staff, and any hint of ineptness or bureaucracy seemed to irritate him.
Crabby was the best she could come up with.
Except he wasn’t being crabby now.
Ruby looked at his white thick cotton shirt and lilac tie, which was an odd sort of match for his brown suit, yet it went really well and she wondered, just for a second, how it was really possible to find someone who wore a brown suit attractive—except he was.
Up close he really, really was.
There was a lovely fresh scent to him and she thought it came from his hair, which was very close to her face as he bent over to work. She looked at it, and it was lovely and glossy and very straight and neat but there was a jagged edge to the cut that she liked too.
‘Cut,’ Cort reminded her when her eyes wandered, and she snipped the neat stitch he’d tied. ‘I need some more 4/0.’
‘You’re really making me earn my keep!’ Ruby jumped off the stool and tried to locate what he wanted amongst box upon box of different sutures.
‘Left,’ Cort said, to her hand that hovered. ‘Up one,’ he said.
‘Got it.’ She opened the material and tipped it on his tray then washed her hands and again pulled on some gloves before rejoining him. Cort was having another good look at the wound so there was nothing much for her to do and her eyes roamed the room again, landing on his jacket hanging on the door.
‘It’s not really brown,’ she said out loud, and then she blushed, because she did this far too often. Ruby had zero attention span and her mind was constantly chatting and occasionally words just slipped out.
He glanced up and saw her cheeks were bright pink.
‘Your jacket,’ Ruby croaked. ‘It’s not really brown.’
He said nothing, just carried on checking the wound, but his lips twitched for a moment, because he’d had a similar discussion with the shop assistant.
Sick to the back teeth of dour greys and navy suits, he’d bought a couple of new ones, and some shirts and ties. He wasn’t a great shopper, hated it, in fact, and had decided to put his faith in the judgement of the eager shop assistant. But when she’d held up the suit he’d baulked and said there was no way he was wearing brown.
Brown was the sort of thing his father wore, Cort had said to her.
‘It’s not brown,’ the shop assistant had said. ‘It’s taupe.’
‘It’s taupe.’ After a few minutes’ silence, he glanced up to the rather surprised eyes of Ruby. ‘Apparently.’
‘Well, it’s very nice.’
And he didn’t quite smile, but there was just a hint as he got back to his stitches and he saw her hands were just a little bit shaky when she snipped, though he was sure they had been steady before.
He didn’t look up, but he could see her in his mind’s eye for a moment. She was quite a stunning little thing—tiny, with very dark brown eyes and a thick curtain of hair that he’d heard Sheila pull her up about a few times. It was held back today with a ridiculous bandage, but defiantly kept escaping. It was lovely hair, red but not …
‘It’s not really ginger …’ Cort said, and still didn’t look up.
‘Absolutely not,’ was Ruby’s response.
‘Auburn?’
‘Close,’ came her voice. ‘But I prefer titian.’
And he gave a very brief nod and then worked on quietly. It was actually a lovely silence, just nice to sit and watch him work, especially as she could hear things starting to pick up outside. She could hear Connor calling out for assistance and feet running and though it was par for the course here, she screwed her eyes closed for just a second, but he must have looked up and noticed.
‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t need to cut if it’s making you feel sick—just hold his hand.’
‘Really, I’m fine,’ Ruby said, because a nasty cut and tendons and muscle and all of that didn’t bother her a jot.
It was out there that did.
It wasn’t a fear of seeing people sick, Ruby thought as she snipped Cort’s stitches, and it wasn’t a fear of death because she’d actually enjoyed some agency shifts on the palliative care ward.
It was this, Ruby thought as a buzzer sounded and Cort looked up.
This moment, which arrived at any given time, the intense drama that was constantly played out here, and it actually made her feel physically ill.
‘Do you need me?’ She heard Cort shout in the direction of Resus, ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice, and Ruby sat, staring at the hand she was holding, sweat beading on her forehead. She would hold this hand all night if only it meant that she didn’t have to go out there.
‘Jamelia’s here,’ came Sheila’s voice, and because apparently Cort liked to be kept up to date with everything, her voice came closer to the open suture-room door.
‘We’ve got a head and facial injuries. He arrested at the approach to the hospital and they’re having trouble intubating.’
‘I’ll come.’
‘There’s no need,’ Sheila called. ‘Jamelia’s got it and the anaesthetist is on his way.’ But he wasn’t listening. Already he’d peeled off his gloves and was pulling off his plastic apron. ‘Wait here,’ he called over his shoulder. Given he was halfway through stitching, and the patient couldn’t be left, Ruby had no choice but to sit and wait, which she did for a full ten or fifteen minutes before Cort returned, and if she’d seen him crabby this past week, he was really angry now.
She could feel it as he tied on a new gown and washed his hands.
‘What the hell was that?’ Sheila was less than impressed as she swung into the room. ‘I told you we had it under control.’
‘No. You told me they were having trouble intubating. Jamelia gets nervous …’
‘Well, she’s never going to get any confidence if you keep coming in and taking over.’
‘So, what?’ Cort said. ‘Do we just let her stumble through and kill off a few more brain cells?’
‘Give her a go, would you?’ Sheila responded.
‘No,’ Cort said, and didn’t qualify further, even as Sheila waited, but when Cort remained silent, Sheila turned her frustration back to its regular recipient.
‘What are you doing here, Ruby? I told you! I specifically told you not to leave Resus.’
‘Mr Mason asked me to come and hold an arm.’ Ruby gulped.
‘Someone else could have done that.
