There was a shriek and a giggle, and a group of nurses erupted onto the ward, spearheaded by a doctor wearing a white coat, a stethoscope dangling round his neck like a loosened tie. He was grinning, and the nurses following him were laughing still. He must be the cause of the shriek, she thought.
His cheerfulness was infectious, his whole face alive with humour, his firm lips parted in a smile to show two rows of even white teeth. There were deep crow’s-feet round his eyes, she guessed the product of constant laughter, and deep creases bracketed his mouth. Laura felt the warmth of his personality reach out and touch her, and a little more of her nervousness retreated.
As the group drew level with her one of the staff nurses said, ‘I’ll come and live with you, Gavin, any day. Just crook your little finger, darlin’, and I’ll be there!’
‘In your dreams, Ruth,’ another girl said, and they all chuckled, Gavin included.
‘I want a lodger, Ruth, not a fight with your husband!’
‘Aw, shucks!’ the girl said with a wry face, and they all laughed again.
Then, as one, they seemed to notice her. The girl called Ruth spoke first, her smile friendly and curious. ‘Hi. Are you our new staff nurse?’
Laura nodded. ‘Laura Bailey. I start today.’
‘I’m Ruth Davis, this is Linda Tucker, and the rest are just cannon-fodder.’
The students wailed in protest, and there was another wave of laughter, punctuated by a protest from the doctor.
‘Don’t I get an intro?’ he grumbled gently, his smile robbing his words of any offence.
‘You can manage to introduce yourself—I need a cup of tea before bedlam starts,’ Ruth announced, and the group vanished at a stroke, dispersing about their work and leaving Laura alone with the doctor.
He held out his hand. ‘Gavin Jones—I’m Oliver Henderson’s registrar. Welcome to the lunatic asylum.’
She took his hand, dry and firm, his grip strong but gentle, the warmth of his palm surprising. She realised with shock that she was cold, despite the day.
Gavin realised it, too, his other hand coming up to cover her cold fingers. ‘You’re freezing—don’t tell me. Nerves?’
She conjured a smile, distracted by the warmth of his touch. ‘A bit. It’s been a long time since I worked in such a busy hospital.’
As soon as the words were out she regretted them, because they invited questions—why so long, where was she before, what had she done since?—questions she was unable and unprepared to answer.
She was safe, however. His smile simply softened in sympathy and he released her hand. ‘You’ll be fine. After a day you’ll think you’ve worked here forever. Helen’s wonderful; she’ll look after you. It’s a good team to be on; everyone’s very supportive and there seems to be a remarkable lack of infighting. It means we can all just get on with the job.’
He looked past her, up the ward to the room at the end. ‘I wonder how Evie is today?’ he murmured.
She followed the direction of his clear blue eyes, and came to rest on Evelyn Peacey, still lying with her face in the sun. ‘Is she dying?’ Laura asked softly.
He nodded. ‘Yes, probably quite soon. She’s got a massive growth around her aorta, and, although we’ll remove all we can, we can’t get it all because it’s into the back wall of her abdomen and surrounding her spine, her aorta and one kidney. If we’d been able to shrink it with drugs it would have helped, but we haven’t unfortunately, so we’ll have to do the best we can. She’ll go out to a hospice for a while when she leaves us, then if she’s lucky she’ll get home again.’
‘If her aorta doesn’t blow.’
‘If. Frankly, she’s very much on borrowed time. At least when she does go, it’ll be quick.’
‘She said she didn’t want a winter funeral,’ Laura said softly.
Gavin’s smile was sad. ‘That sounds like Evie. She’d want sunshine and flowers and everybody laughing. Visiting times when she’s here are an absolute riot.’ His eyes sought Laura’s and the warmth in them struck her yet again. ‘We’ll miss her when she goes. It’ll certainly be quieter.’
‘When does she have her operation?’ Laura asked him.
‘Today—this morning. I think she’s last, because we had no idea how long it would take. There are two before her—Oh, good, Helen’s out of the office so she can give you the report and you’ll get a clearer idea. I’m just going to chat to Evie and the other pre-ops. I’ll see you later. Good luck with your first morning.’
‘Thanks.’ She answered his smile with her own, and watched him walk away, struck yet again by the wealth of kindness in his eyes, and the generous warmth of his personality. He was the sort of doctor who would make patients feel better just because he was around, she thought, and realised with a start that she felt better, too. Dr Feelgood, she thought with a grin, and turned towards Helen just as she looked over at Laura.
‘Found your way round?’
‘Just about.’
‘Good. I see Gavin’s introduced himself. Come and meet the others and have report, then you can come round with me and give me a hand with the pre-meds. We’ve got a lot to do.’
She wasn’t joking. Hours later Laura thought her legs were going to collapse—if her feet kept going that long. They had had patients up to Theatre, emergency admissions, post-ops to deal with, discharges, and as if all that wasn’t enough the second wave of new admissions for Ross Hamilton’s Thursday-morning list arrived and needed settling and dealing with.
Gavin and Tom were on the go all day, too, their presence very much felt, and just before she went off duty two older men, presumably the consultants, came onto the ward.
One had white hair, the other fair with a touch of grey, but she realised the hair was deceptive. They were both only in their late thirties or early forties, and she wouldn’t mind betting half the patients were in love with them. Both big men, they radiated health and vitality, their bodies trim and fit, their faces animated in conversation.
Ladykillers, both of them, in their youth, she thought, and then as they laughed she gave a wry chuckle. In their youth? They were ladykillers now, and they could probably teach the average ‘youth’ a thing or two. Still, she was safe. They probably wouldn’t even notice her.
She was wrong. They stopped beside her, so tall that she had to tip her head back to look at them, and smiled. ‘Hello there,’ the white-haired man said, his voice low and soft with the gentle burr of an Edinburgh accent. She noticed absently that he had the loveliest, most searching grey-green eyes, and that he looked tired. Not a delegator, she decided, but a doer, a hands-on consultant.
‘Hello,’ she replied, liking him instantly.
‘You’re new, aren’t you? I’m Ross Hamilton; this is Oliver Henderson. I’m afraid we’re responsible for your workload.’
She chuckled, and yet again she introduced herself, and yet again her hand was shaken, first by Ross, then by Oliver, who was lounging against the workstation. He looked tired, too. Another hands-on? Probably. ‘How’s your first day been?’ he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.
‘It’s been fine,’ she replied. ‘Busy, but I like that.’
Ross snorted. ‘Good job—there are plenty more days where today came from. Well, take care, and don’t let Helen bully you. Any problems, you tell me and I’ll get Tom to take her on one side and beat her up a bit.’
His grin was a heartbreaker, she realised, laughing at his silly words, and