From Single Mum to Lady. Judy Campbell

him now, she wondered what had made her think there had been anything remotely intimate in the way he had looked at her earlier. He was just an ordinary guy who happened to have the kind of sexy looks that would draw some women’s eyes—over six feet of impressive body, in fact, and thick dark hair, endearingly rumpled—but he wasn’t all that special, was he?

      He finished his conversation, came out of the kiosk and gave her a smile and a half-wave as he passed her—she was surprised at the little frisson of excitement she felt when he did that. She found herself smiling as she dialled her sister’s mobile number and started to speak to her.

      ‘Hi, Lydia—did you get onto the agent about the house? I left the letter on the kitchen table…’

      

      Karen Borley was writing up the whiteboard when Jandy returned. She looked at Jandy’s exasperated face.

      ‘Has something happened?’ she enquired.

      Jandy groaned. ‘I’ve just been speaking to my sister. She’s been in touch with the agent and we definitely have to be out in four weeks—sooner if possible! Can you believe Lydia has told the agent we’d be interested in a massive house at an enormous monthly rent? She seems to think we’re rolling in money.’

      ‘Oh, dear—Lydia is rather impetuous, isn’t she?’ said Karen vaguely as she shuffled through some case sheets.

      ‘Of course she’s away the next week,’ added Jandy, ‘Leaving me to organise everything! Typical!’

      Patrick Sinclair looked up from the computer and said noncommittally, ‘If you really are stuck for somewhere to live, I do happen to know a place that’s empty and needs a tenant—it’s a bit neglected and it’s in the country, so it may not suit you. But if you get desperate…’

      Jandy was surprised that a man like him should bother himself with her problems. ‘Really? It’s very kind of you to suggest it…I might be very interested…do you know the owner?’

      He nodded. ‘Yes—I know him well.’

      ‘Perhaps if you could find out the rent he’s asking…’

      ‘No problem,’ Patrick started to say, when Karen put down the phone and interrupted them, her cheeks slightly pink as if she’d heard something of interest. She looked around, making sure no one was listening.

      ‘Mr Vernon’s just been on to me about a patient he’s been looking at in the small theatre,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘He was picked up by the police outside a pub earlier this morning and taken back to the station on a drunk and disorderly charge. Evidently he’d had a bit of a fracas with some young lads…but it’s rather a delicate situation.’

      ‘So far normal,’ murmured Jandy. ‘So why is it a delicate situation?’

      Sister flicked a look at her and said impressively, ‘I think you’ll know what I mean when you see him—it’s Leo Parker, the agony uncle who does that chat show on television.’

      Jandy raised her eyebrows. ‘Wow! Leo Parker, the Voice of Reason? The press will be interested, won’t they?’

      ‘Exactly!’ Karen pursed her lips. ‘I don’t want a word of who this patient is to get out—I can’t bear those journalists running all over the place, disrupting the department, questioning everybody. If they get a whiff of this, it’ll be bedlam.’

      ‘Better prepare for bedlam, then,’ Jandy said under her breath. ‘This place is like a sieve when it comes to gossip!’

      She heard Patrick chuckle as they filed into the cubicle. ‘Sounds familiar…’ he murmured.

      ‘Mr Parker was just about conscious when he was brought in,’ explained Karen. ‘The police were concerned that it might not be just drink that’s affecting him and that he could have had a crack on the head.’

      ‘Are his X-rays clear?’ asked Patrick.

      ‘Not a sign of anything. Mr Vernon has already had a look at his skull plates—quite normal. But he’s in and out of consciousness, so something’s wrong. We’re waiting for his bloods to come back, but I’d like him closely monitored. Give me a shout if you find anything.’

      Leo Parker lay on the bed, the impressive head of thick grey hair, which was his trademark, matted with blood from a gash on his forehead. He shifted restlessly from side to side, moving his limbs and muttering incoherently. Jandy was struck by how ordinary he looked, just as vulnerable as every other patient who came in to A and E reduced to helplessness by their condition.

      ‘Poor man—not quite the towering TV personality at the moment,’ murmured Jandy, looking at the trace on the graph over the bed giving his oxygen levels and pulse rate. ‘Heart rate’s accelerated and his BP’s quite low.’

      ‘He’s right out of it at the moment,’ commented Patrick, bending over the man and shining a small torch into the pupil of each eye. Then he bent the patient’s legs, striking below the knees sharply. ‘His reflexes seem OK. What about his plantar reflex?’

      Jandy took a pencil out of her pocket and drew it across the base of the man’s foot, which curled in response.

      ‘Nothing wrong there…’ She bent forward and sniffed the man’s breath. ‘Nice and beery—he’s obviously had a few bevies,’ she remarked. She frowned and sniffed again. ‘Wait a minute…there’s something else…Funny smell…acetone, I think.’

      Patrick leaned close to the man and nodded back at her, touching the man’s face. ‘Absolutely right—he’s sweaty as well. Alcohol-induced hypoglycaemia,’ he added almost to himself. ‘I don’t suppose he checked his blood-sugar levels after having a bit to drink. That’s why his speech is so garbled—his glucose levels will be very low.’

      ‘If he’d been left in that police cell, it could have been curtains.’

      ‘Yup—he’s lucky they brought him in when they did. We’ll give him fifty grams of glucose intravenously. I take it the packs are in the cupboard up there?’

      Jandy handed Patrick one of the pre-packed syringes and they both watched the patient after he’d been injected to see how long it took for him to come round.

      ‘If only he realised the harm he could do to himself when he drinks,’ he remarked drily. ‘Because he’s diabetic everything can shut down when the nervous system becomes sluggish…organ damage, brain damage, you name it.’

      Leo gradually opened his eyes and looked around him in a confused way. ‘Hello, there,’ Patrick said. ‘Feeling a bit better, Mr Parker? I think you’re nearly with us again.’

      The man gazed up at him blankly, blinking his eyes and staring around fuzzily, his system trying to restore reactions and memory.

      ‘Well, that took just over a minute—miraculous!’ murmured Patrick. He nodded at Jandy approvingly.

      God, his eyes were amazing! Once again they seemed to hold hers for a second before she could drag her glance away. Irritably she thought that it was becoming something of a habit, imagining that the man was looking at her in some sort of special way. He wasn’t hers to fantasise about.

      She reached into the cupboard without comment and slipped on latex gloves before starting to swab the cut on Leo Parker’s head. He made a feeble attempt to bat her hand away then began to stir, trying to sit up before flopping back against the pillow.

      ‘Where am I?’ he mumbled.

      ‘You’re in Delford General Casualty Department,’ said Patrick. ‘You overdid the alcohol, I’m afraid…not a good idea when you’re diabetic. We’ll get you a bed.’

      There was a sudden pause, and a girl’s impatient voice floated over to them beyond the curtain. ‘I need to see Leo now. I was with him when he fell…he’ll want me with him…’

      ‘Are