Jill stood outside the unfamiliar building, gazing around at the large site, the bustling people, the surrounding structures. There was no open expanse of sea and none of the things that went along with it, so pleasant to the senses; no cawing of seagulls; no crisp, clean sea air blown in the gentle, or sometimes high wind. Instead, from where she stood, all around her were buildings. Admittedly, some were attractive; elegant Victorian decorations adorning the fronts. But however appealing they were, none could compare with the sea and the gardens surrounding The Royal. With this fairly negative thought in mind, Jill took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly before making her first steps up the path towards the main entrance, forcing herself to think of the reason she had come here in the first place.

She entered and made her way to the reception desk, pausing only to check the name on the piece paper clutched in her hand. The sheet showed obvious signs of use, the creases deep and the paper thinning where they ran. The corners were furled slightly browned with handling. All were indications of the worry and indecision the arrival of the paper had brought to Jill.

"Hello, can I help you?" A severe looking woman said behind the organised reception desk, her expression full of distaste and snobbery, the complete opposite to their smiling, friendly Lizzie.

Jill forced a smile"Erm, yes. I'm Dr Weatherill, I have an appointment with Mr Racheed."

The receptionist glanced down at the book in front of her. When she raised her gaze to meet Jill's, she was mildly shocked at the amount of coldness there seemed to be present in her eyes. "Very well, please take a seat. He will be with you shortly."

Jill flashed her a strained smile, before picking her way to the back of the crowded waiting room and lowering herself onto one of the leather padded chairs.

She allowed herself to take in her surroundings. How very different it was to The Royal. It was bigger for a start, and less cosy and welcoming somehow. Maybe it was the newer building, the more angular structure, instead of The Royal's older, more ornate interior. Although, she mused as she glanced up and caught the receptionist glaring at her, perhaps it was just the welcome, or lack of one, people received.

She unfolded the piece of paper, yet again, and checked the name, yet again, though it was nervousness that was causing her to do it, the name was imprinted in her mind, she had no need to check it.

She sighed and folded up the paper, before placing it in her handbag. She had to fight the urge to retrieve it and check, just one more time. A movement caught her eye. She looked down to see her foot bouncing up and down, a subconscious movement, made without her realisation, another give-away of her nerves.

She had just given herself a silent lecture, berating herself for her silliness, when a nurse called out her name. Quickly, she rose, gathered her belongings, and followed the nurse, becoming increasingly anxious and tense with each step she took down the long, unfamiliar corridor.


As she followed the nurse, Jill took in as much of her surroundings as she could. She passed many a door to many different rooms, all integral to hospital life; consulting rooms, wards, laundry, x-ray. And the rooms she didn't pass, she saw signs to. She also tried to take in the faces of the staff; the nurses, porters, cleaners, and a two men she presumed to be doctors. And through all this, she kept asking herself one question. Could she imagine herself here?

The nurse she was following suddenly stopped, forcing Jill to concentrate on her and the door they had come to. It was simple, light green in colour, and upon the front was a brass nameplate, so shiny the opposite side of the corridor was visibly reflected upon it. Carved neatly into the brass was the same name as on the paper Jill had checked time and again.

A sharp rapping was to be heard as the nurse's knuckles connected with the solid wood, followed swiftly by a call to enter. The nurse opened the door and addressed the person inside whom Jill couldn't see. "Doctor Jill Weatherill, sir."

"Thank you Nurse. Send her in."

The nurse stepped aside and gestured for Jill to enter. She thanked the nurse and did so, the door closing behind her as the nurse left.

"Ahh, Doctor Weatherill, take a seat."

She smiled nervously and lowered herself into a leather chair, identical to those in the reception area. She lowered her eyes and busied herself with arranging her bag, coat and skirt, before clasping her hands in her lap, and raising her eyes once again.

In front of her was a large, wide, dark oak desk, upon which sat many a pile of neatly arranged sheets of paper, envelopes and files. Sat behind the desk was a smartly dressed man, hair perfect, and a gaze which held hers intently. He watched he contemplated her, every second he was silent serving to make her heart rate accelerate as her nervousness increased as did her discomfort. Was she expected to say something? If so, what? She opened her mouth, her lips forming the beginnings of a word when the man spoke, no doubt saving her from saying something clumsy.

"Doctor Weatherill." He paused, and she nodded, purely to show she was listening; it wasn't as if the simple utterance of her name gave her any lead as to what she should say. Thankfully, though, he continued. "Welcome to Leeds General Hospital. As you are probably aware, I'm Mr Racheed, the hospital administrator." He leant across the desk and outstretched his hand, and she took it, his fingers curling round hers in a firm, confident clasp, held for the appropriate amount of time, before released. He sat back in his chair his hand taking up a pen, and she returned hers to her lap. Mr Racheed glanced down at the piece of paper laid in front of him, his elegant fountain pen poised above it. His gaze returned to Jill.

And so it began.