Hard Choices (2 page)

I point with my right hand to my bedroom. The keys are on my bedside table. I hope. That’s where I usually dump them. Nick heads off across my living room into the bedroom, before coming back a few moments later with my keys in his hand. He glances around the clutter of my living room, a wry smile suggesting he remembers my slovenly habits very well. He picks up my discarded jacket, which I had left draped across the back of my sofa, and crouches in front of me again to gently wrap it around my shoulders.

“Now, is there anything else you need?”

I make a phone gesture with my right hand, and he glances again around the chaos. I point to the floor in front of my sofa where I’d been sitting when I called him. My phone is still there, just where I dropped it when Nick hung up and I knew help was on the way. He strides across the room to pick it up, and has the presence of mind to then also grab my shoulder bag from the sofa. As well as my door keys the bag has my purse and credit cards in—so at least I’ll be able to buy myself a coffee at the hospital. And get back into my flat later. Coming back to me, Nick slips the phone into the pocket of my jacket before gently helping me to my feet. He holds onto my bag as he manoeuvres me out of the door, before making sure the latch is dropped as he clicks it shut behind us.

A few minutes later I’m safely belted into the passenger seat of my Vanquish and Nick is reversing out of my parking space. He exits the car park slowly, emerging up the slope leading to the outside world, then turns right to cross the bridge over the river, heading for the main road to Barrow. I know we’ve at least a thirty minute drive in front of us, so I lean my head back against the headrest and let my eyelids droop.

* * * *

I wake up just as we arrive at the hospital, a huge sprawling place that serves all of South Cumbria. Nick heads for a parking area close to the A & E entrance. He sorts out the pay and display before carefully extricating me from the car. His arm is around my waist as he leads me through the automatic doors and up to the A & E main reception desk. The helpful young man behind the desk smiles pleasantly at us.

“Good afternoon.” He turns to the screen in front of him, poised to start inputting details.

“Can I have your name and date of birth, please?” It’s obvious which of us needs medical attention so his question is directed at me.

Nick answers, brisk and businesslike, “This is Freya Stone. I don’t know her date of birth. I daresay she does, but she’s aphonic so she can’t tell you. Can we skip that bit for now? She needs to see a doctor.”

The young man’s interest is properly engaged now and he looks at me much more closely.

“Aphonic?” He looks from me to Nick then back again, clearly at a loss as to the implications of this information.

Nick helps out again, “No vocal chords, at least none that work.” A good enough description. Succinct. “So she can’t talk. And as she’s got a broken wrist in all probability she can’t do her usual sign language either. So we’re stuck with the information I can give for now.”

“I see.”

And I think he does as he types in a few more details then turns to Nick. “Could I have your name, please? Are you her next of kin?”

“My name’s Nick Hardisty. Freya’s my…girlfriend.”

I glance at him, astonished. He just smiles at me and continues, “She has no family, at least not in this country, so I guess I’m the closest she has to next of kin. You can put my name down. That okay with you, love?”

He turns to look at me, and I just nod, my head whirling. Girlfriend? Next of kin? Not two hours ago I was totally alone, or so I thought. Now look.

“And how did this happen?” The receptionist is once more poised to fill in the blanks.

Nick turns to me.

“Not sure, actually. Did you have a fall or something?”

I nod, then in a moment of inspiration turn to point at one of the empty chairs in the waiting area. I use my right hand to simulate a tumbling motion.

“You fell off a chair?” This from the young man behind the desk. No flies on him. Perhaps aphonic women with broken wrists turn up at his A & E every day. Maybe he’s used to all this.

On a roll now, he plunges confidently on with his next question, “And how long ago did this happen, miss?”

Nick glances at me again. “Well, it was before five o’clock because that’s when you phoned me. Had it only just happened then?”

I shake my head slowly, trying to remember the sequence of events. How long did I sit there on my living room floor, wondering what the hell to do, who to phone for help? It seemed like a long time, but I suspect in reality it was no more than half an hour.

“How long then? An hour?”

I shake my head, using my right hand to give a ‘smaller’ signal with my index finger and thumb.

“Half an hour?”

I nod, and the receptionist glances at the clock on the waiting room wall. “Okay, it’s almost twenty past six now. So shall we say two hours?”

That sounds about right so I nod again.

“Okay, there’s more, but that’ll do for now.” He’s clearly decided he has enough information to at least let a doctor have a look at me. “Please take a seat and someone will call you into a cubicle soon to do an initial assessment.”

Nick thanks him, then we settle ourselves on the hard plastic seating arranged in rows across the waiting area. Less than five minutes later I hear my name being called on a loudspeaker system, asking me to go to cubicle three.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Nick helps me to my feet and waits for my response.

I nod vigorously—it never occurred to me that he might not. Nick again holds my bag, and now my jacket as well, as together we make our way down the long, clinical corridor. Nick opens the door to cubicle three. Inside we meet a motherly-looking casualty nurse dressed in purple scrubs. She has bright yellow Crocs on her feet, and I guess these are the most practical footwear for her line of work. The cubicle has two doors, the one we just entered by and another on the opposite side. This second door is open slightly to reveal the clinical efficiency of the main crash area. I can see staff in similar purple or pale blue tunics hurrying about, and what seems like enough technology to launch a lunar expedition. Our nurse, whose name badge proclaims her to be one Sheila Laycock, rank of Staff Nurse, smiles at us both. She gestures for me to scramble onto the trolley, which takes up most of the space in the small room. Nick takes the one chair at the foot of the trolley, my belongings at his feet. Staff Nurse Laycock has a clipboard in her hand and, once she’s happy that I’m properly installed on the trolley, she glances at it then at me.

“Aphonic, I see. Would you like a British Sign Language translator or will your friend do that?” She nods in Nick’s direction, which he takes as his cue to explain.

“Normally Freya uses sign, and I can translate. But, as you see, her hands are out of action for the time being, at least one of them is. She’s left-handed, so writing might be tricky too.” He turns to me. “Can you type with your right hand, do you think?”

I make a rocking gesture with my uninjured hand to indicate yes, I probably could. It’ll be slow, but I’ll get by. Standing, Nick shoves his iPhone into my right hand, as the nurse gently lifts my left wrist to examine it.

“The notes say you fell off a chair?”

I may be imagining it, but I detect what seems to be a slightly suspicious glance directed at Nick. His exasperated eye rolling confirms my suspicion. It never occurred to me that anyone would think he did this to me, the very idea is laughable, but I suppose Staff Nurse Laycock sees enough victims of domestic violence in these cubicles to set her antennae quivering. I want to set the record straight, but even with Nick’s iPhone at my disposal communication is more than a little tricky right now. I settle for a brief nod in response to the question, but drop the iPhone into my lap to reach for Nick with my good hand. He takes it, and I squeeze, hoping the nurse will spot the gesture and interpret it correctly.

Her mouth flattens, and I daresay the jury is still out. It’s progress, though.

I hiss sharply as Staff Nurse Laycock gently lifts my wrist. She’s being careful but even so she presses on the bruising.

“I’m sorry. First things first, some pain relief. Then we need to X-ray this wrist, find out exactly what’s going on here.”

The mention of pain relief is the most encouraging thing I’ve heard since Nick told me he was on his way, and Staff Nurse Laycock is as good as her word. She bustles off, but soon comes back with a young and rather harassed-looking doctor in tow. He gives me a very cursory once-over and jots something on the top sheet of the notes attached to a clipboard on the end of my trolley. It seems this authorises Staff Nurse Laycock to administer a suitable dose of pain relief, sufficient to make me feel more comfortable. The requisite drugs are quickly produced, two white capsules and a glass of water to swill them down. I take no persuading. The staff nurse leaves us to our own devices for a few minutes to give the drugs time to take effect before she tries to examine my wrist in any great detail.

Ten minutes later she reappears.

“Right, are you feeling a bit more comfortable now?”

I nod, realising that the painkiller has kicked in already and the searing pain in my wrist is already fading to a dull throb.

“Good. I’ve ordered some X-rays for you, then the doctor will need to take a proper look. The X-ray department is along the corridor to the end, then turn right. I’ll find you a wheelchair.” At my startled expression she goes on to explain. “You’ve had a shock and you look a bit unsteady to me. It’d make me feel better anyway if you weren’t hiking around the casualty department. So, a wheelchair, then?” She nods in Nick’s direction. “You’ve brought a nice strapping bloke with you—he can shove you around.”

Can’t he just?
But I don’t bother to elaborate, just nod and wait for my wheelchair.

An hour later, the casualty doctor has confirmed that my X-rays show my wrist to be broken in two places. But she assures me they’re clean breaks and should heal nicely. In about six weeks’ time I’ll be good as new again. She goes on to explain that I’ll be in plaster during that time, but that I should soon feel a lot more comfortable. They’ll set my wrist here in the casualty department temporarily, and I’ll need to come back to the fracture clinic at the hospital in two days to have the temporary cast removed and a proper one put on. The first pot will be heavy and feel awkward, but the next one will be a lot lighter and I’ll be able to manage better by then. She must be able to read my concerns flitting across my face as I contemplate the prospect of six weeks with my wrist in plaster, and pats my hand sympathetically.

“I realise this is a big deal to you. You need your hands, more than most of us perhaps. But we
can
fix this. And in the meantime you’ve a good excuse not to do any washing up. You’ll need to keep your plaster cast dry.”

Nick chuckles. “Freya’s not especially keen on washing up at the best of times. What about showering? Or taking a bath?”

The doctor nods. “Yes, showers are a problem, though some people manage by wrapping the cast in a plastic bag. A bath’s easier, though, you can just keep that hand out of the water.” She looks at me sternly. “You’ll need to be very careful getting in and out of the bath. Your balance will be all over the place until you get used to the uneven weight of the cast, and it’s very easy to slip. I don’t want to be seeing you back here with the other arm broken too.”

Me neither. I wonder if I can manage a whole six weeks without having a bath or a shower… Possibly, but I’ll need to invest in a crate or two of deodorant.

We’re shown into another cubicle, which the staff call the plaster room. Clearly this is where pots get put on. Nick squeezes my hand and we wait patiently while Staff Nurse Laycock assembles the gear she’ll need for putting my wrist in plaster, which seems to mostly consist of a plastic bucket half full of tepid water, some rolls of bandages and a huge plastic overall. She covers herself with the overall, settles me on a bed with a splash-proof cover on, places a towel over my clothes then gets started. It’s a messy business, but within a few minutes my wrist is encased in quick drying plaster bandages. Staff Nurse Laycock arranges my wrist carefully to make sure it’s in exactly the right position before she loops the plaster around my thumb, effectively preventing any further movement in the joint. She finishes with a dry top cover then hands Nick a card with my appointment for the fracture clinic in two days’ time.

And that’s it, I’m sorted. At least for now. The effects of the painkillers are wearing off by the time we cross the car park back to my car, but my wrist feels sort of okay now that the pot is taking all the weight. I manage to get back into the passenger seat unaided, but Nick has to click my seatbelt into place.

As we pull away from the hospital I’m wondering how I’ll get to the clinic for my new pot to be put on, as it’s clear I won’t be driving for a few weeks. I need to ask Nick to pre-book me a taxi. I’m too shattered to concentrate on typing the message into his phone just yet, though, so I settle back to rest my eyes again.

Chapter Two

When I wake up, it’s to find us purring along the thickly wooded road leading from Newby Bridge down towards Cartmel. This is definitely not the quickest route from Barrow to Kendal. I glance across at Nick, frowning in puzzlement.

He doesn’t even look at me, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. But he’s aware I’m awake, and clearly looking for some sort of explanation for this detour. “I thought you’d be better at mine for a few days at least. Maybe later, when you’ve got the lightweight plaster on, you’ll be able to manage. Meanwhile, you need someone to look after you and I guess that’s me. Any objections?”

Well, that explains the detour.
Now he does look at me, and I see the steely glint of the Dom in his eyes. He expects me to obey him, even though we’re not—what?—together anymore. And for my part I appreciate now that old habits die hard, and maybe not so old ones as well. I nod my acquiescence. Satisfied, Nick returns his attention to driving.