"Foot's pinked up nicely. Looks like that arterial graft did the trick!"
Jill let out a relieved sigh as she heard this. She removed her theatre cap, and held it loosely in her hand, the elastic around the edge holding it in circular shape. It had become an unconscious habit of hers- Gordon had informed her of this- to hold her cap at the end of a stint in theatre in a way that reflects her mood; loosely as now if the operation had been a success, or in a tight ball in her fist if the procedure had been particularly arduous, complicated or a failure altogether.
She swung the green material as she stood outside theatre, Gordon at her side, both watching Mr Rose examine Anita's foot. They stood aside, allowing Staff Nurse Taylor and Alun to wheel the trolley out to a side ward.
"I'm off as well. There's a drink waiting for me at the 19th hole." He puffed his pipe as if in farewell, and strode down the corridor with his characteristic confidence, probably scaring some of the newer staff members out of his path as he went.
Jill waved her hand in front of her face in an attempt to dispel the smoke, before glancing to her right, suddenly aware that she and Gordon were the only occupants of the room. It felt strange to her that there should be such awkwardness at the prospect. Normally they would relish a few moments alone together at work, especially if one of them had had a particularly difficult day, as had been her morning. But she had to remind herself once again that everything had changed overnight.
She turned to face him properly, deciding to try and begin a normal conversation in the hope that he would respond normally, and some familiarity would be reinstated into their relationship.
"Gord-" She began but he cut her off.
"What were you thinking Jill?"
"Pardon?" The shock was evident in her voice at the ferocity he delivered his words, at the accompanying fury in his features.
"What were you thinking, going down there? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"
"I-" She began, ready with retaliate with as good as she got, only to be cut off again.
"Frankie was already down there. You didn't have to go as well."
"What so it's okay for him to risk his life is it?"
"That's not what I'm saying and you know it!"
"So what are you saying then eh?"
"You don't think! You just rush in, regardless of the consequences!"
"How dare you criticize me like that! I do not!" Her emotions rose, her fingers clenched around the cap, gathering it up into a fraction of its original size, as she glared at him, willing him to respond so she could stand her ground once again. But she never got that chance as his next words put an end to the argument.
"You do! You did it today, and you've done it before. Take the other day!"
He stopped abruptly, and she was too winded to give a response. The words echoed in the corridor long after they had left his mouth. She blamed herself for what happened with Patrick Mavers, but to know Gordon held her responsible as well was too much to bear.
She turned and ran, too ashamed and hurt to be near him.
Gordon felt unable to move for a few moments, he merely stood and watched Jill's retreating back. Just as he was about to do the right thing and go after her, a figure moved in front of him; Matron. He could tell from the look on her face that she'd heard at last part of the very vocal exchange between the two, and he knew he was in for a telling off. But he didn't prepare an excuse. He deserved to be reprimanded for his actions. He deserved more than just Matron's sharp tongue though, he deserved his wife's full fury. But she hadn't unleashed it upon him, and he knew why; he'd hurt her too deeply.
"Kindly refrain from airing your private disputes in the public of this hospital. It's unprofessional, I won't stand for it."
"Sorry Matron." He muttered, turning back to see the corridor empty of Jill. He could still go after her, put things right, but he used Matron's reprimand as an excuse to himself.
He began down the corridor Jill had passed through, picking up his doctor's bag along the way. But instead of stopping at her office where he knew she'd be, he carried on, out of the white double doors, and into the car park to begin his house calls. He concentrated on driving, forced himself to think of his patients so his thoughts didn't stray to Jill and the look on her face as he'd uttered the accusation.
She was aware as she ran down the corridor that she was still wearing her hospital scrubs. She should have turned, gone back to theatre and removed them, placing them in the designated washing basket. It was, afterall the rules; risk of infection from splashes of patients' blood and so on. And Jill, normally a stickler for the rules would normally have done just that. But, as she already knew, today was no normal day, and the rules were the last things on her mind as she fled into her office, finally allowing herself to break down in the familiar privacy the four walls presented. It was privacy intended for patients, but there had been times when she had sought the solitude, away from the prying eyes of the staff and patients.
Tears coursed down her cheeks as she simply stood in the middle of her empty room. Never before had she needed the seclusion as much as she did now, never had she such a desperate need to be away from everyone, and hide her emotions. Conversely she wanted company, albeit of one person. She longed for Gordon to come bursting through the door, full of apologies and explanations.
As the minutes went by since their outburst, her hope of such an event diminished, until she could hope no more, and she resigned herself to the fact that her husband wasn't going to come and attempt to make things right between them and resolve the situation that had been worsening throughout the day.
Despite wishing Gordon would apologise, Jill couldn't help feeling responsible; he had, afterall blamed her for the incident with Patrick Mavers, or that had been his implication, whether he intended it to be or not. Was it possible that his blame was the cause of his suddenly changed attitude to her aswell as the argument?
She angrily hurled her balled-up cap across the room, watching as the material collided softly with the wall, unfurled and floated down to the carpet. The action did nothing to match her fury at Gordon, herself and the whole situation that had spiralled so quickly out of their control.
