Page 26 of Maybe
I spilled the lot. Every blow-by-blow hideous second of it, even all the crap afterwards when I went back into the department and sorted out a complicated referral from a GP out-of-hours service regarding a haematology patient with a plummeting white count. They needed to be admitted with belly ache asap, even though there weren’t any beds and the haematologist was a grumpy fucker who sensed within thirty seconds my knowledge of idiopathic thrombocytic purpura was next to fucking zero. Nevertheless, he decided to fuck with me anyhow because he didn’t want to deal with it at five in the morning any more than I did. And halfway through haranguing me, I had to invent an emergency to run to because my throat had choked, and my eyes were awash.
When I finally finished spewing, when my words dried and I flopped back on my pillows emptied of everything except a need to stay on the line, Ezra said my fucking name again, like he was humming the openings bars of a song. I burst into tears.
“Isaac.”
“What.”
“When did this happen?”
“Last Wednesday,” I answered miserably. “No, Thursday.” I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand.
“It’s now Monday. Actually, we’ve slipped into Tuesday.”
“Yes.”
“So what have you done? Between now and then?”
“Not much. Just…” Put on a front. Smiled a lot. Eaten junk food from a vending machine. Fallen out with my mother. Waded through tens of patients on autopilot. Probablyoverlooked a couple of cases of early sepsis. “I’ve been to work and tried to revise. I have part one of the surgical exams next Friday and, if I don’t pass, then I won’t get the clinical fellowship job in dad’s old research unit, and I’ll feel like a failure. Dad never failed at anything, and a lot of people have put in a good word to secure me that job. I’ll be letting everyone down. And I haven’t been able to concentrate. Or sleep. I keep seeing this… this child and her mum and her sisters… and…”
“Have you talked about it with anyone?”
“Yes, we had a debrief, but I was leading it. And its… well, it’s the NHS, isn’t it? The wordsno-blame cultureare the biggest lies out there. Everyone was too scared to say what they really think, how they really felt about it; we’d get hung out to dry if there was a sniff of anyone not doing something right.”
There was a pause, before Ezra asked, “Were people doing the right thing?”
“God, yeah. We did everything. Alaric and I have learned by heart how to manage this sort of emergency. But the… the baby was never going to make it. That was obvious as soon as they came through the door, but we had to try.”
The steady sound of Ezra's breathing filled my ear for a few moments as if his head lay on a pillow next to mine. I snivelled as quietly as possible, wishing it did.
“I’m confused. Didn’t you say you enjoyed working in ED?”
“I do,” I protested, and followed it with a sob, all dignity gone. “Most of the time. That’s why I volunteer extra shifts.”
Ezra didn’t say anything else for a minute or so, giving me a chance to pull myself together.
“Go and get some tissues and dry your eyes,” he said eventually. I nearly smiled; he sounded exactly like a big brother should, and God knew I needed one of those right now.
“Only if you don’t tell me not to beat myself up or that I gave it my best shot and that’s all anyone can ask. Or any other bullshit. I know it, anyhow.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he said, sounding amused. “I was going to take your mind off it and tell you about Jonty’s school play and how I’ve spent most of my evening making a Viking helmet out of a plastic mixing bowl, tin foil, and papier maché. The Anglo-Saxons will be shitting bricks by the time I’ve glued the horns on.”
I sob-laughed, not an especially charming noise and blew my nose. Dignity was overrated, anyhow.
“He’s obsessed with Vikings. Last week, it was moths and butterflies. Especially moths. Do you remember that big glass display case Dad had in his study, with loads of massive dead ones pinned inside that he used to bring back from Africa?”
Even in the pit of my misery he had me grinning. “Yes. He loved it; Ed and Saffy were scared to go in.”
“Probably because I told them the big fat black one in the middle came alive and crawled inside people’s ears when they were asleep.”
I laughed, properly this time. “That explains a hell of a lot.”
The air between us carried an entire conversation as he hesitated, on the cusp of saying something else. But when he did, all he said was, “It’s been good talking to you, Isaac.”
“Stay in touch,” I responded urgently. “Please?”
“Yeah, probably.” He sighed again. “Though… talking to you drags up a lot of stuff I’d like to forget.”
“Thanks.”
