Knight on the Children's Ward (4 page)

‘I won't,' Annika said. ‘I don't. I am always so, so careful…' And she was. Her brain hurt because she was so careful, pedantic, and always,
always
checked. Sometimes it would be easier not to care so.

‘Go home and go to bed,' Ross said. ‘Will you be okay to drive?'

‘Of course.'

He didn't want her to drive; he wanted to bundle her into his ute and take her back to the farm, or head back into the coffee shop and talk till three a.m., or, maybe just kiss her?

Except he was being sensible now.

‘Night, then,' he said.

‘Goodnight.'

Except neither of them moved.

‘Why are you going to Spain?' Unusually, it was Annika who broke the silence.

‘To sort out a few things.'

‘I'm staying here for a few weeks,' Annika said, with just a hint of a smile. ‘To sort out a few things.'

‘It will be nice,' Ross said, ‘when things are a bit more sorted.'

‘Very nice,' Annika agreed, and wished him goodnight again.

‘If you change your mind…' He snapped his mouth closed; he really mustn't go there.

Annika was struggling. She didn't want to get into her car. She wanted to climb into the ute with him, to forget about sorting things out for a little while. She
wanted him to drive her somewhere secluded. She wanted the passion those black eyes promised, wanted out of being staid, and wanted to dive into recklessness.

‘Drive carefully.'

‘You too.'

They were talking normally—extremely politely, actually—yet their minds were wandering off to dangerous places: lovely, lovely places that there could be no coming back from.

‘Go,' Ross said, and she felt as if he were kissing her. His eyes certainly were, and her body felt as if he were.

She was shaking as she got in the car, and the key was too slim for the slot. She had to make herself think, had to slow her mind down and turn on the lights and then the ignition.

He was beside her at the traffic lights. Ross was indicating right for the turn to the country; Annika aimed straight for the city.

It took all her strength to go straight on.

E
LSIE
frowned from her pillow when Annika awoke her a week later at six a.m. with a smile.

‘What are you so cheerful about?' Elsie asked dubiously. She often lived in the past, but sometimes in the morning she clicked to the present, and those were the mornings Annika loved best.

She recognised Annika—oh, not all of the time, sometimes she spat and swore at the intrusion, but some mornings she was Elsie, with beady eyes and a generous glimpse of a once sharp mind.

‘I just am.'

‘How's the children's ward?' Elsie asked. Clearly even in that fog-like existence she mainly inhabited somehow she heard the words Annika said, even if she didn't appear to at the time.

Annika was especially nice to Elsie. Well, she was nice to all the oldies, but Elsie melted her heart. The old lady had shrunk to four feet tall and there was more fat on a chip. She swore, she spat, she growled, and every now and then she smiled. Annika couldn't help but spoil her, and sometimes it annoyed the other staff, because many showers had to be done before the day shift
appeared, and there really wasn't time to make drinks, but Elsie loved to have a cup of milky tea before she even thought about moving and Annika always made her one. The old lady sipped on it noisily as Annika sorted out her clothes for the day.

‘It's different on the children's ward,' Annika said. ‘I'm not sure if I like it.'

‘Well, if it isn't work that's making you cheerful then I want to know what is. It has to be a man.'

‘I'm just in a good mood.'

‘It's a man,' Elsie said. ‘What's his name?'

‘I'm not saying.'

‘Why not? I tell you about Bertie.'

This was certainly true!

‘Ross.' Annika helped her onto the shower chair. ‘And that's all I'm saying.'

‘Are you courting?'

Annika grinned at the old-fashioned word.

‘No,' Annika said.

‘Has he asked you out?'

‘Sort of,' Annika said as she wheeled her down to the showers. ‘Just for dinner, but I said no.'

‘So you're just flirting, then!' Elsie beamed. ‘Oh, you lucky, lucky girl. I loved flirting.'

‘We're not flirting, Elsie,' Annika said. ‘In fact we're now ignoring each other.'

‘Why would you do that?'

‘Just leave it, Elsie.'

‘Flirt!' Elsie insisted as Annika pulled her nightgown over her head. ‘Ask him out.'

‘Enough, Elsie,' Annika attempted, but it was like pulling down a book and having the whole shelf toppling down on you. Elsie was on a roll, telling her
exactly what she'd have done, how the worst thing she should do was play it cool.

On and on she went as Annika showered her, though thankfully, once Annika had popped in her teeth, Elsie's train of thought drifted back to her beloved Bertie, to the sixty wonderful years they had shared, to shy kisses at the dance halls he had taken her to and the agony of him going to war. She talked about how you must never let the sun go down on a row, and she chatted away about Bertie, their wedding night and babies as Annika dressed her, combed her hair, and then wheeled her back to her room.

‘You must miss him,' Annika said, arranging Elsie's table, just as she did every morning she worked there, putting her glasses within reach, her little alarm clock, and then Elsie and Bertie's wedding photo in pride of place.

‘Sometimes,' Elsie said, and then her eyes were crystal-clear, ‘but only when I'm sane.'

‘Sorry?'

‘I get to relive our moments, over and over…' Elsie smiled, and then she was gone, back to her own world, the moment of clarity over. She did not talk as Annika wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and put on her slippers.

‘Enjoy it,' Annika said to her favourite resident.

 

He had his ticket booked, and four weeks' unpaid leave reluctantly granted. They had wanted him to take paid leave but, as Ross had pointed out, that was all saved up for his trips to Russia. This hadn't gone down too well, and Ross had sat through a thinly veiled warning from the Head of Paediatrics—there was no such thing as a
part-time consultant and, while his work overseas was admirable, there were plenty of charities here in Australia he could support.

As he walked through the canteen that evening, the conversation played over in his mind. He could feel the tentacles of bureaucracy tightening around him. He wanted this day over, to be back at his farm, where there were no rules other than to make sure the animals were fed.

His intention had been to get some chocolate from the vending machine, but he saw Annika, and thought it would be far more sensible to keep on walking. Instead, he bought a questionable cup of coffee from another machine and, uninvited, went over.

‘Hi!'

He didn't ask if he could join her; he simply sat down.

She was eating a Greek salad and had pushed all the olives to one side.

‘Hello.'

‘Nice apron.' She was emblazoned with fairies and wands, and he could only laugh that she hated it so.

‘It was the only one left,' Annika said. ‘Ross, if I do write my notice—if I do give up nursing—in my letter there will be a long paragraph devoted to being made to wear aprons.'

‘So you're thinking of it?'

‘I don't know,' she admitted. ‘I asked for a weekend off. There is a family function—there is no question that I don't go. I requested it ages ago, when I found out that I would be on the children's ward. I sent a memo, but it got lost, apparently.'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘Caroline has changed my late shift on Saturday to
an early, and she has changed the early shift on Sunday to a late. She wasn't pleased, though, and neither am I.' She looked over to him. ‘I have to get ready….' And then her voice trailed off, because it sounded ridiculous, and how could he possibly know just what getting ready for a family function entailed?

And he didn't understand her, but he wanted to.

And, yes, he was sworn off women, and she had said no to dinner, and, yes, it could get very messy, but right now he didn't care.

He should get up and go.

Yet he couldn't.

Quiet simply, he couldn't.

‘I told them I'm going to Spain.'

She looked at his grim face and guessed it hadn't gone well. ‘It will be worth it when you're there, I'm sure.'

‘Do you ever want to go to Russia?' Ross asked. ‘To see where you are from.'

‘I was born here.'

‘But your roots…'

‘I might not like what I dig up.'

He glanced down at her plate, at the lovely ripe olives she had pushed aside. ‘May I?'

‘That's bad manners.'

‘Not between friends.'

He would not have taken one unless she'd done what she did next and pushed the plate towards him. She watched as he took the ripe fruit and popped it in his mouth, and Annika had no idea how, but he even looked sexy as he retrieved the stone.

‘They're too good to leave.'

‘I don't like them,' she said. ‘I tried them once…' She pulled a face.

‘You were either too young to appreciate them or you got a poor effort.'

‘A poor effort?'

‘Olives,' Ross said, ‘need to be prepared carefully. They take ages—rush them and they're bitter. I grow them at my farm, and my grandmother knows how to make the best… She's Spanish.'

‘I didn't think you were Spanish, more like a pirate or a gypsy.'

It was the first real time she had opened the conversation, the first hint at an open door. It was a glimpse that she did think about him. ‘I am Spanish…' Ross said ‘…and I prefer Romany. I am Romany—well, my father was. My real father.'

His eyes were black—not navy, and not jade; they were as black as the leather on his belt.

‘He had a brief affair with my mother when they were passing through. She was sixteen…'

‘It must have caused a stir.'

‘Apparently not,' Ross said. ‘She was a wild thing back then—she's a bit eccentric even now. But wise…' Ross said reluctantly. ‘Extremely wise.'

She wanted to know more. She didn't drain her cup or stand. She was five minutes over her coffee break, and never, ever late, yet she sat there, and then he smiled, his slow lazy smile, and she blushed. She burnt because it was bizarre, wild and crazy. She was blue-eyed and blonde and rigid, and he was so very dark and laid-back and dangerous, and they were both thinking about black-haired, blue-eyed babies, or black-eyed blonde babies, of so many fabulous combinations and the wonderful time they'd have making them.

‘I have to get back.'

Annika had never flirted in her life. She had had just one boring, family-sanctioned relationship, which had ended with her rebellion in moving towards nursing, but she knew she was flirting now. She knew she was doing something dangerous and bold when she picked up a thick black olive, popped it in her mouth and then removed the pip.

‘Nice?' Ross asked

‘Way better than I remember.' And they weren't talking about olives, of that she was certain. She might have to check with Elsie, but she was sure she was flirting. She blushed—not from embarrassment, but because of what he said next.

‘Oh, it will be.'

And as she sped back to the ward late, she was burning. She could hardly breathe as she accepted Caroline's scolding and then went to warm up a bottle for a screaming baby. Only when he was fed, changed and settled did she pull up the cot-side and let herself think.

Oh, she didn't need to run it by Elsie.

Ross had certainly been flirting.

And Annika had loved it.

‘I
DON'T
want a needle.'

Hannah was ten and scared.

She had flushed cheeks from crying, and from the virus that her body was struggling to fight, and Annika's heart went out to her, because the little girl had had enough.

Oh, she wasn't desperately ill, but she was sick and tired and wanted to be left alone. However, her IV site was due for a change, and even though cream had been applied an hour ago, so that she wouldn't feel it, she was scared and yet, Annika realised, just wanted it to be over and done with.

So too did Annika.

Ross was putting the IV in.

‘I'll be in in a moment,' he had said, popping his head around the treatment room door—and Annika had nodded and carried on chatting with Hannah, but she was exhausted from the hyper-vigilant state he put her in. She knew he was in a difficult position; he was a consultant, she a student nurse—albeit a mature one. She also knew a relationship was absolutely the last thing
she needed. Chaos abounded in her life; there was just so much to sort out.

Yet she wanted him.

 

Elsie, when Annika had discussed it with her, had huffed and puffed that it should be Ross who asked
her
out, Ross who should take her out dancing. But things were different now, Annika had pointed out, and she'd already said no to him once.

‘Ask him,' Cecil had said when she had taken him in his evening drink. He had a nip of brandy each night, and always asked for another one. ‘You lot say you want equal rights, but only when it suits you. Why should he risk his job?'

‘Risk his job?'

‘For harassing you?' Cecil said stoutly. ‘He's already asked you and you said no—if you've changed your mind, then bloody well ask him. Stop playing games.'

‘How do you know all this?' Annika had demanded, and then gone straight to Elsie's room. ‘That was a secret.'

‘I've got dementia.' Elsie huffed. ‘You can't expect me to keep a secret.'

‘You cunning witch!' Annika said, and Elsie laughed.

She hadn't just told Cecil either!

Half of the residents were asking for updates, and then sulking when Annika reported that there were none.

So, when Ross had asked her to bring Hannah up to the treatment room to have her IV bung replaced, even though Cassie had offered to do it for her, Annika had bitten the bullet. Now she was trying to talk to her patient.

‘The cream we have put on your arm means that you won't feel it.'

‘I just don't like it.'

‘I know,' Annika said, ‘but once it is done you can go back to bed and have a nice rest and you won't be worrying about it any more. Dr Ross is very gentle.'

‘I am.'

She hadn't heard him come in, and she gave him a small smile as she turned around to greet him.

‘Hannah's nervous.'

‘I bet you are,' Ross said to his patient. ‘You had a tough time of it in Emergency, didn't you? Hannah was too sick to wait for the anaesthetic cream to work,' he explained to Annika, but really for the little girl's benefit, ‘and she was also so ill that her veins were hard to find, so the doctor had to have a few goes.'

‘It hurt,' Hannah gulped.

‘I know it did.' Ross was checking the trolley and making sure everything was set up before he commenced. Hannah was lying down, but she looked as if at any moment she might jump off the treatment bed. ‘But the doctor in Emergency wasn't a children's doctor…' Ross winked to Hannah, ‘I'm used to little veins, and you're not as sick now, so they're going to be a lot easier to find and because of the cream you won't be able to feel it…'

‘No!'

She was starting to really cry now, pulling her arm away as Ross slipped on a tourniquet. The panic that had been building was coming to the fore. He did his best to calm her, but she wasn't having it. She needed this IV; she had already missed her six a.m. medication, and she was vomiting and not able to hold down any fluids.

‘Hannah, you need this,' Ross said, and as she had
done for several patients now, Annika leant over her, keeping her little body as still as she could as Ross tried to reassure her.

‘Don't look,' Annika said, holding the little girl's frightened gaze. ‘You won't feel anything.'

‘Just because I can't see it, I still know that you're hurting me!' came the pained little voice, and something inside Annika twisted. She felt so hopeless; she truly didn't know what to say, or how to comfort the girl.

‘Watch, then,' Ross said. ‘Let her go.'

He smiled to Annika and she did so, sure that the little girl would jump down from the treatment bed and run, but instead she lay there, staring suspiciously up at Ross.

‘I know you've been hurt,' he said, ‘and I know that in Emergency it would have been painful because the doctor had to have a few goes to get the needle in, but I'm not going to hurt you.'

‘What if you can't get the needle in, like last time?'

‘I'm quite sure I can,' Ross said, pressing on a rather nice vein with his olive-skinned finger. ‘But if, for whatever reason, I can't, then we'll put some cream elsewhere—you're not as sick now, and we can wait…'

His voice was completely serious; he wasn't doing the smiling, reassuring thing that Annika rather poorly attempted.

‘I am going to do everything I can not to hurt you. If for some reason there's ever a procedure that will hurt, I will tell you, and we'll work it out, but this one,' Ross said, ‘isn't going to hurt.'

He tightened the tourniquet and Hannah watched. He swabbed the vein a couple of times and then got out the needle, and she didn't cry or move away, she just watched.

‘Even I'm nervous now.' Ross grinned, and so too did
Annika, that tiny pause lifting the mood in the room. Even Hannah managed a little smile. She stared as the needle went in, and flinched, but only because she was expecting pain. When it didn't come, when the needle was in and Ross was taping it securely in place, her grin grew much wider when Ross told her she had been very brave.

‘Very brave!' Annika said, like a parrot, because she could never be as at ease with children as he was. She was attaching the IV and Ross was looking through his drug book, working out the new medication regime that he wanted Hannah on.

Brighter now it was all over, Hannah looked up at Annika.

‘You're pretty.'

‘Thank you.' She hated this. It was okay when Elsie said it, or one of the oldies, but children were so probing. Annika was still trying to attach the bung, but the little hard bit of plastic proved fiddly, and the last thing she wanted was to mess up the IV access. She almost did when Hannah spoke next.

‘Have you got a boyfriend?'

‘No.' Her cheeks were on fire, and she could feel Ross looking at her, though she was
so
not going to look at him.

‘I thought you did, Annika.' He spoke then to Hannah. ‘He's a very nice guy, apparently.'

‘It's very early days.' The drip was attached, and now she had to strap it in place.

‘I like a boy in my class,' Hannah said, with a confidence Annika would never possess. ‘He sent me a card, and he wrote that he's coming to visit me once I'm allowed visitors that aren't my mum.'

‘That's nice.'

‘So, where does your boyfriend take you?' Hannah probed.

‘I'm more a stay-at-home person…' Annika blew at her fringe and pressed in the numbers. Ross was beside her, checking that the dosage was correct and signing off on the sheet. She could feel that he was laughing, knew he was enjoying her discomfort—and there and then she decided to be brave.

Exceptionally brave—and if it didn't work she'd blame Cecil and Elsie.

‘I was thinking of asking him over for dinner on Saturday.' Annika swallowed. She knew her face was on fire, she was cringing and burning, and yet she was also excited.

‘That sounds nice. I'm sure he'd love it,' was all Ross said.

She got Hannah back to bed, and then, as she went back into the treatment room to prepare Luke's dressing, Ross came in.

‘I don't want to talk at work.'

‘Fine.'

‘So can we just keep things separate?'

‘No problem, Annika.'

‘I mean it, Ross.'

‘Of course,' he said patiently. ‘Annika, do you know where the ten gauge needles are kept? They've run out on the IV trolley…'

And he was so matter-of-fact, so absolutely normal in his behaviour towards her, that Annika wondered if she actually had asked him out at all. At six a.m. on a Saturday, when he hadn't asked for a time, or even an address, she wasn't sure that she had.