His Emergency Fiancée (3 page)

‘Home.’ Mrs Morgan’s face creased with longing.

‘Hey, you’ll be fine. You’ve got me looking after you.’ Kirsty squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll see you in Theatre.’ She winked. ‘Don’t you go getting into mischief on the way.’

Mrs Morgan managed a weak smile and Kirsty left the ward to get changed for Theatre. Guy Chambers was already scrubbed up, his fair curly hair hidden under a surgical turban. Paul Fisher, the SHO, was also ready. Neither of them smiled at her entrance. Kirsty said nothing but changed and scrubbed swiftly. In the old days, Tony and Paul would have teased her for being late and claimed she was chatting up the patients—but now Tony was gone and Paul had turned unnaturally serious. Surely the consultant wasn’t still sulking because she’d asked him not to touch her backside again? Kirsty was tempted to ask Paul privately what he thought of Chambers, but decided against it. There was no point in inflaming the situation further. She had to face facts: their firm had changed, and she just had to put up with it. Put up and shut up.

She walked into Theatre—and even that had changed. Tony always operated to some kind of cello music and she’d grown to like it. With Chambers, everything was in deadly silence. She suppressed a sigh. At least when she’d made the first incision she could concentrate on her job.

But she was denied even that satisfaction. Chambers, instead of asking either of his juniors if they wanted to lead, decided to do it himself and barked the occasional order at Paul.

Should she mention that she’d already done half a dozen bypasses on her own, with Tony acting as her backup? No. He’d think she was showing off and give her another black mark. Ask him if she could do it? He’d probably take great delight in saying no. Her lips tightened behind her mask, and she did what was so obviously expected of her: she observed.

Give him the benefit of the doubt, she told herself. It was his first week here. He didn’t know her or Paul and he probably hadn’t had time to read any staff files and find out what they’d already done. He was just playing it safe.

But a little voice in her head told her she was kidding herself. Chambers had an axe to grind—but why? She didn’t usually have major personality clashes with people she worked with—nurses, auxiliaries, junior doctors or seniors. Not even the most dragon-like secretary. In fact, Chambers was the first.

He threw the odd question at her during the operation but most of them were directed at Paul. She didn’t quite understand why—did he think that she, as the surgical reg, should already know the answers? But if that was the case, that begged the question why he hadn’t let her operate under his supervision.

Don’t let him rile you, she warned herself. That’s probably what he wants. An outburst from you and he’ll claim you’re hormonal and not suited to the job.

She kept her temper—just—at his next words.

‘Fisher—close for me.’

If he’d swept off then, Kirsty would have been happy enough to supervise Paul. But no. He did it himself. As if he didn’t trust her to do it properly.

What was the point in me even being here? she thought. Crossly, she changed out of scrubs and went back down to the ward.

‘Has Mr Chambers seen Mr Morgan yet?’ she asked Jenny, the ward sister.

Jenny shook her head. ‘He said you’d do it.’

That figures, Kirsty thought. He’s not a people person, and I am. ‘Fine.’ She forced a smile to her face. ‘I’ll go and have a chat.’

‘Kirst, are you OK?’

‘Never better,’ Kirsty said lightly. Jenny was a good friend, but Kirsty wasn’t going to take any risks. If she said what she thought about Chambers, it would be just her luck that the man would creep up on her and overhear her. ‘I’ll see Mr Morgan, then I’ll take my break.’ Lunch with Ben. That was what she needed to cheer her up. ‘Bleep me if you need me.’

Mr Morgan was delighted to see her. ‘My Elsie’s all right, then?’

‘It’s early days, but we’re not expecting any problems. Everything went according to plan,’ Kirsty reassured him.

‘I knew she’d be safe in your hands, lass.’

Kirsty made herself smile back. ‘Better than that. Mr Chambers did the operation,’ she said. ‘Now, if you’ve any questions, just ask—that’s what we’re here for.’ She looked at the whiteboard above the bed. ‘Definitely the best care here—she’s under Jenny. That’s the bossy one in the dark blue uniform,’ she added in a stage whisper as Jenny walked into the room.

‘Bossy, yourself,’ Jenny retorted with a grin.

Kirsty wrinkled her nose, left her to it and went down to the medical assessment unit. ‘Ben around?’ she asked Sarah, the triage nurse.

‘Just follow the line of swooning women,’ Sarah told her, laughing.

Kirsty chuckled. ‘Business as usual, then?’

‘What is?’ said Ben, emerging from behind a curtain. ‘Hello, Kirst. I wasn’t expecting to see you.’

‘Got time for some lunch?’

He looked at her, clearly cottoning onto the situation straight away—Kirsty needed to take her mind off work. He turned to Sarah. ‘What’s the patient situation?’

‘Grab the chance while you can,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ll probably have to bleep you halfway through your sandwich.’

‘You know where I’ll be,’ he said. ‘Come on, you. Lunch is my shout. Soggy tuna or dried-up grated cheese?’ He draped his arm loosely round Kirsty’s shoulders and shepherded her out of the department.

Even when they were out in the corridor, he left his arm where it was. ‘Bad morning?’

‘Yup. I’ll talk later, but just distract me for now before I misuse my scalpel.’

He gave a low whistle. ‘OK. Distraction. How about a second opinion on a case?’

‘Want to go back?’

‘When soggy tuna calls?’ he teased. ‘Anyway, my patient—seventeen, enlarged liver, aggressive and a ton of acne. Renal pain but not admitting to much. Pale skin, dark shadows under the eyes. I’ve ordered liver-function tests, urine sample and CDT—though he didn’t smell of alcohol.’ CDT or carbohydrate-deficient transferrin tests checked for alcohol abuse. The transferrin molecules, responsible for transporting iron around the body, were found in high concentration in the liver; in cases of alcohol abuse they became deficient in carbohydrates.

‘Enlarged liver, renal pain.’ Kirsty thought about it. ‘Could be hepatitis. Is he a user?’

‘Says not.’ Ben shrugged. ‘No track marks. And he’s apparently got a hundred per cent attendance record at school, so it’s not that likely.’

‘Sex?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘No, he’s too young to be that promiscuous.’

‘It only takes one partner,’ Ben said, following her train of thought.

‘I’ll take a look at him, if you like.’

‘After lunch,’ Ben said firmly, steering her into the canteen.

She scanned the room quickly. No sign of Chambers. Hopefully he wouldn’t follow Tony’s precedent and eat with the lesser mortals in the staff canteen—which meant she could have her lunch in peace.

The tuna sandwiches were as soggy as Ben had suggested, but Kirsty knew from long experience they were better than the grated cheese which leaked like sawdust onto your plate. And Sarah’s predictions were wrong for once—they managed to eat their sandwiches and grab a latte without being bleeped.

‘Got time to see my distraction, then?’ Ben asked.

Kirsty glanced at her watch. ‘Plenty.’

She accompanied him back to the MAU and Ben introduced her to his patient.

‘Adam, this is Kirsty. She’s come to have a quick look at you.’

The seventeen-year-old grunted in response.

‘Do you mind if I examine you?’ Kirsty asked.

He answered with a shrug which she took for consent and gently examined him, noting his wince as she touched the area around his liver.

‘We haven’t managed to get in contact with your dad yet. Do you have a number for your mother?’ Ben asked.

‘No.’

The curtain swished aside. ‘Ben, sorry to interrupt—I need your advice for a moment,’ Sarah said, the calmness of her voice belying the trace of panic in her eyes.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Ben promised.

Kirsty studied the boy. He didn’t look the type to use drugs…and yet something clicked in the back of her mind. Something about the way he looked—and hadn’t Ben said something about aggressiveness? Extra testosterone—that would explain the acne, too. She glanced at the textbook he’d been studying. ‘Physics. You’re doing your A levels?’

‘What of it?’

‘It was my favourite subject. I almost did astrophysics for my degree,’ she said. ‘I fancied being a rocket scientist.’

‘So why didn’t you? ’Cos you’re a girl?’

‘Nope. Because I like people—and rocket science is a bit too lonely for me.’ She looked levelly at him. This was a huge risk and if she was wrong, she’d have more than just apologies to make. But the tone of his voice made her think it was too much of a coincidence. ‘Is that what they’re telling you?’

‘What?’

‘At school. That you’re too much of a girl?’

Pain flashed across his face, quickly masked. ‘That’s what you think, too.’

She shook her head. ‘Not at all. But let me tell you one thing. Bullies always lose. Always.’

‘How would you know?’ he asked bitterly. ‘Did they all tell you your mum’s a whore and she’s run off with the milkman because she’s already been through six postmen?’

So that was why he didn’t have a number for his mum. She’d left. The chances were, Ben’s father was still licking his own wounds and hadn’t noticed how unhappy his son was, or just couldn’t cope with anything more. ‘No. It was something…more personal.’ She dragged in a deep breath. Even thinking of the way Luke had betrayed her with his cronies, had used her and laughed at her, still made her feel vulnerable and angry and hurt all at the same time. ‘But the people who bullied me flunked their exams and were thrown out. I came out top of the class and I’m doing a job I love. So who gets the last laugh?’

He stared at her in silence.

She tried again. ‘You’re top of the class—yes?’

He nodded.

‘And they’re—what, bottom?’

‘One of them’s already dropped out,’ he admitted.

‘They’re jealous of you. That’s why they’re calling you names.’ She looked at the dull yellow bruising on his side. ‘And getting physical. Because they feel insecure and it’s all they know how to do. You’re going to the gym, right?’

He flushed. ‘Training seven days a week.’

‘With steroids.’

He flinched but said nothing.

‘I take it you’re not doing biology?’

He shook his head. ‘Maths, further maths and chemistry.’

‘Pity,’ she said, ‘because if you’d been doing biology you’d know what steroid abuse does to your body. It can affect your heart, your liver—and your fertility. So what seems like the right solution now is going to do you an awful lot more harm in the long run—and you can’t use weight training against a gang of people.’

‘So what
do
I do, then? If I tell someone about them, they’ll just wait for me until they get me without anyone seeing and really do me over. Maybe with knives next time.’

‘Try martial arts,’ she said.

‘Kung fu? Come on. That’s not going to stop them.’

‘Isn’t it? Most of the martial arts are based on protecting yourself. That’s all you need—technique and brains win over brawn any time.’

‘Do they?’

‘Trust me. I’m a doctor,’ she deadpanned.

For the first time, she saw him smile. ‘That’s a terrible line.’

‘I know, but it’s true.’ She took his hand. ‘Adam, throw the steroids away. You don’t need them to combat violence. It’s
technique
you need. Try the community relations officers at the police station—they’re bound to know some self-defence classes locally. They’ll point you in the right direction. Or look on the notice-board in the gym you go to. Something’s bound to be advertised.’

‘And this?’ Adam pointed to his liver.

‘The pain will go away. But if you continue abusing steroids, it’ll get worse. Plus, your heart’ll start to play up and you can kiss goodbye to the idea of having kids in ten years’ time or whatever.’ She ticked off the minuses on her fingers. ‘Is it worth letting them do that to you?’

He was silent.

‘Adam?’ she prompted gently.

‘No,’ he admitted in a near-whisper.

‘Then promise me you’ll try another way.’ She smiled. ‘A few years down the line, you’ll be famous and raking it in, and they’ll be stuck in dead-end jobs. Trust me.’

‘That’s what happened to you?’

‘Something like that.’ After that terrible day when she’d found out the truth about Luke, that his relationship with her had all been a big joke at her expense and his friends had been running a book on how long it’d take him to get her knickers off, she’d avoided him. She had no idea what had happened to him. His friends had dropped out and he’d left. Knowing Luke, he’d probably used his parents’ money to smooth the path to a retake at another university. ‘Trust me. Bullies never win.’

‘Dr Brown, I hate to break up such a touching scene, but I’ve been trying to track you down,’ a voice drawled. ‘Or have you forgotten this afternoon’s list?’

‘Sounds like I gotta go.’ She squeezed Adam’s hand. ‘Remember what I told you.’ She stood up to face Guy Chambers. Tall, with blond curly hair, big blue eyes, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth—and yet he was shaping up to be like the classmates who taunted Adam. A first-class bully.

And talk about bad timing. If he’d heard what she’d just said…would he think she’d been talking about him? Would that make him even worse? She glanced at the clock. ‘Actually, our list starts in fifteen minutes so there’s plenty of time to get ready,’ she said coolly. ‘Jenny knew where I was, or you could have paged me if something urgent came up.’

‘I expect my staff to stay where I can find them,’ he rapped out.

‘Well, I know that now. It won’t be a problem in the future.’ Given his mood, she didn’t quite dare ask for five minutes to fill Ben in on her findings. But there was one thing he couldn’t deny her… ‘I’ll just go to the loo, if you don’t mind.’

Three minutes. Enough to scribble Ben a quick note about Adam. And she’d have to be very, very careful in Theatre this afternoon.

* * *