’ Ryan said wearily. ‘Sorry, maybe I should have left you to wallow in how awful it was. Maybe question your abilities and wonder endlessly what you might have been able to do better.’
‘It might be more appropriate than telling jokes.’
‘Really? What if another major case comes in in the next five minutes, Hannah? You going to be in a fit state to give that person the best you can?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘Well, lucky you. Some of us need to distract ourselves. Lift our spirits a bit. There’s always time for wallowing later.’
‘I don’t believe you ever wallow,’ Hannah snapped.