The door opened and a staff nurse popped her head round the door. ‘Mrs Jenkins is in pain—any chance of a boost to her painkillers?’
Mary O’Brien turned to Frankie. ‘Would you?’
‘Of course.’ She stood up and followed the staff nurse out, and was joined a moment later by Mary O’Brien with the keys to the drugs trolley.
‘What would Mr Ryder normally give her?’ Frankie asked the ward sister.
‘Oh, just some stronger tablets—a paracetamol and codeine combination, usually. What did she have yesterday?’ They checked the drug chart and then Frankie filled it in and Mary dished out the pills and gave them to the patient.
‘Soon have you feeling more the thing,’ she said kindly, plumping up the pillows and settling the patient more comfortably against them. She had had osteoarthritis for years and had been given her second hip replacement three days before, Mary told her. She had refused any opiates and so it was proving difficult to get her pain under control, but she was being very brave about it and the situation was gradually improving.
‘She gets tired by the end of the day, though, and in the middle of the night she suffers from it. If we could give her pethidine it would be better, but it makes her terribly sick and she says she’d rather be in pain than be sick.’
‘Can’t the anaesthetist do something to make her pain-free without nausea?’
Mary smiled. ‘I’m sure, but she won’t let him try. She’s got a bee in her bonnet since she had the other hip done ten years ago, and she can’t believe things have moved on that far. She’s convinced she’s better off like this, and so the poor old dear will just have to suffer for it. It won’t be for long. She says bad as it is it’s better than her old hip was, so all in all she’s quite happy most of the day!’
They went back into the ward office, Mary to do some paperwork, Frankie to scan the notes and try and bone up, so to speak, on some of the cases.
They were sitting quietly working when the door burst open and a tall, slender girl with long, straggly fair hair flounced into the room.
‘I suppose I’ve got to sit here and wait till you’ve finished—I said I’d be all right at the house!’ she grumbled.
Her father followed her, his scowl firmly in place, lines of strain etched round his mouth and eyes.
‘Jane, for God’s sake, just for once in your life do as you’re told, could you? Unlike your mother I have a job to do and responsibilities—’
‘Yeah, like me.’
He sighed and stabbed his hands through his hair. ‘Yes, like you, and the countless patients out there waiting for a little piece of me, and all the others for whom fate has a little treat in store tonight—I’m afraid, like it or not, you’ll have to share me, and for now that means sitting there while I ring Mrs Bailey and see if she can come and look after you this evening—’
‘I hate Mrs Bailey!’ the girl wailed. ‘I don’t need a babysitter—I’m thirteen, for heaven’s sake! You always baby me—’
‘Well, you should have thought of that before you got on the train, shouldn’t you?’ he said irritably as he punched numbers into the hapless phone.
‘Why is it always my fault?’ she said unhappily, and Frankie, watching out of the corner of her eye, noticed a gleam of moisture on her lashes. Her father, drumming his fingers on the desk, either didn’t see or wasn’t impressed. His mouth tightened into an even grimmer, tighter line than before.
‘You tell me— Ah, yes, Mrs Bailey. It’s Robert Ryder—I wonder if you could do me a favour and keep an eye on Jane for me? No, it was quite unexpected—yes, I know it’s a bank holiday— Oh, I’m sorry.’ He sighed and ran his hand wearily over his face. ‘Forget it. I’m sorry to disturb you. Have a good evening with the family. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He cradled the phone in his hand and turned back to Jane.
‘She’s got her family for the day. Look, I’ve just got one or two people I’d like to see, then if Frankie wouldn’t mind I could take you home and sort things out.’
He turned to Frankie, a weary entreaty in his eyes. ‘Will that be all right?’
She smiled faintly. ‘I did say I wouldn’t let you down,’ she reminded him. ‘If you take your bleeper so I can get you in a real emergency I’m sure I can cope.’
He smiled, a tired, grateful smile that didn’t quite reach those weary eyes, and left the room.
‘So, young lady,’ Mary said quietly, ‘what’s it all about this time?’
‘Oh, Mum’s latest boyfriend—he and his chums were all sitting about the place doing drugs. It makes me feel sick to see them all giggling and talking rubbish. It’s just such a waste of time.’
She rolled her eyes, and Frankie quickly stifled a smile. It was no laughing matter, but the girl seemed at least to have the issue of drug-taking in perspective.
Frankie supposed Jane’s father should be grateful for small mercies …
THE rest of that afternoon and evening was relatively quiet. The A and E staff called Frankie once about an elderly lady who had had a fall and broken her hip, and it was decided to admit her for surgery the following day.
After that there seemed to be nothing to do, so armed with her bleeper Frankie made her way back to the doctors’ residence and to the room that for now, at least, was home.
She hadn’t unpacked property the night before, so now she opened her suitcases and put the things away in the drawers, hung up her few dresses and put the cases under the bed. Her books she set out on the shelf above the scarred and battered table, and she was done.
Standing back, she surveyed the room critically and sighed. There wasn’t much to show for twenty-eight years, she thought with a touch of melancholy, and then banished it ruthlessly. Pictures were what she needed, she decided—pictures and perhaps some flowers to brighten up the dismal little cell. Maybe a pot plant.
She went and made herself a cup of tea in the communal kitchen, added a kettle to the list of necessities and curled up against her pillows with a book.
She couldn’t concentrate. All she could see was her new boss’s weary eyes, and osteomyelitis simply couldn’t handle the competition.
She put the book down.
So, he was divorced—and living alone, if he’d had to ring someone to look after his daughter. What a waste, she thought, and then chastised herself for making assumptions. Maybe he liked being alone?
And pigs flew. Nobody liked being alone. Sometimes it was better than an existing bad relationship, but given the choice she imagined most people would choose a good relationship over none at all.
Given the choice. Sometimes, of course, one wasn’t given the choice. She wouldn’t be alone by choice, but fate had played dirty tricks on her and she had ended up alone, in this dismal little room—
She snorted in disgust. The room was temporary, just until she had convinced Mr Ryder that it would be a good idea to take her on permanently. Then she’d get herself a nice little flat and start acquiring some little bits and pieces.
If Mr Ryder took her on.
She shook her head. ‘Mr Ryder’ was so formal. She wondered if he would expect her to call him that, or if ‘sir’ would do …!
Robert.
She tried the name,