The coursework had been interesting, her placements on the geriatric and palliative care wards, though scary at first, had been enjoyable, and Annika had thought she had found her passion. But then gradually, just as Iosef had predicted it would, the joy had waned. Her surgical rotation had been a nightmare. A twenty-one-year-old had died on her shift and, sitting with the parents, Annika had felt as if she were merely playing dress-up.
It had been downhill since then.
‘Have you made any friends?’
‘A few,’ Annika said. She tried to be friendly, tried to join in with her fellow students’ chatter, tried to fit in, but the simple truth was that from the day she had started, from the day her peers had found out who she was, the family she came from, there had been an expectation, a pressure, to dazzle on the social scene. When Annika hadn’t fulfilled it, they had treated her differently, and Annika had neither the confidence nor the skills to blend in.
‘I know it’s difficult for you, Annika…’ Heather really didn’t know what else to say. There was an aloofness to Annika that was hard to explain. With her thick blonde hair and striking blue eyes, and with her family’s connections, one would expect her to be in constant demand, to be outgoing and social, yet there was a coldness in her that had to be addressed—because it was apparent not just to staff but to the patients. ‘‘A large part of nursing is about putting patients at ease—’
‘I am always nice to the patients,’ Annika interrupted, because she was. ‘I am always polite; I introduce myself; I…’ Annika’s voice faded. She knew exactly what Heather was trying to say, she knew she was wooden, and she didn’t know how to change it. ‘I am scared of saying the wrong thing,’ Annika admitted. ‘I’m not good at making small talk, and I also feel very uncomfortable when people recognize my name—when they ask questions about my family.’
‘Most of the time people are just making small talk, not necessarily because of who you are,’ Heather said, and then, when Annika’s eyes drifted to the newspaper on the table, she gave a sympathetic smile, because, in Annika’s case people would pry!
The Kolovsky name was famous in Melbourne. Russian fashion designers, they created scandal and mystery and were regularly in the tabloids. Since the founder, Ivan, had died his son Aleksi had taken over the running of the business, and was causing social mayhem. There was a picture of him that very morning on page one, coming out of a casino, clearly the worse for wear, with the requisite blonde on his arm.
‘Maybe nursing is not such a good idea.’ Annika could feel the sting of tears behind her eyes but she would not cry. ‘At the start I loved it, but lately…’
‘You’re a good nurse, Annika, and you could be a very good nurse. I’m more concerned that you’re not happy. I know you’re only twenty-five, but that does mean you’re older than most of your group, and it’s a bit harder as a mature student to fit in. Look…’ She changed tack. This wasn’t going the way Heather had wanted it—she was trying to bolster Annika, not have her consider quitting. ‘You’re starting on the children’s ward today. Most of them won’t have a clue about the Kolovsky name, and children are wonderful at…’
‘Embarrassing you?’Annika volunteered, and managed a rare smile. ‘I am dreading it.’
‘I thought you might be. But children are a great leveller. I think this might be just the ward for you. Try and enjoy it, treat it as a fresh start—walk in and smile, say hello to your colleagues, open up a little, perhaps.’
‘I will try.’
‘And,’ Heather added in a more serious tone, because she had given Annika several warnings, ‘think about managing your social engagements more carefully around your roster. Request the weekends off that you need, plan more in advance.’
‘I will.’ Annika stood up and, unlike most other students, she shook Heather’s hand.
It was little things like that, Heather thought as Annika left the room, which made her stand apart. The formal handshake, her slight Russian accent, even though she had been born in Australia. Heather skimmed through Annika’s personal file, reading again that she had been home tutored, which explained a lot but not all.
There was guardedness to her, a warning that came from those blue eyes that told you to keep out.
And then occasionally, like she had just now, Annika would smile and her whole face lifted.
She was right about one thing, though, Heather thought, picking up the paper and reading about the latest antics of Annika’s brother Aleksi. People did want to know more. People were fascinated by the Kolovsky family—even Heather. Feeling just a touch guilty, she read the article and wondered, not for the first time, what someone as rich and indulged as Annika was trying to prove by nursing.
There was just something about the Kolovskys.
There was still half an hour till Annika’s late shift started and, rather than walk into an unfamiliar staffroom and kill time, unusually for Annika she decided to go to the canteen. She had made a sandwich at home, but bought a cup of coffee. She glanced at the tables on offer, and for perhaps the thousandth time rued her decision to work at Melbourne Bayside.
Her brother Iosef was an emergency doctor at Melbourne Central. His wife, Annie, was a nurse there too, but Iosef had been so discouraging, scathing almost, about Annika’s ability that she had applied to study and work here instead. How nice it would be now to have Annie wave and ask to join her. Perhaps too it would have been easier to work in a hospital where there were already two Kolovskys—to feel normal.
‘Annika!’
She felt a wash of relief as one of her fellow students waved at her. Cassie was down for the children’s ward rotation too and, remembering to smile, Annika made her way over.
‘Are you on a late shift?’ asked Cassie.
‘I am,’ Annika said. ‘It’s my first, though. You’ve already done a couple of shifts there—how have you found it?’
‘Awful,’ Cassie admitted. ‘I feel like an absolute beginner. Everything’s completely different—the drug doses, the way they do obs, and then there are the parents watching your every move.’
It sounded awful, and they sat in glum silence for a moment till Cassie spoke again. ‘How was your assessment?’
‘Fine,’ Annika responded, and then remembered she was going to make more of an effort to be open and friendly ‘Well, to tell the truth it wasn’t great.’
‘Oh?’ Cassie blinked at the rare insight.
‘My grades and things are okay; it is more to do with the way I am with my peers…’ She could feel her cheeks burning at the admission. ‘And with the patients too. I can be a bit stand-offish!’
‘Oh!’ Cassie blinked again. ‘Well, if it makes you feel any better, I had my assessment on Monday. I’m to stop talking and listen more, apparently. Oh, and I’m to stop burning the candle at both ends!’
And it did make her feel better—not that Cassie hadn’t fared well, more that she wasn’t the only one who was struggling. Annika smiled again, but it faded when she looked up, because there, handing over some money to the cashier, he was.
Dr Ross Wyatt.
He was impossible not to notice.
Tall, with thick black slightly wavy hair, worn just a touch too long, he didn’t look like a paediatric consultant—well, whatever paediatric consultants were supposed to look like.
Some days he would be wearing