CAROL MARINELLI - English Doctor, Italian Bride

‘Ten years ago, that might have been appropriate,’ Bonita snapped.

‘Just stay still,’ Hugh warned, and then grinned slightly. ‘Actually, it wouldn’t have been appropriate ten years ago.’ He winked, slipping the needle into her flesh. ‘You were always getting into trouble!’

He was right. Ten years ago she’d been fourteen—and despite her mother’s best attempts to keep her as some androgynous being, hormones, along with a rather spectacular pair of breasts, had emerged, which had meant frequent blistering rows with her mother about make-up, clothes, magazines and boys. Hugh, who had known her since she was a gangly eleven-year-old, had witnessed plenty of those rows and had seen his share of her tears too.

She didn’t want to think about it, found that it was easier to focus on the needle than her thoughts, or him, and the little prick he was making in her arm certainly hurt less than examining her past. Needles didn’t bother her. Bonita watched as he slipped it into her arm, and Hugh quickly taped it in place. Only, as much as needles and blood didn’t bother her, she’d never actually witnessed one going into her own arm, or the little trickle of her own blood that slipped out as he capped the IV.

It was horribly hot, she could feel sweat trickling between her breasts, the air stifling as she tried to drag it in, saliva pouring into her mouth. Bonita’s urgent eyes met Deb’s as realisation hit, then she retched suddenly—the violent movement causing such a spasm of pain that she didn’t even retch again, just sobbed as 500 ml of bright blue sports drink, erupted into a hastily found kidney dish Deb thrust in front of her. Oh, it was an extremely common event in Emergency but it just added to the utter indignity of it all, especially when Hugh, wearing a rather appalled expression at her Technicolor display, stepped back smartly.

‘We’ll add an anti-emetic to the painkiller, please, Deb,’ he drawled, and, oh, how strained his smile was as he dampened a paper wipe and brushed two tiny—in fact, Bonita was sure imaginary —spots off his smart morning suit.

‘I’m sorry.’ Beyond embarrassed, she just sat there as Deb wiped her face, her nose, her mouth, while Hugh delivered the blessed pain relief. ‘I’m so sorry. Your lovely suit…’

‘Forget it,’ Hugh clipped.

But it was such a lovely suit, Bonita thought, the horror receding slightly as the medication took over. Dark grey, with a long jacket, rather like a riding coat. And with legs up to his neck, Hugh wore it well. There was a pale grey waistcoat underneath that accentuated his flat stomach, and it was set off with a pale pink tie. A lock of blond hair flopped over his eyebrows as he checked her radial pulse, making sure the circulation in her arm was OK, and she caught a glimpse of manicured nails and a flash of a very expensive watch. ‘I’ll pay to have it cleaned.’

‘Don’t give it another thought,’ Hugh said magnanimously. ‘It’s my fault for not putting on a gown when I dealt with you… How’s your pain?’

‘Terrible…’ Bonita started, but on second thoughts it wasn’t that bad. In fact, she could lie back just a fraction on the pillow. Oh, she couldn’t move it or anything but if she kept very still, it actually felt OK.

‘That bad, huh?’ Hugh grinned as she promptly closed her eyes. ‘OK, let’s have a proper look at this shoulder now, please.’

But not even IV painkiller could fully take away the sting of Deb cutting off her netball top to reveal a rather grey sports bra, and the agony of trying to remember, as Hugh so gently probed whether or not she’d shaved her armpits in the shower that morning.

‘Sorry, pet, but we need this off for the X-ray,’ Deb said as she snipped away at Bonita’s bra and carefully peeled it off, keeping the breasts covered with the sling and a towel as best she could. ‘Hugh, could you just hold the towel while I feed the drip through the gown?’

‘I’ll do the drip!’ Hugh responded, leaving Deb to hold the towel and hopefully maintain what appeared to be the very last shred of Bonita’s dignity.

It was the only saving grace in the entire afternoon.

‘At least Bill’s not on duty,’ Deb said, trying to cheer her up as she covered her friend as best she could with a threadbare gown, and failed miserably. ‘No woman wants her ex-boyfriend seeing her like this… Bastard!’ she added—just as everyone who worked in Emergency did these days after they said Bill’s name.

Only Bill wasn’t a bastard—anything but. A charge nurse in Emergency, he was an adorable guy, perceptive too, Bonita thought with a brain that was starting to refuse to think. Bill was the only person out of everyone who would understand just how appalling this afternoon was for her.

Bill was the only one who knew about Hugh.

‘Well, it looks straightforward enough!’ Hugh scribbled out his request on a pad. ‘Let’s get her round to X-Ray.’

* * *

‘Anterior dislocation.’ Hugh snapped the X-rays onto the viewfinder as soon as Bonita returned. ‘Just as I thought. And no fracture. Let’s get you into Theatre and we can pop it back and soon have you feeling more comfortable.’

It wasn’t the word ‘theatre’ that had her looking aghast. There was a minor theatre in Emergency, which was used mainly for suturing, but procedures such as this one were often performed there. No, it wasn’t that that had her reeling—it was that Hugh was going to do it.

‘You’re supposed to be at a wedding!’

‘That’s not your problem.’

‘No.’ Bonita shook her head, the painkillers making her bravely honest. ‘I don’t want you to be the one putting it back.’

‘I’m sure Andrew would prefer it if he could do it,’ Hugh said, studying the X-ray as she spoke, ‘but he’s in with some relatives and he’s going to be stuck for some time. You know that the sooner we get it back, the less swollen it will be and the less chance of nerve damage.’

‘I know all that! It’s just—’

‘Look!’ As direct as ever, he left off studying the X-rays and came over. ‘I can understand that you’d prefer if it was Andrew who did the procedure. I know you and I don’t particularly get on, and to be honest, yes, there are many other places I’d prefer to be right now, but, all that aside, you know I’m a bloody good doctor…’ Which was so pompous, so backhanded and so utterly Hugh that it really came as no surprise to hear him say it. ‘And I know that shoulder needs to be put back just as soon as possible. So…’ He forced his haughty face into an attempt at a reassuring smile, giving her a glimpse of very white even teeth and green eyes that were utterly bored and less than impressed. ‘If you’ll let me do it, you’ll be on your way home very soon and I might just make it back to the reception in time for the speeches.’

It would have been childish and stupid in the extreme to refuse, and, Bonita thought glumly as with her good hand and a hefty dose of painkillers she attempted a signature on the consent form, her mother would never forgive her.

It was quiet in the little theatre, away from the hubbub of the department. Even though Bonita knew what was going to happen, there was something quite peaceful about just lying down and listening as Deb and Hugh set up for the procedure. A sort of comfort almost as she heard the little blip of the oxygen saturation machine as it was clipped to her finger and Debbie attached some nasal prongs.

‘We’ll give you a sedative,’ Hugh explained, ‘which will send you off into a nice little twilight sleep.

‘Deb, let’s just check her ID.’

It seemed the most pointless, ridiculous thing to be doing. Everyone in the room knew that this was Bonita Azetti and that she was 24 years old, only maybe it wasn’t so pointless because, as it turned out, they didn’t know that she was allergic to penicillin, and though it was highly unlikely she might need it, Deb still scuttled off to get a red armband, just in case. Hugh took off his jacket and waistcoat and hung them up. His immaculate shirt had lifted out of his trousers a touch and she was treated to a woozy glimpse of tanned flesh as he tucked himself in. She was too out of it to even bother looking away.