Читать книгу The Firefighter's Baby - Алисон Робертс - Страница 6

‘IT’S OK, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be OK.’

For a split second, paramedic Laura Green envied the girl whose head she was holding. How crazy was that? She tightened her grip to ensure she was providing stability for the potential neck injury of the nineteen-year-old. The girl had been travelling home at the end of a night shift in a rest home. She had rounded a corner too quickly, run smack into the back of a heavy, slow-moving street sweeper and now lay trapped and terrified inside the wreckage of her car.

‘Keep very still, Courtney,’ Laura reminded her patient. ‘Don’t try and move your head.’

She could understand why the girl wanted to turn towards the owner of that voice. The words were so comforting, the tone completely sincere, and while the endearment was automatic it had the effect of creating an instant and powerful connection. And it was that connection that Laura envied.

She had never had anyone so totally focussed on her well-being. So committed to protecting and helping her. Not that she would want to experience it in a professional setting like this, of course. Courtney had a fractured right elbow and left femur and goodness only knew what condition her lower legs were in, trapped and hidden beneath the crushed front section of her small car.

A whimper escaped the injured girl as the car rocked slightly. The fireman now crouching beside the open driver’s door leaned in far enough to be seen without causing another attempt to move.

‘It’s OK,’ he repeated. His smile was reassuring. ‘The car’s moving a little because we’re putting some blocks in to stabilise things. Then we’re going to get you out of here.’

‘It hurts…my leg hurts.’

Laura twisted her own head to peer through the shattered glass of a back window. Her partner, Tim, was approaching with a cervical collar in his hand and she could see the other supplies he had set out on a blanket beside the wreck. Some of the tension evaporated as Laura took a deep breath. They could get moving now. Get their patient’s neck protected, get some oxygen on, an intravenous line in place and some pain relief on board.

‘And…and I’m scared!’

‘I know you are, sweetheart. But hang in there. You’re doing just fine.’

Tim leaned past the bulky figure of the fireman assigned to patient communication. Laura adjusted her grip to allow the collar room to slip behind the girl’s neck. The fireman straightened and stepped back to allow Tim more room to manoeuvre, but his action elicited a forlorn cry from the accident victim.

‘Don’t go. Oh, please, don’t go!’

‘I’m right here.’ A heavy glove was stripped off and Laura frowned as she saw the fireman catch the fingers of the hand stretched towards him.

‘I’m Jason,’ the fireman introduced himself. ‘What’s your name?’

‘C-Courtney.’

The neck collar was secured. Tim slipped the elastic of an oxygen mask over the patient’s head and squeezed the metal band at the top of the mask to make it a snug fit over her nose.

‘Pleased to meet you, Courtney.’ Jason’s grin made his teeth gleam in the powerful artificial lights now set up to illuminate the rescue scene. ‘How’re you doing?’

‘N-not so good.’ The response was broken by a frightened sob.

Tim hung his stethoscope back around his neck. ‘Chest’s still clear,’ he told Laura. ‘Equal air entry.’

Laura nodded, but she was reaching into the pocket of her coat with one hand.

‘Put some gloves on, Jase.’ She passed them over the barrier the front seat created.

‘Sure.’ The fireman was smiling at Courtney again. ‘I’m in trouble now,’ he confided. ‘Laura’s going to tell me off later for forgetting my gloves.’

The sound that now came from the injured girl sounded like a cross between a groan and a giggle.

‘I’d rather not cannulate this arm.’

‘No.’ Laura agreed with Tim’s decision. ‘Not with that elbow injury.’ There was no way of knowing how well the blood vessels were still functioning below an injury like that.

‘Have we got access through the passenger door?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Is that what you need?’ Jason’s quick shift of attention revealed that his focus wasn’t entirely on the girl he was comforting. A quick glance over his shoulder made him nod with satisfaction. ‘The gear’s all ready to go. We can start cutting wherever you need it.’

‘C-cutting?’

‘The car, sweetheart—not you.’ Jason seemed to fill most of the remaining space in the crushed car as he leaned even closer. ‘We’re getting you out of here, remember?’

Courtney clung to him with her uninjured hand. ‘It hurts,’ she sobbed. ‘Get me out now.’

‘I can reach the other arm,’ Laura told Tim. ‘Pass me the gear. You should be able to maintain alignment from where you are now that she’s in a collar.’

‘I can hold her neck,’ Jason offered.

‘That would be great. I’d like to get a blood pressure done.’

‘No!’ Courtney refused to release the hand she was holding.

‘Keep still, Courtney,’ Laura instructed. She squeezed the top half of her body through the gap between the front seats. This job would be so much easier if she were skinny. Even a few kilos off would help. The flash of annoyance increased a second later when she had to push her dislodged spectacles back into place. Small irritations that would normally not distract her at all from the job in hand. Was it simply her close proximity to Jason Halliday that was making her aware of them now?

‘Laura needs this hand, love,’ Jason was saying. ‘Once she gets a little needle in, she can give you something to help that pain.’

‘No! I hate needles. And my hand feels funny. Just get me out!’

‘What kind of funny?’ Laura queried.

‘It’s got pins and needles.’

Laura caught Tim’s glance. With a symptom that suggested an even stronger likelihood of a spinal injury, they were going to have to manage this extrication with particular care.

‘It might help if you keep holding her hand, Jase.’ Laura tightened the tourniquet and swabbed an area she could reach easily on Courtney’s left forearm. ‘This shouldn’t take long.’

Jason obliged. He also placed his other arm gently on Courtney’s shoulder, ready to stop any struggle if necessary. Then he tried to distract the terrified teenager.

‘You’re lucky you’ve got our Laura here,’ he told her. ‘Do you know, I’ve been working with her for six months now and I haven’t heard a single complaint from any of her patients?’

‘You haven’t met many of my patients,’ Laura muttered.

‘She’s a fireman?’ Courtney’s surprise indicated that the distraction was working.

‘Nah. She’s not tall enough to be a fire officer. Our station is a base for both fire and ambulance. Just one of each. We’re on the outskirts of town in Inglewood.’

‘That’s where I live.’

‘Cool. You’ll have to drop in and visit us. Mrs Mack makes the world’s best scones.’

‘All done,’ Laura announced. ‘I’m going to give you some morphine now, Courtney. You’re not allergic to any drugs that you know of, are you?’

‘No.’ The distraction Jason had been providing was still working a treat. ‘Who’s Mrs Mack?’

‘She looks after our station. It’s kind of a long story.’

‘I’m just giving you something to make sure the morphine doesn’t make you feel sick, Courtney.’ Laura injected the dose of metaclopramide.

‘Is she your wife?’

Jason chuckled and Laura found herself smiling wryly as she snapped off the top of a glass ampoule to add morphine to the saline another syringe already contained. Jason Halliday married? Tied down to single choice from amongst the model-like creatures that entered his social orbit? That would be the day!

‘Mrs Mack is at least sixty,’ Jason informed Courtney. ‘She’s Scottish and she’s as tough as an old boot. She lives next door to the station and kind of adopted us. We’re in an old house that got converted and…’

And Courtney didn’t appear to be listening any longer. Her eyelids fluttered shut as the morphine took effect and her distress was obviously diminishing despite the increase in noise and activity of the rescue workers outside the vehicle. Another helmeted figure appeared between Jason and Tim, who was still maintaining Courtney’s spinal alignment.

‘How do you want to get her out?’

‘Straight over the back would be great,’ Tim responded. ‘We’ll tilt the seat back and get a backboard in.’

‘Right. We’ll get the roof off as soon as we’ve dealt with these doors.’

Jason looked up at the tarpaulin a colleague was unfolding nearby. ‘Things are going to get a bit noisy and messy now, sweetheart,’ he told Courtney. ‘We’re going to cover you up so you don’t get hit by any bits of glass or anything.’

Her eyes snapped open. ‘Don’t leave me.’

‘I won’t. I’ll be right here with you under the covers.’ Jason winked. ‘My favourite spot when I’m with a gorgeous girl like you.’

‘That’d be right.’ The grin from his colleague acknowledged the kind of humour and encouragement that only Jason could get away with. Even Laura smiled. He’d be saying the same thing if the accident victim were a seventy-five-year-old grandmother of eight and it would probably have the same effect of keeping their patient comforted and calm.

‘We’ll need a dash roll as well,’ Tim told the fire chief. ‘We’ve got a leg trapped.’

‘No problem. You staying in there, Laura?’

‘May as well.’ She moved back to a position where she could support Courtney’s head and neck again. Only she knew that her comment referred to more than providing company for the victim. This was the only way Laura would ever get under any covers with Jason Halliday, but she wasn’t complaining. Any job where she got to work with this particular fire crew was a bonus, and being one on one with a patient and only Jason was the closest they had ever worked together.

The car rocked and shook as hydraulic cutting gear was used to open it up like a giant sardine can. Tiny shards of glass peppered the tarpaulin sheltering those still inside the vehicle, and Laura made sure she kept Courtney’s head immobile. A more violent rocking motion occurred as the roof was lifted clear of the car and Laura could hear the grin in Jason’s voice.

‘The earth sure moved for me. How’re you doing, Courtney?’

‘I’m fine.’

Amazingly, the injured girl did sound fine and Laura’s lips curved a little, unseen in the darkness of their covering. Jason’s somewhat unorthodox communication skills were a new experience and, surprisingly, she liked them. Six months ago she wouldn’t have believed it could be remotely possible to add humour or—heaven forbid—flirting to an accident scene with beneficial results, but it worked. The Green Watch fire crew of Inglewood station were a closely bonded team of intelligent and dedicated firemen and Jason, in particular, had a gift of lightening even the grimmest of atmospheres.

He had his work cut out for him in the next few minutes as the tarpaulin was removed and the rescue shifted into a higher gear. The car was now completely open to the elements with the windscreen, roof and doors removed. The pre-dawn chill was noticeable and scene time had already been nearly twenty minutes. Everyone wanted to move as quickly as possible now and get their patient to the medical care she needed.

The dash roll that lifted crushed metal from Courtney’s right leg revealed a nasty compound fracture of her tib-fib. She tried to move her leg as the weight was lifted but her foot was trapped beneath the brake pedal and she screamed as her pain level skyrocketed. The blood loss was also increasing. Laura opened the flow on the IV fluids she now had running.

‘Can you draw up another 10 milligrams of morphine, Tim?’

‘Got it here,’ her partner responded. ‘Ready for the backboard?’

‘Not yet. Her foot’s still trapped.’

‘I can deal with that.’ Jason still had a heavy protective glove on one hand. He reached carefully past the gaping wound on Courtney’s leg to ease his fingers between her foot and the top of the pedal. Only Laura noticed the way the lines deepened at the corners of his eyes. To anyone else he must have made bending the pedal upwards far enough to clear the trapped foot appear effortless.

‘Ah-h-h! It hurts!’

‘Almost there, love.’ Jason’s tone was calmly reassuring. ‘We’re going to tip your seat back now and slide a board underneath you.’

Too many figures were crowding in now and Courtney’s grip on Jason’s hand was lost as they finally lifted her clear of the wreck.

‘BP was 80 systolic five minutes ago,’ Laura told Tim. ‘We need to get another line in.’

‘Hare traction on that femur before we roll?’

Laura nodded. The low blood pressure could well be caused by the blood loss associated with the fractured bones Courtney had sustained. It was a two-person job to apply a traction splint so it wasn’t something that could be done en route. It would mean a delay of another few minutes before transporting, but effective splinting would help control further blood loss and was therefore a priority.

It wasn’t just the fire officers of Green Watch she was lucky to be working with, Laura decided as the ambulance rolled clear of the accident scene only three minutes later. Tim was one of the most competent paramedics she had ever had as a partner and they were perfectly matched to remain calm and efficient in virtually any circumstances. A few years over Laura’s twenty-nine, Tim had the added advantage of more experience and he also had the kind of laidback personality that made him fit in seamlessly at Inglewood station despite being in a different emergency service. He was just one of the boys.

As was Laura now. The novelty of having a female officer on the watch had worn off rapidly. A shade too rapidly maybe, but who could blame them for losing any interest her gender might have sparked? And it didn’t matter. She was part of a great team and she’d be delighted to be considered an honorary bloke if only it wasn’t for—

‘How’s it going back there?’

‘Fine.’ Laura scribbled down the update of recordings she’d been making automatically as her mind wandered. ‘BP’s up—100 over 60. Oxygen saturation is 98 per cent on 15 litres. Sinus tachy at 110.’

‘We’ll be at the hospital in about eight minutes.’

‘OK. I’ll radio through in a minute.’ Laura turned back to her patient. ‘How’s the pain score out of ten now, Courtney?’

‘About four, I guess.’

‘That’s a lot better but I’ll give you a little bit more morphine. I’d like to get it down to at least two if I can.’

Caring for a multi-trauma patient en route gave little time to attend to paperwork so Laura completed the task using a spare patch of counter in the trauma room as the emergency department staff assessed the new arrival. By the time she was finished, X-rays had been completed and Courtney was being readied for Theatre where the orthopaedic surgeon would need to deal with the open lower leg fracture and the dislocation-fracture of her right elbow. Laura paused on her way out with the completed paperwork.

‘All the best, Courtney. You’re in good hands. You’ve got one of the best orthopaedic surgeons in town coming in to fix you up.’

‘I just want to get it over with,’ Courtney groaned. ‘But thanks…for everything.’

‘You’re very welcome.’

‘And can you thank that fireman for me? What was his name?’

‘Jase. Jason Halliday.’

‘Yeah, that’s him. He was fantastic.’

‘I’ll tell him.’ Laura had to suppress a wistful smile. It wasn’t something she could tell Jason herself, no matter how much she might agree with the sentiment.

‘How old is Jason?’

Perhaps Laura would also need to tell him that his techniques of distracting a patient had long-lasting effects. Courtney didn’t look as though she was thinking about her injuries or impending surgery at all right now.

‘Ancient.’ Laura smiled. ‘Pushing forty.’

‘Oh…he didn’t seem that old.’

Laura wasn’t really lying. Anything over thirty was on the way to forty, wasn’t it? And thirty-two was still far too old for a nineteen-year-old.

‘He’s really nice, isn’t he?’

‘Mmm. I’d better go now, Courtney. Looks like they’re nearly ready to move you.’

Tim appeared in the trauma room doorway. ‘We’re all cleaned up and ready to go,’ he told Laura. ‘And I can almost smell Mrs M.’s bacon and eggs. You ready?’

Laura was more than ready to head back and finish her shift but her most recent patient wasn’t quite ready to let her go.

‘I couldn’t really see what he looked like with that uniform and everything. Is he cute?’

‘Cute’ wasn’t the word Laura would have chosen. Jason Halliday could be used as a pin-up model for the fire service any day. Six feet two inches with a build to match his height. Sun-streaked, curly hair, dark blue eyes and a killer smile. There was only one word to describe Jason and that was…perfect.

‘Imagine your typical surfer and add ten years and a pot belly.’

‘Oh…He said he wasn’t married, though, didn’t he? Has he got a girlfriend?’

‘’Fraid so.’ Laura’s smile was not without sympathy but she escaped without offering any consolation in the face of Courtney’s obvious disappointment. She could have said that Maxine was only a newbie and might not last long but what was the point? She knew only too well the strength of attraction Jason Halliday could inspire and this teenager had as much hope of sparking a reciprocal interest as she herself had.

Well, maybe that was wishful thinking. Courtney was slim, probably several inches taller than Laura’s five feet two inches and her hair was an attractive russet rather than dead mouse, but even so she didn’t measure up to Jason’s usual standards in female companions. Better to be briefly disappointed now than to carry a torch and find the flame not only refused to get extinguished but simply burned a little brighter with every passing week.

‘Jase is going to kill you when he hears about that “pot belly” remark,’ Tim informed her a few minutes later.

‘Only if you tell him,’ Laura countered. She indicated a right turn and slowed the ambulance as she reached the main route back to their station. ‘And if you do, I’ll tell Mrs Mack who walked over her clean lino with those muddy boots last week.’

‘You wouldn’t!’ Tim’s expression feigned fear. Then he grinned. ‘OK, my lips are sealed.’ He tipped his head back and closed his eyes wearily. ‘Can’t say I blame you for trying to put her off. We get quite enough women turning up asking for our Jase as it is.’ His tone became thoughtful. ‘I wonder what it’s like to be so compellingly attractive to the opposite sex?’

‘Boring,’ Laura said firmly. ‘You can have too much of a good thing, you know.’

‘No.’ Tim sounded almost wistful now. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

Laura snorted softly. ‘Join the club, Tim. I think I’m the founding member.’

‘Oh, come on. I don’t believe that for a minute.’ Tim’s quiet voice was suddenly serious. ‘You’re great, Laura. Best partner I’ve ever had. You’re a brilliant paramedic, you’ve got a terrific sense of humour and…and your smile’s lovely.’

‘Thanks.’ Laura’s wry tone acknowledged the hesitation before Tim had found something physical to praise. ‘I’m also short, fat and I wear glasses.’

‘So?’

‘So men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.’

Tim’s snort was much more definite than Laura’s had been. He grinned again. ‘So take them off when you want someone to make a pass at you.’

Laura laughed. If only it was that easy. Even the wry amusement lifted her spirits, however. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re a nice person, Tim?’

‘Nah. The last woman that dumped me had a considerable command of adjectives that let me know precisely how boring I am.’

‘You’re not boring, Tim.’ Laura pulled the ambulance to a halt and then started backing into the garage. ‘You’re dependable. Safe.’

‘Ha! Safe is pretty close to boring if you ask me. Women want excitement, not safety.’

‘There’s a woman out there who’s going to find safe pretty exciting.’ Laura smiled at Tim. ‘Hey, you’re the best partner I’ve ever had. I love working with you.’ It was just such a shame it hadn’t been Tim she’d fallen in love with, but life was never that neat, was it?

‘We do have fun, don’t we?’

‘Sure do. I can’t believe I’ve been here for six months already. Seems like only last week I was wondering what it would be like to be stationed with a fire crew instead of just ambulance.’ Laura climbed out of the driver’s seat and walked around to join Tim at the back of the vehicle. ‘I still haven’t got over how funny they are, though.’

‘What?’

‘The boots.’ Laura pointed to where the crew’s heavy footwear was lined up, the tops of the boots protruding through the rolled-down legs of protective over-trousers. ‘It looks for all the world like a crew was standing around the truck and they all got vaporised by some alien force or something.’

‘Makes for a quick getaway.’

‘I know.’ Laura had seen Jason and his colleagues respond to a call. Feet slid into boots, over-trousers were yanked up and secured by elastic braces, and matching, heavy, mustard-yellow jackets with reflecting stripes were grabbed from the locker room along with helmets. The items of protective outer clothing were always left in precisely the same position on returning to the station, which left the officers wearing their uniforms of black trousers and navy blue T-shirts emblazoned with the red and white fire service logo.

As they were now. Laura and Tim had elected to wait until closer to the end of their shift before restocking and cleaning the ambulance. They had enough supplies if they got another call, and tempting fate by having a freshly prepared truck for the oncoming crew was not a good idea this close to their finishing time of seven a.m. A late call after a busy night such as they’d just had would not be welcome.

They entered the old house through the automatic side door that now joined it to the large, purpose-built garaging. The spacious lounge that ran nearly the whole width of the lower floor had become a common room, filled with comfortable furniture. The couches and chairs were being well patronised by weary men at the moment, half of whom had their feet resting on the coffee-tables. The other half had their footwear resting on the arms of the couches.

‘In the name of St Bride!’ Laura did her best to imitate the broad accent that fifty years of living in New Zealand hadn’t dampened in Mrs McKendry’s case. ‘How many times do I have to tell you boys to keep your dratted feet off that furniture?’

To her delight, the accent and surprise factor were enough to initiate a guilty leap into compliance. Her laughter caused more than one head to turn, and then the amusement was general.

‘Good one, Laura!’ Tim shook his head at the firemen. ‘You should have seen yourselves jump!’

‘Lucky I didn’t scream,’ Cliff complained. ‘She’s just as scary as Mrs M.’

‘Ah…but can she cook bacon and eggs?’

‘And polish the furniture?’

‘And get nasty stains out of any clothes?’

‘Even Mrs M. couldn’t get the stains out of your underwear, Stick.’

Laura shook her head and flopped into the nearest available armchair during the laughter that followed the last flippant remark. Maybe she was just too tired to feel amused. Or maybe the idea that she might measure up to the perfect housekeeper cut a little too close to the bone. She could do all those things but she wasn’t going to be some man’s housekeeper ever again. Not when that ended up being the main attraction she possessed.

Several pairs of eyes were fastened on the wall clock.

‘It’s 6.15.’

‘Mmm. That bacon will be in the pan any minute now.’

‘Why don’t you do it for yourselves for once?’

That wasn’t a suggestion one of the boys would have considered making. Laura found she had caused a brief but rather surprised silence. Jason looked positively bewildered.

‘What…and make Mrs M. feel like she’s not wanted?’

Laura’s sigh revealed that she didn’t have the energy to try and re-educate the men around her. Maybe it was an impossible task anyway. Was that why John had never lifted a finger in the kitchen? Or the bathroom, or anywhere else for that matter? Had he, in fact, been a kind and caring partner who had simply been trying to show her how much he’d needed her? Ha!

‘She would be upset.’ Tim’s glance was speculative and Laura knew she deserved the gentle reprimand. The men of Inglewood station might complain and joke about Jean McKendry when she wasn’t around, but she was part of the family if anyone else tried it. And the kitchen was strictly her domain during her ‘office’ hours.

‘We’ve never asked her to do any of the stuff she does for us, you know,’ Bruce added. ‘She’s just become an institution—ever since she popped over with a plate of scones the day this station opened five years ago.’

‘Yeah, it just grew.’ Cliff nodded. ‘By the end of the year she was here every day, all day, cleaning and cooking.’

‘And making sure we all had a clean hanky.’

‘At least she gets paid for it now,’ Bruce told Laura. ‘And we all put in to buy all the food she insists on cooking us.’

‘She loves us,’ Jason said. He still looked puzzled. ‘She wants to do it.’

‘I know.’ Laura smiled. ‘She’s wonderful and we’re the envy of any other peripheral city station. Sorry.’ She pushed her glasses up and rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘I’m just tired, I guess, and from where I’m sitting it’s easy to take offence at the idea of a perfect woman’s attributes being how easy she can make life for others.’

The second brief silence had a contrite air to it.

‘Hey, we weren’t getting at you, Laura.’

‘No…we don’t think of you as a woman.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ Not only was she the only member of Green Watch not to have earned some kind of nickname, they didn’t even see her as being female.

‘That wasn’t helpful, Stick,’ Jason said firmly. He gave Laura one of his killer smiles. ‘What he meant was that you’re one of us.’

‘One of the boys,’ Bruce put in kindly.

‘No.’ Jason sounded even firmer. ‘Laura is most definitely not a boy. Heck, even I’m not that blind.’

Laura couldn’t help smiling. Or help the pathetic little glow that started somewhere inside at the thought that Jason had not only noticed her femininity, he was defending her. Then her smile faded. What had the comment really meant…that it was really so hard to see anything attractive about her?

‘We’re not really chauvinistic,’ Bruce said a little defensively. ‘But this job requires people with pretty assertive personalities. So does yours. You wouldn’t expect a firefighter who’s risked life and limb to pull someone from a burning house or cut open a wrecked vehicle to extricate the injured to go home and bake a cake or clean a toilet, would you?’

‘Why not? You’d expect me to,’ Laura told them. ‘I’ve just been squished inside a car wreck looking after the injured, but I bet you wouldn’t put up too much of a fight if I offered to go and make you all coffee or throw some bacon and eggs together.’

‘Mmm.’ The sound was a frustrated groan. ‘Bacon and eggs!’

‘Don’t worry, Laura,’ Tim said. ‘We all know you’re just as much of a hero as we are.’

‘Yeah.’ Cliff winked at her. ‘Maybe you need a wife as well.’

Laura gritted her teeth. She knew they were teasing her but it was easy to think that her protest had not made the slightest impression on any prejudice held by these men. And what did it matter, anyway? She couldn’t imagine being attracted to a man who was keen to bake cakes or clean toilets. She’d never wanted to find a sensitive New Age guy. She was just twisted and bitter because John had never really wanted her for herself. Apart from the freely available sex, he would probably have been happier being married to Jean McKendry.

Jason seemed to have picked up at least part of her thoughts by telepathy.

‘You should also know,’ he said seriously, ‘that we don’t consider Mrs M. to be the perfect woman.’

‘No.’ Stick grinned. ‘She’s about forty years past her use-by date.’

‘And she’s grumpy as hell.’

‘Yeah.’ Jason rubbed his elbow reflectively. ‘She hit me with a wooden spoon the other day.’

‘Well, you were sticking your dirty, fat finger in her gravy.’

‘I was only tasting it.’

The mention of food provoked another general glance towards the clock and yet another short silence.

‘What was that?’ Laura frowned at the faint but noticeably unusual sound.

‘Just a cat.’

‘Gate squeaking?’ Cliff suggested hopefully. ‘Mrs M. arriving for breakfast?’

‘Jeez, we’d better not get another callout,’ Jason said unhappily. ‘I’m starving.’

‘You’re always starving, Jase.’

‘Can’t help it. I’m a growing lad.’

‘We’ve noticed.’ Stick leaned over the side of the chair and poked Jason’s midriff. ‘You’d better watch out, mate. Pot belly city!’

Laura’s lips twitched as she gave Tim a warning glance. He grinned and raised his eyebrows as though acknowledging that Laura might have already been provocative enough, especially for this time of day.

They were all startled at the sound made by the original back door of the house. Not that it wasn’t Mrs McKendry’s normal entranceway, but she didn’t usually open and shut it with quite such purpose. The room fell uncomfortably silent now. Mrs M. wasn’t happy. Someone had upset her and they were all likely to suffer the consequences. Laura was suddenly acutely aware of just how right her colleagues had been not to trespass on their housekeeper’s self-designated areas of responsibility.

Never mind the culinary and other benefits they all received—letting Jean McKendry think she was indispensable was actually an act of kindness. Looking after Inglewood station was her life and while she could be nosy, grumpy and always opinionated, she was never unfair. If she was this upset there would be a good reason for it.

The determined tap of sensible, low-heeled shoes got louder as Mrs McKendry traversed the kitchen’s linoleum floor. All eyes were drawn to the arched opening that joined the dining-room end of the lounge to the kitchen that ran along the other side of the house. Those same eyes swivelled in unison to the large cardboard box that Mrs M. deposited carefully on the table. Wiry arms were now folded in front of the small woman’s spare frame. And, in case her body language wasn’t enough to let them know that this time they were in serious trouble, her tone backed it up more than adequately.

‘I’m waiting,’ she snapped.

‘What for, Mackie?’ Jason’s smile was one of his most winning. It wasn’t even directed at Laura and it was enough to melt her bones. Using the affectionate nickname had to be overkill, surely? ‘What have we done?’

‘I know what one of you has done,’ Mrs M. enunciated with precision. ‘What I want to know is, who is responsible?’

‘Who is responsible for what?’

A sound rather similar to a cat’s mew or a gate squeaking was suddenly produced by the box on the table. Mrs McKendry’s lips almost disappeared into a straight, grim line.

‘Who is responsible for this puir wee bairn being left on the back doorstep of Inglewood station?’