Chapter 16 - is now live and kicking!
It's not exactly angsty - but it's not a cheerful or fun chapter. But it'll bring Shelagh and Patrick a little closer I hope!
Thanks for all my reviews so far - they're great fun to read! So please do continue, and I hope you enjoy this latest instalment!
X
Shelagh took a bite of her sandwich, coronation chicken from the small beige WRVS shop on the ground floor with a tin of Orangina, she had made herself a pasta salad the night before but she'd over slept and run out of the flat at full pelt that morning with barely enough time to feed Bernadette and had completely forgotten the tupperwear pot in the fridge. Washing down her mouthful with a sip of drink she flicked through the magazine abandoned on top of the staff room fridge. Someone who was famous for no apparent reason was getting married to a similar celebrity and someone off Coronation street had been photographed knicker-less rolling out of a taxi cab in the West End. Sighing she threw the magazine back onto the table and leant across to flick on the aging tele set that sat in the corner of the room balanced precariously on top of the lockers, after a moment of static the news came on.
" … David Cameron has today called a press conference regarding the government's latest u-turn on NHS budget cuts. Health correspondent Jane Hughes has the full story …"
Although intrigued by the governments latest cock up on the NHS, Shelagh was distracted by the tinny ringing of her mobile phone in her scrubs pocket, the screen declared that *Molly – mob* was ringing, leaning across without standing up off her chair she kicked the staff room door shut and answered the call,
"Afternoon Molls."
"Shelagh – sorry are you at work?"
"Uhh – yeah, I'm on a break. What's up hen?"
"It's Dad, he's in hospital."
"What?" quickly sitting up straighter in her chair and dumping the remains of her dinner onto the cluttered coffee table.
"It's his heart, I don't know Shelagh they won't say anything – he rang me to say he wasn't feeling well so I went around and he was really poorly Shelagh. I didn't know what to do but now they won't tell me anything."
"Oh my God, well should I come up?"
"Don't be soft – you can't come all this way. It's probably nothing – but I just didn't know who else to call. I was just scared."
"Oh God."
"Don't panic – it's all under control up here."
"Well look, where is he?"
"ARI, so he's in good hands and the staff have all been lovely – sorry I've got to go there's a doctor here to see me – sorry bye now."
"Right – bye." Pressing the end call button, Shelagh sat stock still on the uncomfortable hard plastic chair, she stood up quicker than she had intended and felt her brain lurch violently as she stumbled. Straitening up she walked quickly out of the staff room, her mobile still in her hand, she almost walked straight into Trixie who was stood at the nurses station flicking through some a set of notes.
"Ey baby girl, what's your problem, why you look so worried?"
"Sorry …"
"Ey don't be sorry – no harm been done. What's up baby girl?"
"Have you seen Patrick?"
"Yeah, sure he's in with John in room 2 – why you need him?"
"It's just a … I'm not sure. Room 2?"
"Room 2 – Shelagh, you don't look good girl, sit down for me."
"No – I'm fine."
"Shelagh you're not fine, you're not even a little bit fine. Sit down, I'll get your fella now, just wait eh." Trixie led Shelagh back behind the nurses' station and onto one of the swivel chairs before bustling off to room 2, her thick afro threatening to burst out of her hair bobble, as it threatened to every day but never did – Trixie's wild Trinidadian hair was a feat of engineering, both vast and soft while sturdy and controlled. It was around five minutes before Patrick had a suitable gap in the woman's labour to come out of the room, in all honesty the woman didn't really need him there, her labour was going smoothly and there were no complications, she was just nervous. And he knew that Shelagh was utterly devoted to her work, and if she was calling him out of a delivery room then she had good reason.
"Hi Love, what is Trixie said you'd had a funny turn?"
"It's Dad, my Dad. He's in hospital back home, Molly just rang me … it's his heart. Sorry – I just panicked. I think I'm going to have to go up there."
"Of course you do! Don't be silly, look – fly, that'll be the quickest. Why don't you go online now, buy yourself a ticket and umm … and I'll drive to your flat and grab you some clothes and your passport. And me and Tim'll take Bernadette in for however long you need – alright?"
"Yeah … yeah that'd be great. Thank you."
"Love, don't be daft."
"Trixie, can you page the on call obs registrar and get them up here PDQ?"
"Yeah of course my love."
It had only been at the last minute at the airport that Shelagh had finally thought to change out of her uniform, it was generally considered bad form to turn up to other hospitals in your own hospital's uniform. Now wrapped up against the Scottish rain that was pelting against the roof of the taxi in her jumper and jeans she switched on her phone for the first time in several hours. There was a missed call from Molly from about an hour before with an accompanying text,
*Just been moved to Cardio – 3rd floor – in the red zone. M X*
and a text from Patrick,
*Ring me if you need anything – T sends his love. Love you P X*
she rattled off two replies and was just pocketing the phone as the drew up outside the broad rectangular grey building. She hadn't been to the hospital in a very long time, probably since before she had left home, it hadn't changed much, whether that was reassuring or not she couldn't decide.
She walked briskly up the labarynthian corridors, sure that she was walking round in circles until she saw a sign for the red zone, and eventually found her way to the plasticy wooden doors of the cardio unit. A sign on the doors proclaimed in large red letters that:
INFECTION CONTROL IS EVERYONE'S RESPONSIBILITY
please wash your hands on entering and leaving the ward
having scrubbed her hands in the small sink she pressed the intercom and waited, after a moment a crackle came out of the speaker.
"Good morning Cardio."
"I'm here to see Michael McDonald."
"Come on in." There was a buzz as the door unlocked and an efficient dark haired nurse bustled over and smiled at Shelagh, "Hello there, you must be Shelagh?"
"Yes that's me."
"Your sister told us you were coming, I'm Shona, one of the staff nurses. If you want to pop into Bay 1, your Dad's in bed 5. I'll get Doctor Fraser to come and speak to you."
"How is Dad?"
"He's alright at the moment, go-on through, I'll get Dr Fraser for you."
"Thanks – uh Bay 1 bed 5 you said?"
"Yes, just on the left there."
Shelagh continued through the ward, passing the nurses station where two men in blues were typing feverishly while one had a phone clamped between his shoulder and his ear. The sign next to Bay 1 was the same as the one of the door to ward, dutifully washing her hands again, Shelagh passed into the room, its beige paint stained with the marks of detergent wiped across.
Sat next to her father sat Molly, she had one hand resting on his cannula filled hand and the other was rattling out a text on her mobile.
"Molls." Molly sat up and turned towards her sister, she stood up and reached across for a hug.
"Shelagh, thanks for coming, you didn't have to you know."
"Yes I did, and you can thank Patrick, he sorted out the flights and got me clean clothes."
"He's a good un' – there's been no change. The doctors done a – ECG is it?"
"Yeah it will be, is it in his file?"
"I think so." Shelagh reached across to the end of the bed to pick up file, flicking through to find the pink ECG sheet, she ran her finger across the line, tracing the rise and fall,
"Have the looked at his trop-t?"
"I have no-idea! You're the nurse…" Shelagh flicked through the file some more, hunting the sheet of paper with his blood results on. "Umm – have you had any word from Mike?" Asked Molly nervously, Shelagh looked up quickly with a frown.
"No, why? Have you rang him?"
"I've tried, but you know what our dear brother's like. The only phone number I had for him was switched off, I don't know if it's even his number any-more."
"Where is he at the moment?"
"Your guess is as good as mine Shelagh. Last time I spoke to him he was still in Chicago, but that was about 3 years ago."
"I had a three minute phone conversation with him … I don't know … 18 months ago, he was in Istanbul and needed his birth certificate sent to the British Embassy."
"Do you have the number he rang you on?"
"No no, no idea sorry. He could be anywhere now."
"Why was he in Istanbul?"
"Take a wild guess!"
"A girl?"
"Got it in one! I'll see if I can track him down – he should be here."
"He was never close to Dad though."
"He'd still want to be here."
"Sure about that?"
"Nope. So what have the doctors said about Dad?"
"Heart attack – bad – they want to put a sent it, what is that?"
"Umm – it's like a metal mesh that holds open a collapsed artery. So, what's happening?"
"The doctor -"
" - Dr Fraser?"
"Yeah, he said he needed to go and speak to someone and then he'd get back to us, that was about an hour ago. The nurses have been great though."
"Good."
"He will be alright Shelagh wont he?"
"Hope so Molls, how long have you been here?"
"About 10 hours now."
"Go on home to the kids, I'll take over for a bit."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah go-on, have a shower too – you look dreadful." She added with a smile,
"Cheeky bint. Alright – well ring me if you get any news."
"Will do, don't worry."
Will all passengers from the Air Lingus flight 306 from Dublin please be advised of delays on their connecting flight to Edinburgh. We apologise for any inconvenience caused.
Patrick and Tim wandered out of the departure lounge, their ruc-sacks on their backs filled with emergency supplies of clothes grabbed out of the drier in haste. Patrick looked about the collection of relatives and taxi drivers for any sign of Molly Kerr. After a moment of looking about and being pushed aside by business men in suits and families dragging tired children behind them he heard his name being called out in a thick Scottish brogue. He turned to face the source of the voice, it was a woman, in her mid 30's, similar to Shelagh – she had the same fair hair as her sister and had the same small frame although she wasn't quite as slim and her nose was somehow different, altering her face shape.
"It is Patrick isn't it? Shelagh told me to look out for a middle aged man with a young boy."
"Middle aged? I'll have her for that one, you must be Molly."
"That's me, it's lovely to meet you both."
"I only wish it were under more pleasant circumstances."
"Yes, and you must be Tim?"
"Yeah … hi."
"Hello there, well it's only a wee drive back to my house, Shelagh's come back to mine. Tim – I've put you on a camp bed on my lad Harry's room, he's only seven but I'm sure you'll get on alright. Patrick – you're in with Shelagh in the spare room."
"Thank you, this really is very kind of you."
"Och – don't mention it, you're family now."
"How is your father?"
"Doing well actually, the doctors are fairly confident, and I think we are too – to a degree."
Tim smiled broadly at the question, he looked between the three hopeful adult faces and enjoyed for a moment the feeling powerful and clever.
"It was really simple. I mean … not really simple. But it was pretty easy." He said proudly,
"Well go on then!"
"Michael McDonald, your brother, is in France, Paris." taking a mouthful of peas he beamed at the family.
"How do you know?!"
"Well you said he had lived in Istanbul and Chicago. So I searched for people called Michael McDonald online. You said he was an artist, so I found a page from a French art magazine about a Scottish artist living in Paris. With a link to his Facebook page, and on the facebook page he had friends from Chicago and Turkey, as well as loads of other places. On his info bit it said that he was from Aberdeen originally, like, I know that you call him Mike – but he seems to be calling himself Michael on here … there was an address for his studio in Montmartre, so I googled for a phone number. It's here." He dug his phone out of his pocket and scrolled down to find the phone number, after a second of hunting he passed his mobile across the table to Shelagh,
"You're a genius Tim!" Cried Molly, she took the mobile off Shelagh as it was passed around the table, Patrick smiled proudly at his son and took a mouth full of chicken.
"Yeah – my boy can be pretty clever when he wants."