Page 63 of Doc Hollywood

“We’re going to film in the biggest operating theatre, which is number seven.” Lacey shoved open the double doors that would have once been automatic but had long since broken and made an ominous creaking noise, which did nothing to calm Clara’s discomfort in the empty building.

Clara sighed deeply, swearing under her breath as she surveyed the room. It was full of equipment that must have been left behind when the hospital closed, which, from the looks of it, was at least twenty years ago.

The only modern thing was the anaesthetic machine sitting in the corner, which she had asked them to get after the dialysis machine debacle.

“Everything looks great here! We were so lucky that so much was left behind.” Lacey gestured around the room.

“It’s, well, it’s something.” Clara grimaced. “We’ll need to get a few things, as some of this stuff is so out-of-date that we don’t use it anymore.” She wandered across to what she assumed was a diathermy machine, although it was so antiquated that she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Oh,” Lacey said flatly.

Clara turned to the younger woman to see a crest-fallen expression on her face. “Sorry.”

Lacey shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ve got the credit card, so you can order whatever you need. I’ll be with you all day to help you out.”

“Right,” Clara muttered.

She pulled a notebook out of her bag, starting a list of what they needed. She walked slowly around the room, checking everything, opening every drawer, jotting down everything packed in them, and noting what was missing. By the time she was finished, her list was three pages long. It was going to be a mission to have the room ready for filming.

She pulled her laptop out of her bag, put it on one of the benches along the side of the room, and hooked it up to her phone’s internet, ready to start ordering things and calling people.

“Do you need any help?” Lacey enquired.

“I will. I’m going to make a few phone calls. Some medical supply companies will lend us the bigger equipment. I’ll also have to buy a whole heap of disposables.”

Lacey’s brows drew together, and her voice betrayed her worry. “We’ll be rehearsing with the actors all day tomorrow, and we can’t interrupt them to arrange all the new equipment.”

Clara opened her mouth to say that surely the actors could cope with them having to break for a few minutes while she sorted everything out, then closed it again when she recalled the list of actors on the front of the script and knew that at least two were Hollywood royalty. As well as Taylor and Devon LaSalle, who, according to the googling she had done, was a current up-and-coming actress, with whispers about being the next ‘actress of her generation’. So she figured they were an important group of people, and she wasn’t someone who could request that they wait a few minutes for her to do her job.

Instead, she said, “Don’t worry, I’ll do it after they’ve all finished for the day.” Clara sighed internally. She had hoped this job would be a bit of a break from the long days. Obviously, it wouldn’t.

At least they were putting her up in a nice hotel. That alone had been worth it, as the last time she had stayed in a hotel, it was with Jack for her birthday.

Her mind shied away from the disaster that night had been, with Jack in a foul mood as they hadn’t been able to get a table at his favourite restaurant because he forgot to book it—yes, the plan was to go to his favourite restaurant on her birthday. Somehow, it had been her fault for not reminding him, and hehad sulked for the rest of the evening, even when they ended up in a lovely sushi place.

She had hidden the bruises he had left on her arms by wearing long sleeves for the next couple of weeks.

“I can stay late and help you,” Lacey said reluctantly.

“I should be okay. As long as everything is brought up here for me, all I’ve got to do is arrange it. And I’d have to tell you where to put it anyway.” Clara shrugged and inwardly cursed to herself for saying no to help.

Getting the room to look like a functioning operating theatre would be a massive job, and it would take her hours alone.

Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind, and she leapt off her chair and dashed over to the anaesthetic machine. After plugging it in, she turned it on and began to check the machine. First, she checked the gas supply pipelines, which were all plugged into the appropriate places on the wall, and then cursed when she saw the dial indicating that no gas was flowing from them. They couldn’t use the machine in a realistic way if there was no oxygen.

“Are the pipelines still working?” Clara asked Lacey.

“The what?” Lacey looked puzzled.

“The oxygen supply to the hospital. Did you get it hooked back up?” Clara tapped the screen, which showed no pressure in the oxygen, air and nitrous pipelines.

“No. I don’t think so.” Lacey shook her head. She grabbed her iPad and scrolled through screen after screen of notes. “Not that I can see.”

“Shit. Sorry, right, this is okay. I can sort this,” Clara reassured herself, and strode to her laptop and typed quickly, finding a local company that could supply oxygen.

She lifted her phone up to call them but stopped when a text arrived and instead checked that, sputtering with laughter when she saw the picture in her messages. It was a close-up of Taylor’sbright blue eye—and yes, she could recognise him just from his eye—rimmed with what looked like eyeliner, accompanied by a message.

‘In makeup. I’m wearing ’guy-liner’, do you think I should throw a tantrum about it?’

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