Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse (18 page)

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not. I’ve seen the picture and the key. It’s all true.’

‘Get out.’

‘What?’

‘Get out. I have something to do, someone I need to speak to …’

Good. She’d finally come to her senses. I wouldn’t like to be Javier when she got hold of him. She looked ready to explode and that would be a messy and unpleasant sight. ‘Doctor Garelli is on call. I suspect he’s on Eyre Ward with his post-op if you want to go straight there.’

‘No, you stupid nurse. I need to speak to Personnel right this instant. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night this has to be handled properly.’

‘Good idea, let them approach him, with security. You don’t know what he might do when he realises that his means for helping himself to temazepam has been discovered.’

‘I don’t need to talk to Personnel about Javier,’ she spat. ‘I need to speak to them about you. Clearly you’re mentally unstable and too emotionally unfit to be working in this hospital.’

‘Me?’ Shock railroaded my body, making me catch my breath and causing my vision to blur.

‘Yes, you. I don’t want you registered as an employee of this hospital for any longer than is absolutely necessary and I intend for your contract to be terminated before the sun comes up. With no notice, obviously.’

‘You can’t do that.’ My mouth was suddenly dry, my throat tight. Lose my job, here, now! Just when I thought I’d solved my problems.

‘Of course I can, because you, Nurse Roane, are responsible for an act of gross misconduct last week. And you don’t deserve to continue nursing for another moment.’

‘But, but you said you wouldn’t report that if I found out who was stealing from the drug cupboard.’

‘Yes, but all you’ve done is lie. You’ve made something up about a perfect gentleman in order to get yourself off the hook. I can’t and won’t stand for it. Do you seriously think I’ll allow his long, arduous medical training to be thrown away by a malicious rumour? Think of all the lives he has yet to save with his skilled hands. Do you really want the murder of all those people on your conscience?’

Jesus, she was the mad one in the room. ‘What about all the patients he might kill because he’s not functioning properly, because he’s coming down from a high or due his next one?’

‘I will not discuss this with you any further. Remove yourself from hospital premises. You’re relieved of all your duties as of now. Expect a call from the head of Personnel first thing in the morning to confirm your termination.’

I stood, my legs weak, my heart thumping. I should have guessed that she wouldn’t keep her side of the bargain. Bitch. I did exactly what she’d asked, even when I thought she’d set me an impossible task, and still she was going to throw me to the lions. ‘I’ll go,’ I said, ‘because I can’t stand to be in a hospital where the senior nurse can’t see what’s going on beneath her nose.’

Her lips tightened.

‘You should try and think back,’ I went on. ‘To when he had you over a table in out-patients. Did you misplace your keys for a while afterwards? Did he steal them from you in the throes of passion and then take a mould of the one he wanted in clay or soap or something, only to carve out a replica later?’

‘How dare you!’

‘You should try and rack your brains, because you’re the only one outside of pharmacy with that key. If you allowed him to get close to you, then perhaps he took advantage and made a copy of it for himself.’

I was going to add that it was likely the only reason he went anywhere near her, but the look on her face was dire. She was red and blotchy, her eyes moist but flashing. Her chest rising and falling rapidly and her hands shaking.

We stared at each other. The air sizzled with tension, and in that moment I knew that Javier had indeed screwed her solely to get that key. Slimy bastard. Thank goodness I hadn’t gone through with my plan to get up close and personal with him. Yuk, just the thought of it.

‘Get out,’ she spat. ‘Now.’

I stood and went for the door. I thought she might hurl more abuse at me, but she didn’t. She was silent. No doubt a whole pile of pennies were dropping in her brain. She’d come to see the truth, once she’d calmed down. The facts were there, on the table the same way she’d been.

Damn, the pictures on my iPhone. I’d forgotten to show them to her. She would have to believe me then. I turned. ‘I have evidence. If you give me your mobile number I can send you pictures.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘I have three pictures, of the key.’

She swallowed, sat back heavily on her chair and absently recited a string of numbers from memory. Hurriedly I tapped them into my phone then hit send on the damning photographs.

Her mobile beeped from her handbag on the floor by the desk. She picked it up, rummaged, then slid her finger over the screen, checking out the pictures.

‘Really?’ she said scornfully. ‘Is this it?’

‘Yes, that’s the key in the cupboard and the key in his wallet. You can tell it’s his wallet because of the picture of him and his fiancée.’

She was staring at it, unblinking. ‘This means nothing.’

‘What?’ I stepped forward. ‘It’s proof, and certainly evidence enough for him to be questioned, by Personnel and the police.’

‘A feeble attempt at slander,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘These pictures are useless and clearly completely fabricated.’

‘But the door, to the cupboard. It’s open, with the key. The key from his wallet.’

‘A blurred, dark, barely discernible photograph of a cupboard. A picture of a photograph with a key. Hardly evidence, Nurse Roane. Now please, get out and don’t come back. Just go home and wait for the final details of your termination. Expect it to be swift and to the point, sexual relations with a patient being a particularly clear cut reason for getting rid of you.’

I couldn’t believe what she was saying. My brain heard the words but I could hardly process them. The pictures were absolute confirmation of everything I’d said. Why the hell would I make them up? Create them? That would make no sense at all.

I turned and left the office, my feet heavy, my legs weak and a bit shaky. There was no point trying to argue or reason with Iceberg. She was a power-crazy, irrational bitch who was a complete sucker for a handsome man. She was also a cold-hearted cow when it came to compassion. She believed what she wanted to believe and there was nothing I could do about it.

Damn shame my fate was in her hands. No, it was more than a shame, it was bloody catastrophic.

I cycled home in the dark and the rain. By the time I let myself into my flat it was nearly five o’clock in the morning and I was drenched. The few cars that were out had all splashed me as they’d whizzed past, the drivers clearly surprised to see a dead-of-the-night cyclist on the quiet roads.

The flat was cold, so I flicked on the heating then stripped and stepped into a hot shower. May as well make the most of such luxuries. When I was living on the streets in a few months’ time, I’d miss them.

I held my face to the steaming water. What the hell had I done to deserve Iceberg in my life? I’d had a hundred different senior nurses over the years in various departments, but none as pure evil as her. None that would have treated me the way she had for my step out of line.

Nurses were nurses because they cared passionately about the well-being of other human beings. So why the hell was Iceberg a nurse? What had called her into the profession? She didn’t have a compassionate, empathetic, nurturing bone in her body. She was a look-after-number-one person. I supposed it was just as well she was in a management role and kept away from actual sick people. Likely she would finish them off. One stony look from her and they’d lose the will to live.

I lathered my body in strawberry shower-gel. It smelt extra nice, possibly because soon I’d have that manky, damp, rotten-feet smell all tramps have. Trampy Sharon, that would be me, and not trampy in a sleeping around way, but in a dirty, fleabag, bottle-of-whiskey-clutched-in-my-fingerless-gloved-hands way.

It wasn’t a pleasant future to look forward to.

Eventually I forced myself out of the shower, dressed in fluffy pink pyjamas with matching slippers and poured myself a glass of white wine. I knew I should have some dinner, something nutritious, but I didn’t trust whatever I made to stay down. My stomach felt twisted and tight, like it was a scrunched up ball, and my throat was narrow and dry. I wasn’t sure if I tried to swallow anything would go down. It would just sit there, like a chunk of cardboard and make me gag.

Gulping wine, which went down well enough, I flicked on the TV. Breakfast news was just starting its first of many round-ups of the country’s events. Widespread flooding in the Lake District was the leading story running with images of murky water siphoning between two rows of terraced houses, and the firemen rowing a family of four to safety down Kendal High Street.

Perhaps I’d knock Kendal off my list of possible towns to be homeless in, though I was rather partial to the mint cake there. Maybe the tourists would hand it out to beggars.

A sudden gust of wind accompanied by a loud splattering of rain hit the window. I shuddered, glad that I was home in the dry, for now at least. My flat was on the top floor, there were only five beneath me, but still it meant it caught the weather. When Michael and I had bought the place years ago I’d liked it, hearing the elements when we were cosy indoors, snuggled up on the sofa. But then when he’d left it had just reminded me of my aloneness. I’d felt like my own star in a
Wuthering Heights
style drama, me against the world and hiding the madness that had gone hand in hand with my heartbreak.

As I’d got used to single life, though, it suited me again, the wind and rain, hailstones even. It was all part of Yorkshire’s rich weather system and my love of the county was one of the reasons I’d stayed when I could have upped and travelled the world.

That would never happen now. No nursing qualification equalled no global ticket to work and travel.

I finished my glass of wine as the news story loop began again, and reached for the remote, intent on finding some soap catch-ups to watch. There was no point trying to sleep, my head was a cacophony of trials and tribulations, there was no chance exhaustion would be kind and take me away from it all. It was better to sit and stare at the box.

The intercom system rang from the hallway. A determined buzz.

What the? Six o’clock in the morning. Who could that be?

Quickly, I went to the hall and pressed the buzzer. ‘Yes?’

‘Sharon, it’s me. Can I come in? It’s bloody horrible out here.’

‘Carl?’

‘Yes, open the damn door. I need to talk to you.’

Damn. What did he want to talk about? Was he mad as hell at me? Had Javier confirmed his suspicions even though they weren’t true?

I worried at my bottom lip and hovered my finger over the door switch. I hadn’t even begun to unravel my feelings for Carl since the whole Javier-condom wrapper affair. My world crashing down had taken up my thoughts. But those feelings were there. Remorse, guilt, anger and also just a thin sliver of that wonderful epiphany when I’d realised my heart and body wanted Carl and no one else. And not just for sex but for him, I really felt we could –

The bell buzzed again, long and insistent. Bugger, that would wake the neighbours. There’d be hell to pay if that happened. Still, they wouldn’t have to put up with me for much longer.

Hurriedly, I pressed the switch to let him in and stared at my reflection in the hall mirror. My hair was a mess, I’d only towel-dried it after my shower. My face was a little shiny from night cream, and my pink pyjamas, though snuggly and warm, were probably my least seductive item of clothing. Also I was clutching an empty wine glass so tight I began to wonder why the stem hadn’t broken.

There was a knock on the flat door. He’d been fast, probably taken the stairs rather than the slow, rattling elevator.

‘Carl,’ I said as I opened the door. ‘What are you doing here?’

He stood before me panting and damp, but not soaked. Droplets of water balanced in his windswept hair and dotted the lenses of his glasses. His cheeks were a little red and his black leather jacket shiny with rain.

He looked at me. Like he was seeing me for the first time. Briefly, I wondered if it was because of my overdose on pink and absolute lack of glamour, but then I realised that it was something else.

The twist in my gut intensified as I wondered just what the hell Javier had said to him. Goodness knew what twaddle had come out of his Italian mouth.

‘I brought food,’ Carl said, holding up a brown McDonald’s bag. ‘And coffee.’

‘I’m on the wine.’

‘It’s morning.’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘Not when you’re permanently nocturnal it’s not. This is my evening.’ I turned and wandered into the kitchen. If he had something to say he could just say it. I wasn’t going to drag it out of him.

The front door clicked shut and I heard him shrug out of his jacket and follow me. I poured wine then glanced at him standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He had to stoop otherwise the top of his head would have touched the frame. He’d removed his shoes.

‘You want a glass?’ I asked.

He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, I’m officially off duty.’ He paused. ‘Go on then, never had wine with a McDonald’s breakfast before, but there you go.’

I filled a glass for him, placing it on the counter near the door. ‘So what do you need to talk about?’

‘Eat first,’ he said.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘But you’ve been at work all night.’

‘Well, obviously I haven’t been at work all night, otherwise I would still be there.’

‘I noticed your bike gone. Wondered if you’d come home ill.’

‘No, I’m quite well.’

Why was he being so nice? Why wasn’t he shouting at me for getting naked with Javier? Did he think I was such an easy lay that it wasn’t worth discussing? It was just what he expected of me?

What had I become?

I pushed past him, into the living room.

‘Sharon.’ He gripped my upper arm. ‘Talk to me.’