Читать книгу Reborn - Vin Ph.D. Jackson - Страница 7

"I'm afraid your husband's in a coma, Mrs Olsen."

Janet watched the full lips working in a soft, pink face. Doctor Holder was little more than a boy. Richard wouldn't have been impressed. For his money, experience came with age; and the top people wore suits, not lab coats. He wouldn't have complained, though, even if he'd been able. He was all for the quiet life. Maybe he was content at last, laying there, glassy eyes staring unblinking at the ceiling, safe within a womb of eternal boredom.

She noticed Holder watching her, his expression betraying misgivings. About what - her sincerity? Perhaps she'd overdone the brave-little-wife bit and ought to display more concern. She turned away for a moment and tried to imagine how a husband in a wheelchair might affect her life. "What are his chances?"

Doctor Holder watched her shoulders rise and fall in time with her breathing. Once or twice she shuddered as she exhaled. Trying to keep her emotions in check, he supposed. God, he hated this part. Years of training and he couldn't tell her any more about her husband's condition than the damned ward orderly! He tried to inject compassion into a response that always seemed like a cop-out: "Once his condition stabilises we'll know more."

"Stabilises, yes," mumbled Janet. She looked down at Richard. If he were any more stable they'd build a high-rise on him. "I suppose all we can do is wait."

"I'm afraid so.... " His pink, tightly-manicured fingers played the dangling stethoscope like a rosary. What price a diversion to get him out of there? Ten Hail Mary's...?

A freckled nurse's face pushed around the curtain. "Cubicle five, Doctor - stat!"

Relief flooded Holder. He edged past, squeezed Janet's arm gently on the way. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

Then she was alone and the tears finally came. For herself, she guessed, because she was really starting to hate Richard for turning her life into such a bloody mess!

They power-walked: running was taboo, even in an emergency.

Holder snapped irritably: "What?" He felt like a junior exec ordering a damage report. A few shifts on casualty had that effect. You learned to leave emotions at home. Speed, some skill and a heavy bedside manner were better substitutes.

The nurse managed: "The girl - we're losing her." Then they were ducking into five.

Holder jerked to a standstill, totally becalmed. He'd expected a nurse or two and, of course, his patient, the one from the same accident as Richard Olsen. But there larger than life was Agostini leaning over the cot, de-fib paddles still in his hands.

Holder hated Agostini's guts. Doing rounds with the professor was like the Spanish Inquisition. The man was a bastard. All attitude.

The figure straightened, handed the paddles to a nurse. A lean, swarthy mask turned, dressed Holder down. "I'm not poaching, Holder. Just passing through."

Liar.

He walked up to the younger man, stood waiting for him to step aside. "Breathing's still erratic. Not conscious yet. Manage alright now, can you?"

Holder nodded. "I think so, professor." He needed to swallow, wouldn't give Agostini the satisfaction of seeing how intimidated he made his staff. "Thanks for holding the fort."

Agostini grunted. Holder went to the cot praying the egotistical bastard wasn't going to stand there reviewing him like a board of inquiry. As he stooped over the girl, he glanced backwards beneath his arm. Agostini had gone. Holder gulped.

Following a cursory examination, he mumbled to himself: "Why do they do it?"

The two nurses pulled faces at each other. One of them said: "Do what, Doctor?"

"Ride motor bikes without helmets." He was annoyed having to explain what to him was obvious.

The nurse shrugged. "It isn't cool."

Holder gazed down at the face on the cot. She was pretty, beautiful even. "Neither is life as a vegetable," he growled. He stood upright, gave the nurse a patronising stare. "Let's try our best to beat the odds on this one, shall we?"