‘Try again?’ Kath said quietly.
Jack let his breath out on a sigh and shook his head. ‘His aorta’s gone. It’s pointless. Damn, damn, damn …’
He removed his hands, stripped off his gloves and stepped back, only then noticing the stricken parents still standing near the door. He lifted his hands helplessly.
‘I’m sorry—we did everything we could.’
‘Oh, thank God it’s over,’ his mother said unsteadily, and then the tears overflowed and ran down her pale cheeks.
Kathleen carefully covered the shattered body with the blanket, but left his face uncovered. Relatives hated to see a sheet over the faces of their loved ones. It was illogical, but quite understandable, and she respected that. Sticking her head out of the door, she summoned a nurse and got her to take the young man’s parents back to the interview-room and give them a cup of tea.
They cleaned themselves up quickly, instructed all the others to shower again as thoroughly as possible in view of the AIDS risk, and then went into the interview room to talk to Steve’s parents.
Jack was astonishing. All day long she had wondered how he had managed to bamboozle his way into a consultancy, but first the calm, unflappable way he had dealt with Steve and now here, with the devastated relatives, Kathleen had an opportunity to see at first hand the qualities that set him apart as a consultant.
He talked through the whole drama again with them, explaining the various problems their son had had, discussing the probable outcome of each of his injuries had he survived, and then, when there was no doubt left in their minds that he should have died, he gave them even more.
‘Whatever problems you’ve had in the past, remember that he loved you, and you loved him. No one can ever take that from you.’
It was a calculated tear-jerker, but delivered with great sincerity, and Kathleen found her own eyes misting over.
She escaped to her office as soon as the Blowers’ left, grabbing herself a cup of coffee on the way. Seconds later there was a tap on her door and Jack came in.
‘Are you OK? You looked a bit shaken up.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m fine. It all adds variety. You know what they say—the spice of life, and all that …’
Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat.
He gave a grim little smile. ‘If you say so, Irish. Got any of that coffee left?’
She handed him the cup and he swallowed the remains with a gulp.
‘Home, I think. Fancy a drink on the way?’
She remembered their inauspicious start, and her somewhat ungracious behaviour during the morning. Perhaps it would be an opportunity to smooth things over, to apologise again and make a fresh start.
Her mouth was opening, the reply ready, when there was a tap on the door.
‘Ah, Mr Lawrence—there’s a young man who’d like to talk to you. His name’s Danny Featherstone. I think he’s a friend of Steven Blowers.’
He nodded at the receptionist. ‘Put him in my office. I’ll be along in a tick.’
He turned back to Kathleen and shrugged.
‘Sorry.’
She took a deep breath.
‘Maybe later?’
He shook his head slightly. ‘Some other time, perhaps. I don’t know if I’d be very good company tonight after all. I’ll see you.’
And with that, he was gone.
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