Caroline Anderson - Sarah's Gift

The man went out, his wife was transferred to the hospital mortuary where the pathologist could do a little more cosmetic work following the post-mortem, and Matt and Sarah went into the staffroom and dropped bonelessly into the chairs.

‘Tea?’ Ryan offered.

‘You bet. Grieving relatives always make me thirsty.’

‘Me, too. Nice big mug, Ryan,’ Sarah said with a groan, and dropped her head back. ‘I could never work in an abbatoir—I just hate the smell of blood.’

Oh, I love it—did I mention my mother was a vampire?’ Matt murmured from the depths of his chair.

‘You lot are all so unfeeling!’

They lifted their heads and looked at Jo in astonishment.

‘Excuse me?’ Matt said mildly.

‘Don’t you have any thought for what they’re going through? The pain, the weeks of grief—’

‘Try years,’ Matt offered, his voice harsh.

‘Years, then. You’re all so callous. Your jokes—God, they’re sick. You’re sick. Fancy seeing that woman and saying she’d had a bad hair day! It’s really—Oh, I can’t find the words.’

‘Common problem down here, finding the right words,’ Ryan said in a conversational tone.

‘But it’s so distasteful!’

‘Dying’s pretty distasteful,’ Ryan told her. ‘And, anyway, how do you expect us to grieve with each and every one of our patients and their families? It simply isn’t possible.’

‘You could try.’

‘No—no, you couldn’t. It’s just a way of dealing with it. It may be sick, but it works, and it’s better than burnout.’

‘I’m not sure you’d know how to grieve, anyway,’ she said disparagingly.

Jack, standing in the doorway where he’d been throughout this exchange, gave a soft snort. ‘I think you might find we do. I’ve lost a son, Ryan’s lost his first wife, Patrick’s lost his first wife, Sarah’s lost her husband and children—I think you’ll find, on balance, we know rather a lot about grief. Maybe our way of dealing with it might shock you, but we’re still here, years later, saving lives that otherwise would be lost. Not everyone can cope with it. Maybe you’ll find you’re one of the ones that can’t.’

‘Maybe.’

She hugged her arms around herself, eyes staring wildly from one to the other, and a shudder ran through her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I had no idea…’

‘Poor kid,’ Sarah murmured, and went over to her. ‘Jo, it’s OK. It is nasty. Today hasn’t been good. That last case—it was a bit rough. Have a cup of tea.’

‘Is that everybody’s answer to everything?’ Jo said wildly. ‘Have a cup of tea? The universal panacea?’

‘That’s the boy,’ Jack murmured, squatting in front of her, mug in hand. ‘Here, drink up. You’re shocked. You’ll get used to it. We all start like this, full of ideals and thinking the old hands are callous. Some of us have been doing it for so long we can hardly remember what it was like to start, but we’ve all been there. You just take your time.’

He straightened. ‘I think you need to work in gently—nice easy cases, nothing too much at first. Why don’t you go with Sarah and she can show you a bit of front-of-house stuff in the triage room? Show you how the categories are made up, how the patients are sorted into priorities?’

She nodded, and Sarah slipped an arm round her and gave her a hug. ‘You’ll do. Drink your tea and come and find me—I’ll get out there now, I think there’s a bit of a queue after the last two.’

The afternoon passed a little better after that. Nothing else horrendous came in, and Sarah was able to teach Jo some of the fundamentals of processing the patients.

She seemed grateful. She even apologised for being critical, but Sarah brushed it aside, not wanting to get into this conversation. She could tell where it was leading, and she didn’t want to talk about Rob and the boys, at least not while she was at work.

She handed over to the next nursing team at four thirty, and then went into the staffroom for a cold drink, before setting off for home. She mixed the last of the squash and was drinking it when Matt came in and eyed it longingly. ‘Is there any more? I could drink the sea dry.’

‘No, sorry.’ She handed the last of it to him. ‘Here, have this.’

He drained it, his throat working, and she watched the stubble-shadowed skin of his jaw with fascination. Then he set the glass down and winked at her. ‘Thanks. I needed that. How’s the drama critic?’

She smiled, ignoring the flutter in her chest. ‘Jo? OK now.’

‘She’ll learn. Listen, about that swimming pool you told me about yesterday. I—ah—I don’t suppose you want to come with us one day this weekend? Show us where it is, have some fun?’

An icy shiver slid down her spine. ‘It’s easy to find,’ she told him evasively. ‘I could show you on a map…’

He dug up one of those smiles of his that seemed to undermine her resolve. ‘I can find it, I’m sure. I just thought it would be nice for us to have company. Anyway, I actually wanted a favour. I can’t take Emily in the men’s room any more—she’s getting a bit big, but not quite big enough to go into the ladies’ room on her own.’

‘How do you normally manage?’ she asked, ignoring the shiver.

He shrugged. ‘Usually I ask a likely-looking mum to give her a hand, but I’d be much happier knowing she was with someone I could really trust—and it can get a bit boring, waiting for her to decide she’s had enough. It would be much more pleasant with a civilised adult to talk to.’

His smile was guileless, innocent—and very appealing.

‘How about Ryan?’ she suggested, still looking for a way out.

‘I ask him for so much as it is—and, anyway, I don’t want Emily getting too close to Ryan’s kids if she’s got to leave them in a few months—besides which, if Ginny comes with Ryan I’ll feel like a gooseberry again, and if she doesn’t it won’t help with the changing-room problem.’ His smile curled round her again, decimating her defences. ‘Are you sure I can’t persuade you?’

‘Just a swim?’ she said suspiciously. ‘This isn’t a chat-up line?’

He looked surprised, and she felt suddenly foolish.

‘Oh, no,’ he hastened to assure her. ‘I’m here for just three months, and I don’t believe in quicky affairs. Trust me, I really meant only a swim, or perhaps a burger afterwards—definitely no strings, I promise.’

And just like that, she found herself talked into it. She even volunteered to be their guide over the coming weekend to show them a little bit of Suffolk—and told herself it was for the sake of the little girl, and nothing to do with a tall, rangy Canadian with a voice like roughened silk and legs that stretched halfway to Alaska…

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