to make a world,’ she said brightly. Why on earth hadn’t she moved him away from the subject of parents? Why had she had to open her mouth? ‘And we have patients to see.’
‘Yes, we do. Well, Sister McKenna.’ He opened the door for her. ‘Shall we?’
‘IS ISLA NOT coming tonight?’ Harry asked Lorraine at the bowling alley, keeping his tone casual.
‘No.’
Lorraine wasn’t forthcoming with a reason and Harry knew better than to ask, because it would be the quickest way to fuel gossip. Not that Lorraine was one to promote the hospital rumour mill, but she might let slip to Isla that she thought Harry might be interested in her, and that would make things awkward between them at work. She’d already got the wrong idea about him.
All the same, this was the third team night out in a fortnight that Isla had missed. On the ward, she was an excellent colleague; she was good with patients and relatives, quick to offer sensible suggestions to clinical problems, and she got on well with everyone. The fact that she didn’t come to any of the team nights out seemed odd, especially as she was new to the department and going out with the team would be a good chance for her to get to know her colleagues better.
Maybe Isla was a single parent or caring for an elderly relative, and it was difficult for her to arrange someone to sit with her child or whoever in the evenings. But he could hardly ask her about it without it seeming as if he was prying.
And he wasn’t; though he was intrigued by her. Then again, if it turned out that she was a single parent, that’d be a deal-breaker for him. He really didn’t want to be back in the position of having parental type responsibilities for a child. OK, so lightning rarely struck twice—but he didn’t want to take the risk.
‘Shame,’ he said lightly, and switched the conversation round to who was going to be in which team.
Two days later, it was one of the worst days in the department Harry had had in months. He, Isla and Josie were in Resus together, trying to save a motorcyclist who’d been involved in a head-on crash—but the man’s injuries were just too severe. Just when Harry had thought they were getting somewhere and the outcome might be bearable after all, the man had arrested and they just hadn’t been able to get him back.
‘I’m calling it,’ Harry said when his last attempt with the defibrillator produced no change. ‘It’s been twenty minutes now. He’s not responding. Is everyone agreed that we should stop?’
Isla and Josie both looked miserable, but voiced their agreement.
‘OK. Time of death, one fifty-three,’ he said softly, and pulled the sheet up to cover their patient’s face. ‘Thank you, team. You all worked really well.’
But it hadn’t been enough, and they all knew it.
‘OK. Once we’ve moved him out of Resus and cleaned him up, I’ll go and find out if Reception managed to get hold of a next of kin and if anyone’s here,’ he said.
‘If they have, I’ll come with you, if you like,’ Isla offered.
‘Thank you.’ He hated breaking bad news. Having someone there would make it a little easier. And maybe she’d know what to say when he ran out of words.
The motorcyclist, Jonathan Pryor, was only twenty-seven, and his next of kin were his parents. The receptionist had already sent a message to Resus that Jonathan’s mum was waiting in the relatives’ room.
‘I hate this bit so much,’ he said softly as he and Isla walked towards the relatives’ room.
‘We did everything we possibly could,’ she reminded him.
‘I know.’ It didn’t make him feel any better. But the sympathy in her blue, blue eyes made his heart feel just a fraction less empty.
Mrs Pryor looked up hopefully as they knocked on the door and walked in. ‘Jonathan? He’s all right? He’s out of Theatre or whatever and I can go and see him?’
Harry could see the very second that she realised the horrible truth—that her son was very far from being all right—and her face crumpled.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Pryor,’ he said softly, taking her hand. ‘We did everything we could to save him, but he arrested on the table—he had a heart attack, and we just couldn’t get him back.’
Sobs racked her body. ‘I always hated him riding that wretched motorcycle. I worried myself sick every time he went out on it because I knew that something like this would happen. I can’t bear it.’ Her voice was a wail of distress. ‘And now I’ll never see him again. My boy. My little boy.’
Harry knew there was nothing he could do or say to make this better. He just sat down next to Mrs Pryor and kept holding her hand, letting her talk about her son.
Isla went to the vending machine. Harry knew without having to ask that she was making a cup of hot, sweet tea for Mrs Pryor. He could’ve done with one himself, but he wasn’t going to be that selfish. The only thing he could do now for his patient was to comfort his grieving mother.
‘Thank you, but I don’t want it,’ Mrs Pryor said when Isla offered her the paper cup. ‘It won’t bring my son back.’
‘I know,’ Isla said gently, ‘but you’ve just had a horrible shock and this will help. Just a little bit, but it will help.’
Mrs Pryor looked as if she didn’t believe the nurse, but she took the paper cup and sipped from it.
‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’ Harry asked.
‘My—my husband.’ She shook her head blankly. ‘Oh, God. How am I going to tell him?’
‘I can do that for you,’ Harry said gently. ‘It might be easier on both of you if I tell him.’ Even though he hated breaking bad news.
Mrs Pryor dragged in a breath. ‘All right—thank you.’
‘And you can come and see Jonathan whenever you feel ready,’ Isla said. ‘I’ll come with you, and you can spend some time alone with him, too. I can call the hospital chaplain to come and see you, if you’d like me to.’
Mrs Pryor shook her head. ‘I’ve never been the religious type. Talking to the chaplain’s not going to help. It’s not going to bring Jonathan back, is it?”
‘I understand,’ Isla said, ‘but if you change your mind just tell me. Anything we can do to help, we will.’
‘He was only twenty-seven. That’s way too young to die.’ Mrs Pryor shut her eyes very tightly. ‘And that’s a stupid thing to say. I know children younger than that get killed in accidents every day.’
Yeah, Harry thought. Or, if not killed, left with life-changing injuries, even if they weren’t picked up at first. His own little sister was proof of that. He pushed the thought and the guilt away. Not now. He needed to concentrate on his patient’s bereaved mother.
‘It’s
