Read the book: «The Doctor's Longed-for Bride»

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU JUST WOULDN’T believe what it was like last night—just completely scary. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!’

Corey Davidson flopped down on the pub bench, and Francesca Lovatt looked up from the letter she was absorbed in reading. ‘What, Corey?’ she said absently, then her face cleared. ‘Oh, yes…the speed-dating evening. I thought it was supposed to be fun?’

Corey groaned, her round face a picture of dejection. ‘I’m just no good at thinking of questions to ask people I’ve nothing in common with. You know I hate all sports and every man there seemed to be heavily into football, golf or tennis…’

‘Perhaps you ought to join a tennis club, then,’ suggested Frankie, putting the letter back in her pocket with a sigh and feeling slightly sick from the shock of its contents.

Corey scowled. ‘No fear. And it was deeply humiliating, too—I didn’t get anyone wanting my phone number!’

‘Did you want any of their phone numbers?’ enquired Frankie, unable to help smiling at her friend’s comically woebegone face, despite the news she’d just received.

‘No,’ admitted Corey. She looked enviously at Frankie. ‘You’re so lucky to have Damian—did you fix a date for the wedding when he was over?’

Frankie swallowed hard. ‘Not yet…You know he had to go back to South America unexpectedly when the manager of the factory died, so he was only here for a few days.’ She bit her lip and looked sadly at her friend, then added slowly, ‘Actually, I’ve just had a letter. He…he doesn’t know when he can come home—and he doesn’t want me to go out there because of the unrest in that area at the moment. And…well, there is something more…’

Her voice trailed off and Corey put her hand sympathetically on Frankie’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Frankie. Here am I, rabbiting on about my ghastly evening and you’ve got worries of your own. You must be fed up.’

Frankie pushed the letter towards Corey. ‘Read the last part,’ she said. ‘It was quite a shock I can tell you.’

‘Not before I get us both a drink,’ declared her friend, jumping up from the bench. ‘I have a feeling it’s bad news and after the day we’ve had in A and E we need a pick-me-up—preferably alcoholic!’

She pushed her way through the crowded bar and Frankie leant back on her seat and closed her eyes for a second, propping her tired legs up on the table crossbar to relieve the pressure on her feet. It had been a long day in Casualty and she wasn’t at all sure that coming to the crowded smoky atmosphere of the Drover’s Arms had been the best idea, especially after reading Damian’s letter. Perhaps the full import of it hadn’t hit her yet because she felt rather numb, detached almost from what Damian had said.

Corey returned with two white wine spritzers and looked at Frankie’s pale face and the dark rings under her eyes. ‘You look knackered Frankie—have a swig of this,’ she declared, handing over the drink.

‘I do feel shattered,’ admitted Frankie. ‘But you must be as well—we were run off our feet after dealing with that multiple RTA this afternoon. We’re so short-staffed at the moment, especially now Larry Higson’s left.’

‘Yeah, it’s a shame about Larry taking off. It can’t be much fun for you, being the only registrar on the unit sometimes. Anyway, help is at hand—someone’s coming in his place tomorrow. I met him at lunchtime.’

Frankie raised her brows. ‘I’m glad to hear that, but how come I’m the last to find out? Do we know who it is—anyone local?’

Corey shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. Jack someone or other—wants to get a consultancy in A and E. Must be mad!’

‘Jack?’ A momentary flicker of interest. ‘Do you know his surname?’

‘No idea, but he’s a bit of all right.’ Corey giggled. ‘Perhaps he’s a better bet than speed-dating. Think you know him?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. I did work with someone called Jack at my last job, but he disappeared quite suddenly and there must be hundreds of registrars with that name.’

Jack Herrick, Damian’s brother-in-law… Frankie sighed. She still hadn’t got over the extraordinary shock when Jack had left without warning, not even staying to see Damian who had been due to come home the following week. It had been a complete mystery as to why Jack should have gone without saying a word to her, just a cursory note left pinned on her locker at work and a brief mention of hoping to see her again, probably at her wedding to Damian. Later she’d heard on the grapevine that he’d become engaged, which had surprised her as she had not known he had even wanted to go out with anyone after losing Sue.

There was no doubt that Jack’s abrupt departure without explanation had hurt. He’d been a comforting link with Damian. She’d thought their mutual support system had helped them both—he’d been like a rock when Damian had had to go abroad and sort out the old family business, a shoulder to cry on, in fact. In turn, he’d talked to her about his little girl, and the difficulties involved in being a widower with a child. They’d worked together at the large casualty department at St Mary’s hospital, thirty miles from the infirmary, and Frankie was sure she’d developed a close and relaxed friendship with him. After all, she was going to be a part of his family in that she was marrying his brother-in-law. It had been a slap in the face when he’d just disappeared without even the courtesy of a goodbye.

She gave a mental shrug of dismissal as Corey’s voice broke into her thoughts. All that was history—she was at another hospital now and only concerned with the present and what Damian had written to her.

‘Now, let me see this letter—looks as if it’s upset you,’ said Corey.

Frankie held it out. ‘You’ll see why when you read it, but I’d rather the whole department didn’t know yet.’

Corey looked scornfully at her friend. ‘As if,’ she protested. ‘You know me better than that.’

Her eyes widened as she scanned the sheet of paper, then she put down the letter and whistled softly, shaking her head and looking in disbelief at Frankie. ‘Oh, God, Frankie, I don’t believe this—he must be mad! He can’t mean all that about not wanting to be engaged any more,’ she added vehemently. ‘He loved you, wanted to marry you. There must be some reason for him to break it off so suddenly.’

Frankie shrugged, and although she tried to keep her voice light, there was a bitter edge to her words. ‘I thought he loved me, too. When he came over he gave me the impression that he couldn’t bear to leave me…’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I must have missed something, mustn’t I?’

Corey looked at her friend, full of sympathy. ‘Why didn’t he tell you when he was over here? Too bloody cowardly by half. He left it until he’d gone back—the rat!’

‘Perhaps he was just trying to do the right thing by me,’ said Francesca flatly. ‘He won’t be back for at least a year and maybe he doesn’t want to tie me down for all that time…’

‘Tie himself down more like,’ said Corey cynically. ‘What do you really think, Frankie?’

Frankie stared down at the letter on the table in front of her then looked up at Corey. ‘I think you’re right,’ she admitted. ‘It’s him that wants to be free, although he doesn’t mention that there’s anyone else. Anyway, what’s the point of being engaged to someone if they don’t love you any more? I would like to know the truth, though—why he’s suddenly dumped me…’

She felt tears pressing against her eyes and took a long drink to quell the telltale sobs that threatened to choke her. Corey was right—why hadn’t he had the guts to tell her when they had been together? She felt a hollow empty feeling of rejection coupled with a gathering anger that he’d never hinted that his feelings for her might have changed. It was all so sudden, out of the blue.

‘What will you do?’ asked Corey, putting her arm round Frankie and hugging her comfortingly.

Frankie pulled a snapshot out of her pocket and scanned it bleakly. ‘I can’t kill the man,’ she said in an attempt at humour, ‘but I’m going to have to put him out of my mind somehow…’

Corey looked over her shoulder at the picture. ‘Yeah—he’s drop-dead gorgeous all right, but he must be a moron to let someone like you go.’ She scanned Frankie’s heart-shaped face, framed by thick chestnut hair, and grinned at her. ‘It’s my bet that within the year another twenty men will be after you!’

Frankie tightened her lips and tore the photo into little pieces. ‘I doubt it, Corey, and I can tell you that at this moment in time the last thing I’ll be searching for is a man…what’s the point? You give your heart to someone—and for what? You’re rejected with no reason given, no warning. It’s as if you might never even have existed, the past years wiped out, forgotten about…’

Corey took Frankie’s hands and squeezed them. ‘Darling Frankie, don’t let him get you down…you’re worth so much more than he is!’

She smiled at Frankie who even managed a watery smile in return. ‘Don’t worry,’ Frankie said staunchly. ‘I hope I’m made of sterner stuff than that…’

But it was going to be tough, she reflected as she watched the other people in the pub—so many of them with partners, laughing and happy. It was hard to imagine that any of them were feeling quite as desolate as she was at that moment.

A sudden bellow of noise in the room and a certain commotion around the bar made both girls spin round. The landlord, a big burly man, was pushing his way purposefully through the jostling crowd, a warning finger held up.

His angry voice floated over towards them. ‘You can stop that here and now—I won’t have brawling in my pub! Put that bottle down!’

There was a sound of shouting and scuffling. Corey groaned. ‘Oh, no, we have enough of this at work. What the hell’s going on?’

‘Who suggested we should go and have a quiet drink after work?’ murmured Frankie sardonically. ‘Perhaps next time we’ll go to the café on the high street for a nice cup of tea…’

A chair was thrown against the bar, and a scream came from a woman in the little knot of onlookers. Then there was a general intake of breath as someone fell to the floor and two or three men began to wrestle with a tall youth in a black leather jacket and shaven head. Gradually he was manhandled to the wall and pinned against it with his arms behind his back. The figure on the floor lay still.

‘I only tapped him one,’ shouted the youth. ‘It was just a tickle—no reason for him to go down. He was threatening me with a bottle… He’s dead drunk, out for the count.’

Frankie’s eyes met Corey’s in humorous exasperation. ‘Here we go—sounds rather familiar doesn’t it?’ she murmured. ‘Better go and look, I suppose.’

They pushed their way through the small crowd of gawping customers, and Frankie said quietly to the landlord, who was bending down by the fallen man with two other people. ‘I’m a doctor and my friend’s a nurse—perhaps we’d better see how this man is if you’d just let us through…’

The landlord looked at her with relief and stepped back. ‘Thank God—I’d be grateful. This is the last thing I need. No decent punters want to come to a place where brawls are happening. The police and ambulance are on their way—but Lord knows how long they’ll be.’ He glanced down at the supine figure before him. ‘This guy looks as if he’s had a skinful—completely blotto. What do you think?’

The young man had started groaning, his eyes fluttering in a grey-tinged face and his limbs moving restlessly from side to side.

‘He’s still with us at any rate,’ said Frankie, and squatted down beside him, holding his wrist to take his pulse, touching his forehead with her hand. She looked up at the curious onlookers. ‘Anyone know this man’s name?’

‘Gary Hemp,’ shouted someone.

‘Right, Gary,’ said Frankie, bending low over the man. ‘Can you hear me?’

Gary muttered something unintelligible, and Frankie pulled down his lower eyelid to look at his pupils. ‘No reaction,’ she murmured. ‘He’s sweating and his heart rate’s up.’ She looked up at Corey, frowning. ‘But something doesn’t add up here. Did you see where he was hit?’ she asked the landlord, who was now standing over her with folded arms and pursed lips.

‘It didn’t look a full-blooded punch,’ he admitted, ‘more a swipe that glanced against his chin, but he went down like a felled tree.’

‘It’s possible he’s got concussion from hitting his head on the floor,’ pondered Frankie, ‘But it’s a carpeted area here. I wouldn’t have thought…’ She bent forward and smelt the man’s breath, then looked up at Corey with a slightly triumphant smile. ‘I think I’ve got it, Corey. Not sure if I’m right, though. What do you think?’

Corey knelt next to Gary and put her face close to his. ‘He smells of alcohol, that’s for sure…but there is something else on his breath, too, which reminds me of nail polish. It’s acetone, isn’t it?’

Frankie nodded. ‘My guess is he’s diabetic, and he’s got alcohol-induced hypoglycaemia. It probably didn’t help when he was involved in a fight. At least we know what we’re trying to cope with when the ambulancemen get here.’

A man from the watching crowd called out, ‘That’s right, Doc—he’s diabetic. Has to inject himself every day.’

‘Ah, yes, look at that, Corey—a pinprick on his thumb.’

Frankie turned the man’s hand towards Corey, who put a cushion from one of the chairs under Gary’s head and covered him with a rug the barman handed to her.

‘Is he in danger?’ asked the landlord looking anxiously at the figure on the floor.

‘If he’s not treated, he could be,’ admitted Frankie.

‘In what way? What can it do to him?’ asked the landlord. ‘I thought he’d just had a skinful.’

‘A diabetic who takes alcohol can suffer an unnatural surge of insulin, and that can absorb too much of the glucose in his blood. That affects the nervous system, which in turn could lead to brain damage,’ she explained.

‘Bloody hell,’ said the landlord. He gazed nervously at the youth and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. ‘Will he be all right, then?’

The sound of a siren whining down to silence came from outside and two policemen and a paramedic appeared at the door. The two girls exchanged relieved looks and Corey murmured, ‘The cavalry’s arrived, thank God. Once we’ve got some glucose into him he’ll improve.’

The paramedic strode over to the injured man and then looked at Frankie and Corey in surprise. ‘I thought I’d said goodbye to you two about an hour ago—after we brought in those RTA victims. Don’t you have a home to go to?’ He knelt down beside Frankie. ‘What’s happened to this gentleman?’

‘I’m pretty sure it’s alcohol-induced hypolglycaemia,’ said Frankie. ‘I suggest you give him fifty grams of glucose intravenously, and then you can take him back to hospital and get him in balance again. His name’s Gary Hemp.’

‘I’ll do a quick blood test with a Haemastix strip,’ said the paramedic, opening his medical bag. He withdrew a little blood from the patient’s arm and put a blob on the strip. ‘Yup—his blood sugar’s way down,’ he remarked. ‘Better get some glucagen into him.’

He took out a prepacked needle and phial of glucose, which he swiftly injected into the man. ‘Involved in a fight, was he? He’s got a cut lip…’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ shouted the other youth, now held by one of the policemen. ‘I told you, he suddenly went beserk—tried to kill me with a broken bottle, he did! I wasn’t doing anything to him at all, just talking about football,’ he added in an aggrieved voice.

‘He could very well have got aggressive just before he went down,’ murmured Frankie to the other policeman. ‘People who are out of balance with their insulin can sometimes become very hostile—change their character completely.’

Gradually the young man’s eyes flickered open and he looked in a bewildered way at the faces above him.

‘You’re all right, Gary—just had some imbalance with your insulin,’ said the paramedic. ‘Forget to take it today, did you? Don’t worry, son, we’re just going to take you to hospital to check you out.’

The youth moaned faintly. ‘What’s happened?’ he croaked as he was being stretchered out of the pub. The other youth’s details were taken down by the policeman. Gradually the onlookers drifted back to the bar, and the paramedic turned to Frankie and Corey as he picked up his medical bag.

‘I know you’re off duty,’ he said pleadingly, ‘but you couldn’t come back with us, could you? Just heard that there’s been a general call for more staff—a wall’s collapsed in the high street and there’s several people trapped. Some of the A and E staff have gone out to the scene.’

Corey groaned. ‘I was going to have a lovely bath, watch telly all evening and eat really unhealthy food…’

She looked enquiringly at Frankie, who shrugged and nodded. ‘Go on, then, tell them we’ll be there in a minute.’ After all, she thought bleakly, she wasn’t going to be doing anything else when she went home—not even making plans for a wedding any more.

* * *

Denniston Vale Infirmary was a sprawling Victorian Hospital with modern additional wings tacked onto it in random fashion, their pockmarked walls contrasting oddly with the magnificent stonework of the original building. It stood on a hill at the edge of Denniston town, an imposing clock tower rising from the centre of the building and impressive stone steps leading up to the front entrance, although the ambulances went round the back where the casualty department was situated.

As Frankie’s car swung round the corner to the staff car park, they could see three ambulances lined up, with patients being lifted out on trolleys then being pushed through to the unit. Two police cars were parked to the side of the ambulances, their blue lights still flashing, and a harassed-looking plump nurse with a clipboard was watching the proceedings.

‘Looks a biggy,’ groaned Corey. ‘My feet are killing me already at the thought of it.’

‘Come on,’ said Frankie. ‘You won’t notice your feet once you get going.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ retorted Corey. ‘And look who’s on duty—fusspot Sister Kenney. That’s going to make my day.’

She jumped out of the car and they began to trot towards the entrance.

‘What did I tell you?’ she murmured, as the nurse stepped towards them and wrote something on the clipboard. ‘Evening, Sister Kenney.’

The woman nodded to her, a brief smile replacing her worried frown for a minute. ‘Thank you for coming in—I’m really grateful.’ She waved vaguely towards the bustle of ambulances and stretchers. ‘As you can see, we’re very much stretched at the moment. We’ve got Mr Burton from Orthopaedics helping to deal with the injuries from the collapsed wall and I’ve managed to persuade the senior nursing officer to loan us some nurses from Medical.’