Sophie's Run (19 page)

“All right?” he asked. “It’ll soon be over now.”

I smiled shakily as he put his mask back on and stepped back.

The anesthetist introduced himself and explained about needles and going to sleep, dabbing away at the back of my right hand with a moist wipe of some description.

And then—

Another one of the be-scrubbed people stepped close to the trolley, looking at me curiously. Chocolate brown flecked eyes…I had to be hallucinating. I had been thinking about these eyes, and their owner, for weeks. Had had hot, steamy fantasies about them. And their owner. What would they be doing here, I wondered. I had to be mistaken.

Through the drug-induced haze, it hit me. The hospital,
of course.
When Rachel had her swim, she had been taken here as well. I had seen him here before.

My heart was beating faster, and this time not only with fear of the op.

No, hold on, stop.
I couldn’t be having a romantic moment, right here, in a hospital gown, on a trolley, about to be wheeled into the operating theater. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t even likely. It was totally improbable.

But nonetheless. Steve lifted his mask to let me have a quick look at him.

“Hello, Sophie,” he said dryly. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He knew my name.
I registered with surprise, temporarily forgetting that I had been introduced to the party. I noticed the doctors exchanging glances, and Steve explained, “We know each other…vaguely, from choir.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked quite superfluously.
Obviously
he was going to be part of this operation, but I wanted to hear what he would be doing. He understood me anyway.

“I work as a theater nurse,” he said. “I’ll be helping out here with your little appendix problem.”

“Oh,” I breathed. “Okay. That’s nice…”

And quite suddenly those lovely eyes swam out of focus as the anesthetic kicked in and I went under.

They were still there when I came back round.

I was in the recovery suite, and there, right by my bedside, was Steve. Still in scrubs, but minus the headgear.

“Was it my appendix?” I asked by way of a conversation starter.

“It was indeed,” a voice came from my other side.

Ah, there was doctor man, too.

“We had to perform open surgery in the end, and I’m afraid you have quite a long scar. Your appendix was quite gangrenous.”

Yuck.

“Why, thanks,” I said, feeling inadequate. “Can I keep it? I mean, in a jar?”

The doctor and Steve exchanged looks, then laughed.

“I’m afraid not,” the doctor apologized without further elaboration. “In about half an hour, you can go back up to the ward. Meanwhile, Steve here”—another meaningful exchange of looks—“will keep an eye on you. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

And thus he departed. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling distinctly weird.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked softly. “Silly me, that’s a stupid question. What I mean is, are you feeling better than you did this morning?”

“I’m not sure,” I mumbled. “I’m really tired.”

“That’s quite all right. You have a little snooze. I’ll—”

I didn’t let him continue. Woozy, weird and disorientated I might have been, but I didn’t want him to disappear on me a third time. “Please don’t go,” I squealed. “Or… if you do, at least promise me you’ll come back.”

Steve leaned on the bed and looked at me closely. He gave a big sigh. “This isn’t the right time,” he observed. “You’re not even fully awake yet. But…” His eyes locked onto mine. “You felt it, too, didn’t you?” he whispered.

“I did,” I whispered back. “I did, I did.”

We stared at each other for what seemed ages. My eyes started to droop again and the effort of keeping them open seemed insurmountable.

“I’m sorry,” I said, still whispering. “I can’t seem to keep my eyes open…so rude…”

Steve straightened up. “Of course not,” he said. “This isn’t a good time. I should never have—”

I never knew what he “should never have” as another nurse interrupted us, oblivious to the gossamer-thin bond she was breaking.

“Hello there, Sophie,” she said briskly, consulting my chart. “Let’s take your temperature, and it’s off to the ward.”

Steve stood back and let her get on with it, but I could tell he was watching her every move, like he was making sure she was doing it all properly. A warm feeling of delight lodged somewhere near my heart, but it was all too much to take in, so I pushed it right to the back of my mind for later analysis.

Steve accompanied me up to the ward and made sure I had everything I needed, which wasn’t much. The one thing I really wanted was a nice big long drink of water, but I wasn’t allowed. He brought me some ice chips instead, which was at least a bit of a relief. He also brought me a message from Dan.

“Your friend Dan says he’s gone home and to let him know when you’re back and awake,” Steve read out from a piece of paper. “They probably advised him to go,” he added helpfully. “The op took a little while.”

“Oh,” I uttered uselessly. “Right.” Well, this was awkward.

I didn’t react to the message itself. Instead, I had an urgent need to explain. “Dan is—”

“I know who Dan Hunter is,” Steve offered very gently. “There’s no need to say anything.”

“But…” I couldn’t get my head round this. “How do you know him?”

“I don’t know him,” Steve clarified. “I know
of
him. Who doesn’t? I daresay the nurses downstairs will have been in quite a tizz.” He chuckled.

“Me and Dan…” I started. “There’s nothing…”

“Shh,” Steve interrupted me again, putting his index finger ever so lightly against my lips. “I told you, there’s nothing to explain. Let’s concentrate on getting you better.”

I relaxed into my pillows. “You probably say that to all the girls,” I giggled.

Steve was unperturbed. “I do, actually,” he grinned. “It’s an occupational hazard. Stock phrase, and all that.”

Was this man for real?

He caught my look and understood my confusion. Grabbing a chair, he sat down by my bedside. “Look,” he said. “I’m a nurse. It’s what I do. I’m friendly, and kind, and patient. And when someone has just come out from under an anesthetic, like you have, they may be conscious, but they’re certainly not lucid for a while. So, I wouldn’t worry too much about talking sense right now. Just relax. I’ll fill you in some time on all the funny things you’ve already told me…”

Funny things? What funny things?

“…
and when you’re better, we’ll talk. Properly. You know…?”

“Okay,” I concurred and gave an almighty yawn.

“You grab some sleep. I’ll get a message to Dan that you’re okay and resting, and that he can see you tomorrow. And I…” he paused, and I swear he winked. Even in my befuddled state, I was sure he did.

“…
I will see you tomorrow, too. Good night, Sophie.”

“Good night, Steve,” I mumbled and let myself drift off to sleep.

Next time I woke, the ward was getting ready for breakfast. My bedside was empty. I was feeling a little sorry for myself when a nurse strode up to me.

“Good morning, Sophie,” she breezed. “You’ve had a good sleep. How are you feeling?” Seeing me well up, she continued without stopping. “Very soon, you’ll be up and about, you’ll see. You could have some breakfast, if you wanted? Do you think you’ll feel like some light breakfast?”

Once more she didn’t give me a chance to respond. “Tell you what, I’ll get you some toast and jam, and some nice sweet tea. That’ll make you feel better.” Thus she was off.

Some of the other patients around me were already tucking into their toast-and-tea, which I eyed with suspicion. I didn’t think I would ever want to eat again. But then, Steve arrived with my meal.

Yes, there he was, wearing civvies, carrying my tray, and holding a rose between his teeth. I did a double take. No one, but surely
no one
, could be that cheesy, right?

Steve set the tray down on a rack by the side of my bed, whipped the rose out from between his teeth and presented it to me with a flourish, like a magician. He didn’t say anything, but grinned widely, and his eyes were dancing.

I took the rose from his hand and smelled it. Steve was delighted.

“Do you like it?” he asked uncertainly. “It just came over me. I’m not usually that over the top.”

I smiled goofily. “I do like it. It’s quite romantic. Very Don Juan. Do I get a peck on the cheek, too?”

“Oh, okay,” Steve relented. “You’re lucky I’m off duty, or else I’d get in trouble.” He leaned across and pecked me very chastely indeed on the cheek. He smelled lovely, of aftershave and shampoo, with a tangy hint of man in there somewhere. Hm. Before I could blush too deeply, Steve sat down on my visitor’s chair and arranged my breakfast for me.

“Am I really supposed to eat?” I wondered. “I thought after an op one wasn’t supposed to. Eat, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t recommend a Christmas dinner right now, but you’ve got to try something. It’s important to keep your intestines moving, you see?” he informed me, sounding very professional.

“Ugh, too much information,” I protested and considered the piece of toast he was offering me. “Must I?”

“Please try,” he coaxed. So I took a little bite and chewed it carefully. It went down. It stayed down. A good start.

As he offered me more toast, we started chatting. He wanted to know how long the appendix had been bothering me. I asked him how long he had been working in the hospital—two years—and whether it was really him whom I had seen when I had brought Rachel in—it was. We talked about the choir concert, and having found this common ground, it was like we had been friends forever.

“Isn’t it weird,” I mused, “this? For weeks I’ve been wondering when I’d see you again and suddenly…” I petered out.

“I know,” Steve acknowledged cautiously. “I feel a ‘but’ coming here.”

“No but. It’s just—it’s so weird, how we finally meet. And I don’t know even really know what I’m talking about. It’s like my reality filter has conked out.”

“It has,” Steve cheerfully informed me. “It’ll be a while before it’s back. That’s the anesthetic sloshing round your system. That’s the thing that worries me a little. I don’t… I wouldn’t…” He paused.

“You wouldn’t…what?”

“Well, you’re really vulnerable, and I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your altered state. Oh gosh, that sounds wrong.” He rubbed his eyes, gathering his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot. And when you turned up yesterday like a false penny, always in the most unlikely of situations, I didn’t know whether to laugh with joy, or be beside myself with worry. And now you’re here, and we’re talking—”

I yawned widely, clapping my hand to my mouth. “I’m so sorry. Sorry! I seem to be yawning at you a lot. I don’t mean to…” I yawned again, even wider this time.

Steve laughed. “Don’t apologize. You
will
be tired. Look, I’d better let you have some rest. The rounds will be coming later, and the nurses will bully you to get up, and you’ve got a fairly big day ahead, as things are.”

Instinctively, I reached out for his hand, and he gave it readily.

“Will you come again?” I asked in a small little voice. I didn’t mean to sound so pathetic, but I was overcome all funny.

“Of course I will. Whenever I can,” he reassured me quickly. “As long as that’s really all right with you?” He paused, and I nodded,
yes, yes please
. “I’m on duty again later, but I will be back, I promise.” He gave my hand a little squeeze and gave me another soft kiss on the cheek.

“Now don’t you be going anywhere,” he joked, and he picked up the tray and left.

I lay back in a soft rosy cloud.

How odd. How very odd.

But how wonderful, too. Now we simply needed to get to know each other and the rest could be history.

Steve had been right, though. The rest of the day was tough. Soon after he left, the painkillers started to wear off and I was very uncomfortable. The rounds turned up and I was duly examined. Satisfactory noises were being made, notes were being scribbled on charts, and I was told to get up every now and then and move about the ward. Whatever happened to bed rest for the invalid?

In the afternoon, Dan came to visit. Not for the first time, I considered his appearance with mixed emotions. Newly dosed up on strong painkillers, I was finding it hard once more to keep a grip on reality. He took my hand, concern written all over his face. I half snatched it back, then left it. Was that okay, I wondered? Was he still allowed to hold my hand? Did I want to upset him by disallowing little gestures that had become the norm for us? Would I snatch my hand away if he were Rachel?

“Sophie, my love, what’s the matter?” Dan couldn’t help but ask eventually. “I was so worried for you, and this nurse rang and she said you were doing splendid, and now you’re crying…”