and he works on the Isle of Arran. Dr Gillespie, can you tell us a little bit about your background and the work that you do?’
Rhuaridh did his best impression of a deer in the headlights. She gave him a little nudge in the ribs and he actually started.
He stared at the camera. Gerry kept it still while he stuck his head out from behind the viewfinder and mouthed, ‘Go,’ to him.
Rhuaridh gave the tiniest shudder that Kristie was sure only she could see before he started talking. ‘Yes, hi, thanks. I’m Rhuaridh Gillespie. I grew up on this island—Arran—before leaving to train in Glasgow as a doctor, then I’ve worked in a number of other hospitals, and for Doctors Without Borders. I trained as a GP—a general practitioner—like my father, then came back last year to take over the practice when my father...’ he paused for a split second before quickly finding a word ‘...retired.’
She was surprised. He was doing better than expected, even though he still looked as though he didn’t want to be there.
‘Can you tell the viewers a little about Arran?’ she asked.
‘It’s an island,’ he said, as though she’d just asked a ridiculous question.
She kept the smile firmly in place. ‘Can you tell the viewers a little about the people here, and the hospital? What was it like growing up here?’ The curses shooting across her brain stayed firmly hidden.
He gave a slow nod as if he finally understood that most people watching wouldn’t have a single clue about Arran. ‘Growing up here was...’ his eyes looked up to the left ‘...fun. Free. Yeah, as a child I had a lot of freedom. Everyone knows everyone in Arran...’ he gave a half-smile ‘...so there’s not much you can get away with. But a normal day was getting on my bike and disappearing into the hillsides with my friends. The lifestyle here is very outdoors.’ He gave a small frown. ‘Not everyone likes that.’
She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that but didn’t push. ‘And the island?’ she asked again.
It was almost like his professional face slid back into place. ‘The population is around five thousand people, but in the summer months that can quadruple. We have a small cottage hospital with some long-stay beds and a small A and E department. I share the work in the hospital with the other GP on the island.’
‘What happens in an emergency?’ asked Kristie.
He looked a little uncomfortable. ‘If it’s a real emergency, then we send the patient off the island by air ambulance. In other circumstances we send people by road ambulance on the ferry and on to the local district general hospital.’
‘How long does that take?’ She could see a dozen potential stories forming in her head.
Now he was starting to look annoyed. ‘The ferry takes around an hour. The transfer from Ardrossan—where the ferry docks—and the local hospital takes around thirty minutes.’
‘Wow, that could be dangerous.’
His eyes flashed. ‘Not at all. We assess all our patients and make sure they are fit for the transfer before they are sent.’
‘What about people needing surgeries or baby emergencies?’ She knew there was another word for that but just couldn’t think of it.
‘Most surgeries are pre-planned and our patients will have made arrangements to go to the mainland. All pregnant women on the island are assessed by both an obstetrician and their midwife. We’ve had a number of planned home deliveries on the island. Any woman who has a history that would give cause for concern for her, or for her baby, has arrangements made for admission to the mainland hospital to ensure the equipment and staff required are there for her delivery. We haven’t had any problems.’
Dull. This place was sounding decidedly dull. All the good stuff—the interesting stuff—got sent to the mainland. But there were a hundred documentary-style shows that covered A and E departments. How on earth was she going to make this show interesting enough for people to keep watching?
She licked her lips and turned to the computer on top of Rhuaridh’s case note trolley. ‘So, Dr Gillespie, let’s go back. Can you tell us about the first patient we’ll be seeing?’
She had to keep this moving. Interesting footage seemed to be slipping through her fingers like grains of sand on the cold beach outside. Please let this get better.
* * *
There was not a single thing about this that he liked. Her American accent was beginning to grate on him. ‘Don’t mumble’ she’d had the cheek to say to him. He’d never mumbled in his life. At least, he didn’t think that he had.
That spotlight had been on him as he’d done the ward round in the cottage hospital. Normally it would have taken half an hour, but her incessant questions had slowed him down more than he’d liked.
She’d kept stopping and talking in a quiet voice to her cameraman and that had irritated him probably a whole lot more than it should have.
He was almost chanting the words in his head. One more day. One more day.
One of the nurses from the ward came and found him. ‘Rhuaridh, there’s been a message left to remind you about your home visit.’
‘Darn it.’ John Henderson. He still hadn’t managed to drop in on him. He shook his head and grabbed his jacket and case.
‘What? Where are you going?’ Kristie wrinkled her nose. ‘What’s a home visit anyway?’
He stared at the woman standing under his nose who was almost blocking his way to the exit. He felt guilty. He’d meant to visit John before he came here, but this filming thing had distracted him in a way he hadn’t been before.
He snapped, ‘It’s when you visit someone—at home.’ He couldn’t help the way he said the words. What on earth else could a home visit be?
Kristie only looked insulted for a few seconds. ‘You actually do that here?’
Of course. She was from the US. It was a totally different healthcare system. They generally saw a specialist for everything. Doctors like him—general practitioners who occasionally visited sick patients at home—were unheard of.
‘Of course.’ He elbowed past her and moved out to his car.
‘Let’s go,’ he heard her squeak to her colleague, and within a few seconds he heard their feet thudding behind him.
He spun around and held up his hand. ‘You can’t come.’
She tilted her chin upwards obstinately. ‘We can.’ She turned her notes towards him. ‘John Henderson, he’s on the list of patients that granted permission for us to film.’
Of course. Pam had already put a system in place to keep track of all this.
He couldn’t really say no—no matter how much he wanted to. He shook his head, resigned to his fate.
‘Okay, get in the car but we need to go now.’
They piled into the back of his car and he set off towards the farm where John Henderson
