It would be all too easy to let Harry Gardiner tempt her.
But this nurse wasn’t for tempting.
They spent their afternoon break in the Acute Medical Unit with Mr Kemp.
‘Thank you for the tea,’ he said.
‘Our pleasure,’ Isla told him with a smile.
‘You won’t get into trouble for being here, will you?’ he checked.
This time, Harry smiled. ‘It’s our afternoon break. We’re allowed to take it outside our own ward if we want to.’
‘I’m such a trouble to you,’ Mr Kemp said.
‘It’s fine,’ Isla reassured him. ‘Has your daughter been able to visit, yet?’
‘She’s coming straight after work. I do feel bad about it. She’s had to get someone to pick up the kids.’
‘All the working mums I know are great at juggling,’ Harry said. ‘I bet you she’s picked up her friend’s children before now. It won’t be a problem. Everyone mucks in to help their friends. How are you feeling?’
‘Well enough to go home,’ Mr Kemp said. ‘If I was home, I wouldn’t be a burden to everyone.’
He was able to swallow again, Isla thought, but he definitely wasn’t quite ready to go home. And he’d be far more of a worry to his family if he was on his own in his flat. ‘I’m sure the team here will sort things out for you,’ she said brightly.
And she discovered that Lorraine had been absolutely on the ball about Harry being great with patients, because he somehow managed to find out that Mr Kemp loved dogs and got him chatting about that, distracting him from his worries about being a burden.
‘You were brilliant with Mr Kemp,’ she said on their way back to the Emergency Department.
Harry gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Just chatting. And I noticed you were watching him drinking and assessing him.’
She nodded. ‘I’m happier with his swallowing, but I think he’ll be in for a couple more days yet. They’ll want to assess him for a water infection or a chest infection, in case that contributed to the fall as well as the stroke. And they’ll need to get social services in to look at his care plan as well as talk to his family. I’m guessing that he’s not so good with accepting help, and from what he said to us earlier it sounded as if his son-in-law doesn’t have much patience.’
‘Very true.’ Harry gave her a sidelong look. ‘Though I know a few people caught between caring for their kids and caring for their elderly parents. It can be hard to juggle, and—well, not all parents are easy.’
‘And some are brilliant.’ Isla’s own parents had been wonderful—they’d never believed Andrew’s accusations right from the start, and they’d encouraged her to retrain in Glasgow and then move to London and start again.
‘Yes, some are brilliant.’ Harry was looking curiously at her.
‘It takes all sorts to make a world,’ she said brightly. Why on earth hadn’t she moved him away from the subject of parents? Why had she had to open her mouth? ‘And we have patients to see.’
‘Yes, we do. Well, Sister McKenna.’ He opened the door for her. ‘Shall we?’
‘IS ISLA NOT coming tonight?’ Harry asked Lorraine at the bowling alley, keeping his tone casual.
‘No.’
Lorraine wasn’t forthcoming with a reason and Harry knew better than to ask, because it would be the quickest way to fuel gossip. Not that Lorraine was one to promote the hospital rumour mill, but she might let slip to Isla that she thought Harry might be interested in her, and that would make things awkward between them at work. She’d already got the wrong idea about him.
All the same, this was the third team night out in a fortnight that Isla had missed. On the ward, she was an excellent colleague; she was good with patients and relatives, quick to offer sensible suggestions to clinical problems, and she got on well with everyone. The fact that she didn’t come to any of the team nights out seemed odd, especially as she was new to the department and going out with the team would be a good chance for her to get to know her colleagues better.
Maybe Isla was a single parent or caring for an elderly relative, and it was difficult for her to arrange someone to sit with her child or whoever in the evenings. But he could hardly ask her about it without it seeming as if he was prying.
And he wasn’t; though he was intrigued by her. Then again, if it turned out that she was a single parent, that’d be a deal-breaker for him. He really didn’t want to be back in the position of having parental type responsibilities for a child. OK, so lightning rarely struck twice—but he didn’t want to take the risk.
‘Shame,’ he said lightly, and switched the conversation round to who was going to be in which team.
Two days later, it was one of the worst days in the department Harry had had in months. He, Isla and Josie were in Resus together, trying to save a motorcyclist who’d been involved in a head-on crash—but the man’s injuries were just too severe. Just when Harry had thought they were getting somewhere and the outcome might be bearable after all, the man had arrested and they just hadn’t been able to get him back.
‘I’m calling it,’ Harry said when his last attempt with the defibrillator produced no change. ‘It’s been twenty minutes now. He’s not responding. Is everyone agreed that we should stop?’
Isla and Josie both looked miserable, but voiced their agreement.
‘OK. Time of death, one fifty-three,’ he said softly, and pulled the sheet up to cover their patient’s face. ‘Thank you, team. You all worked really well.’
But it hadn’t been enough, and they all knew it.
‘OK. Once we’ve moved him out of Resus and cleaned him up, I’ll go and find out if Reception managed to get hold of a next of kin and if anyone’s here,’ he said.
‘If they have, I’ll come with you, if you like,’ Isla offered.
‘Thank you.’ He hated breaking bad news. Having someone there would make it a little easier. And maybe she’d know what to say when he ran out of words.
The motorcyclist, Jonathan Pryor, was only twenty-seven, and his next of kin were his parents. The receptionist had already sent a message to Resus that Jonathan’s mum was waiting in the relatives’ room.
‘I hate this bit so much,’ he said softly as he and Isla walked towards the relatives’ room.
‘We did everything we possibly could,’ she reminded him.
‘I know.’ It didn’t make him feel any better. But the sympathy in her blue, blue eyes made his heart feel just a fraction less empty.
Mrs Pryor looked up hopefully as they knocked on the door and walked in. ‘Jonathan? He’s all right? He’s out of Theatre or whatever and I can go and see him?’
Harry could see the very second that she realised the horrible truth—that her son was very far from being all right—and her face crumpled.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Pryor,’ he said softly, taking her hand. ‘We did everything we could to save him, but he arrested on the table—he had a heart attack, and we just couldn’t get him back.’
Sobs racked her body. ‘I always hated him riding that wretched motorcycle. I worried myself sick every time he went out on it because I knew that something like this would happen. I can’t bear it.’ Her voice was a wail