in his hand.
McCormick did not appear to be in immediate danger, but people didn’t collapse without reason. And as Kate so often said, the worst part of any worry was not knowing the truth.
‘I don’t care about the chain of command,’ Lorraine continued, ‘and you bloody well know it. I’m the woman with the scalpel, I decide where it goes!’
Ewan was used to Lorraine being blunt and uncompromising. But this wasn’t defiance. It was fear, just like his own.
‘What’s she talking about?’ asked Thomas at his side, his little nose pushed against the wall and his voice unusually wavy by his regular chirpy standards.
Ewan shushed him. The nine-year-old’s anxiety may have been more visible, but it was no more severe than Ewan’s. Ewan was just better at pretending not to be frightened.
‘Scalpel?’ asked Raj. ‘She’s not thinking of operating, is she?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered Ewan, ‘because people keep bloody talking.’
That shut everyone up.
Of all the people in the room, the lad with the Asperger’s diagnosis was the only one who knew what to do. Jack Hopper was as quiet as a dead church mouse, with one hand cupping his ear against the wall and his eyes forming their strongest expression of concentration. Once in a while he even brushed his dishevelled hair away from his ear. Every sound wave mattered.
Ewan imitated Jack’s pose, and hoped it would reveal some extra words.
‘What you’re asking is terrifying,’ Lorraine continued. ‘I can’t put it any… no, it’s not my personal fears getting in the way of the greater good! I’m not that selfish! The greatest good is keeping you alive, and cutting you open would…’
A pause, and inaudible words from McCormick.
‘Then go out there and see what they think!’ Lorraine yelled. ‘If this goes like I think it will, they’ll lose the most important figure in their lives!’
McCormick spoke again. He muttered something about ‘defeating the object’.
‘Is McCormick going to die?!’ wailed Thomas. Ewan decided it was the wrong time to shush him.
‘I don’t think so,’ he replied. Hardly the reassurance the boy would have wanted, but it was against Ewan’s nature to make false promises.
‘He’ll be fine, don’t worry,’ said Raj with a smile. Ewan bit his lip, but said nothing.
Whatever else McCormick said, nobody had heard it, not even Jack. Even in moments of intense emotion, even with a friend as close as Lorraine losing herself in front of him, his voice never rose. The only clue that he had finished was that Lorraine started to talk again.
‘Of course I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I’ve had friends die in this room. I watched Callum die when his insulin ran out, and Roy with his cancer. I’m not cutting you up for anything, and especially not for you to go and get yourself killed in battle!’
The last couple of words distracted Ewan from remembering thirteen-year-old Callum Turner’s existence. It had been a long year, and even at Oakenfold they hadn’t talked much.
Battle? He’s not…
‘Lorraine can operate, right?’ asked Thomas. ‘Wasn’t that her job in the old days?’
‘She was a nurse, not a surgeon,’ said Raj. ‘Massive difference.’
‘…Do operations hurt?’
‘Not really. They put you to sleep first. I had an operation on my spine when I was twelve, and I didn’t feel a—’
‘Shh.’
Silence fell again, but it was too late. Lorraine had started to sob, and her voice became a whisper.
Ewan had never seen Lorraine cry, but had heard her a couple of times. Most recently when Roy had passed away, from a type of stomach cancer that could have been dealt with easily in a real hospital. She had not been seen outside the clinic for two or three days after that.
But she never really talked about her troubles. Ewan wondered whether this habit came from the fact that her housemates were often her patients too. Lorraine had gone for so many years hiding her emotions while on the wards that perhaps she naturally hid them at Spitfire’s Rise.
But it must have been more complicated than that. Emotions always were.
Because Roy had been her friend. Just about the only man her age to have made it to Spitfire’s Rise. And underneath her bossy exterior, she probably cared about the teenagers a great deal. She had certainly cared about Shannon when they first met.
Maybe she sees herself as more than ‘ the nurse ’ . She has responsibility over who lives and who dies here . The pressure on her is enormous, and she ’s probably already crushed by the memories of people she couldn’t save.
No wonder she doesn’t want to operate on McCormick.
*
According to Ewan’s watch, only two hours had passed. He had to check Kate’s watch at his side to make sure his batteries weren’t dying.
Lorraine had surfaced long enough to shout the words ‘meeting, downstairs’ into the boys’ bedroom, and allowed the news to spread by itself. The living room was full now: ten people in total. All the surviving residents of Spitfire’s Rise minus the two in the clinic.
Ewan looked across the remaining Underdogs. It was rare to see all of them in the same room at the same time, and with so many Oakenfold students together it almost felt like being in a classroom again. Alex was perhaps the least comfortable person present, the only twenty-something in a room where nobody else had reached eighteen.
Suddenly, the unexpected happened. Dr McCormick, who had been face-down and unconscious on the same carpet hours earlier, walked into the living room with a broad smile. Perhaps he had misjudged the atmosphere, or maybe he was trying to reassure people. Either way, the rest of the Underdogs had no idea how to react. Thomas had his hands up as if ready to applaud. Silent Simon had his jaw gaped open, his breathing audible. Raj shifted forwards to the edge of his seat as if being closer would help him to hear. Lazy Gracie gave the most generic reaction possible, trying to blend in with everyone else. Mark looked up in vague curiosity, either unaffected by the day’s events or pretending to be.
‘Afternoon,’ McCormick said softly. ‘First things first, I’m feeling much better and you don’t need to worry.’
‘Cough-cough-load-of-rubbish-cough,’ said Jack. A ruder set of words had crossed Ewan’s mind, but he chose not to say them.
‘But you obviously deserve an explanation,’ McCormick continued, without offering Jack any response. ‘My cyst has been acting up. I’ve had it in
