words had a hollow ring of truth, but she brushed them aside. He could have said no. They would have found someone, or if necessary closed the unit. Or he could at least have talked to her about it, instead of presenting it as a fait accompli.
‘Actually, he’s going to be so busy he’s going to stay at the hospital for a few nights,’ she said, the lie sticking in her throat. ‘So, anyway, I thought maybe we could go swimming after breakfast. What do you think? And then maybe we can get pizza for lunch.’
Their replies sounded fairly enthusiastic, but there was something missing, some extra sparkle and fizz, another dimension that should have been there.
Andy. Their father, her husband, the man who broke promises.
Don’t go there!
‘Right. Who wants what for breakfast?’
It was tedious and chaotic and half the people didn’t need to be there.
Realistically, they could have got anyone to cover him, he thought grimly as he worked his way through the sprains and strains and fractures that yesterday’s sporting fixtures had left in their wake. It was all basic stuff, the sort of thing that any half-decent doctor could deal with, and the thought made him angry.
‘Right, you’ll need to come to the Fracture Clinic tomorrow morning between eight and nine for assessment and a proper cast. Here’s a prescription for pain relief.’
He scrawled his signature on the bottom, handed it over and walked out, shaking his head and rolling it on his neck. It ached, and he couldn’t think clearly. He was so, so tired. Maybe Lucy was right. Maybe he should have just said no, and they would have had to close the unit. That might have made them sit up and take notice and get a bit better organised.
In the meantime, he needed a coffee. A strong one.
‘Oh, Mr Gallagher, your wife dropped your case and laptop off. They’re behind here,’ the receptionist said as he passed her.
He stared at her for a shocked half-second, then nodded. ‘Yes—of course. Sorry, miles away. Could you stick them in my office?’
‘Sure.’ She eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Mr Gallagher, are you OK?’
‘I’m fine, Jane. I’m just tired,’ he muttered, and then went behind reception. ‘Actually I’ll take them myself,’ he said, and hoisting the bag and laptop case up, he headed for his office.
He could feel her eyes boring into him all the way, hear the speculation starting. Damn Lucy! Damn her for making it all so much worse than it had to be.
He shut the door, dumped the bags on the floor behind his desk and slammed his fist down on it.
How dare she! How dare she bring his things in like that and make a public spectacle of their dirty laundry?
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialled her number. It went straight to answerphone. Screening his call?
‘I’ve just been accosted by a curious receptionist who handed me an overnight bag,’ he said shortly. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at? Call me!’
He cut the connection and threw the phone down on the desk in disgust.
She’d meant it. She’d really, really meant it.
He felt numb, and slightly sick. And homeless? Where was he going to stay?
Stupid. He should just go home, have it out with her, make a few promises—and keep them, his conscience prodded—and deal with it. Except he was angry—angry with Steve for asking him to cover again, angry with the whole locum situation, angry with Lucy for not being reasonable, but most of all angry with himself for letting it all get out of hand by not saying no. Not to mention taking on the course, which was the just the last straw on the back of this failing camel that was their marriage.
And it wasn’t going to get any better until the course was over, until he’d sat the exam and could put the whole damn thing to bed. Then he could go back to Lucy and talk about this.
And in the meantime, they could have a cooling off period. Lucy could calm down a bit, so could he, and he could shut himself away somewhere and work so he had the slightest chance of passing the course, to make the whole thing worthwhile.
It was half term next week and Lucy had already arranged to take the children to her parents so he could revise in peace. So he’d check into a hotel, get the exam out of the way and then they could all get back to normal.
But first, they needed to agree on what they were telling the children, because the last thing he wanted was them thinking that their marriage was coming to an end when it wasn’t—or at least, not if he had anything to say about it.
He pulled the telephone directory out of his drawer, looked up the number of a decent hotel chain which had a motel nearby and booked himself a room.
And then he went back to work, asked one of the nurses to bring him back a coffee when she came back from her break and took the next set of notes out of the rack.
∗ ∗ ∗
The receptionist gave him a wide berth for the rest of the day.
He wasn’t surprised. Gossip travelled like wildfire through hospitals, and even though there was nothing to know, really, he could sense the speculation.
He hated it. Hated that they were talking about him behind his back, hated that when he walked out at the end of the day carrying his bag and laptop case, he could feel eyes following him.
You’re imagining it, he told himself, throwing the cases in the car and slamming the boot, still furious with Lucy. The motel was just a couple of minutes away, on the road into town, and he checked in and went straight to his room.
Clean, functional, with a kingsize bed, a sofa, a desk with a work light and a bathroom with a decent power shower, it was the generic hotel room. Everything he needed, but soulless and empty, because the only thing he really needed was his family.
His throat felt tight, and he swallowed hard and dumped the bags on the bed. She still hadn’t called him. Why not? It was six o’clock. She’d be dealing with the children.
Fine. He’d go over to the indifferent restaurant, get himself something to eat and then come back here and work, otherwise this whole damn fiasco would be pointless.
She stared at the phone, her lip caught between her teeth, and psyched herself up to call him.
He was right. She shouldn’t have dumped his stuff in reception. She’d been steaming mad with him, but she could as easily have put it in the boot of his car and sent him a text.
She owed him an apology for that, and he was right, they needed to talk about the children, to arrange a time for him to see them so they didn’t feel cut off from him. That was the last thing she wanted.
Sucking in a deep breath, she dialled his number, and he answered on the first ring.
‘This better be good, Lucy.’
‘I’m
