Everyone dealt with grief differently. But had she considered that at the time they were both dealing with Liam’s death? If she could be frank with herself the answer would be no. She hadn’t. Instead she’d hounded Tom to be like her, act like her. As if he could have. What had she done to him? Hurt him even more by not giving him space to grieve. No wonder he didn’t want her back in his life for even a few days.
When she reached the front door to the cottage and heard the television blaring out the news bulletin, she found she couldn’t face Tom with these thoughts tripping around her head, so she turned and headed for the hospital. She’d take another look at today’s patients. Tomorrow’s would be in the dining hall, having dinner with their families by now, so she’d see them later.
And face Tom later still.
Sophie sat propped up with two pillows when Fiona entered her room.
‘Hey, how’s things?’ Fiona asked.
‘Very sore. And I look like I’ve been dragged behind a car on my face.’
‘That’s not how I’d have described my handiwork.’ Fiona sat on the edge of the bed.
‘I’m so swollen I don’t seem to have a face any more. Didn’t like it anyway, so maybe that’s a plus.’ Sophie was glum, and definitely feeling sorry for herself.
‘You’d prefer no face at all? Then people would really stare at you.’
‘They already do.’
Fiona reached for the teen’s hands that were scrunching up the pages of the magazine she’d been pretending to read.
‘Listen to me. Have you ever considered that people may be looking at you because you’re lovely, not because you’ve got a scar?’
When Sophie said nothing, she continued, ‘People will always look at you when they are with you, and, yes, sometimes it will be because of that scar. But most of the time it’ll be because that’s how people get to know you and how they hold a conversation with you. By looking at you. Think about when you meet someone. Do you stare at her feet to try to learn what sort of person she is? I don’t think so.’
The hands tightened their grip on Fiona’s, and Sophie looked up, hope in her eyes. ‘You believe that?’
Fiona nodded. ‘I do.’
‘What about the people who call me scar-face?’
‘Take no notice of them. They’re probably calling someone else fat or stupid or pimple-face. They’re bullies, and you don’t need their friendship anyway.’
‘That’s what Dad says.’
‘See? Both of us can’t be wrong.’
‘Make that three of us,’ growled Tom from behind her.
‘That’s the second time you’ve crept up on me.’ So much for avoiding him.
‘I don’t creep. You didn’t come back to the cottage.’
‘I thought I’d do another patient round.’ Twisting her head, she looked up at him, and immediately regretted her move.
His good looks caught at her, snagged her attention. His strong chin had a tiny X-shaped scar under his right jaw that she hadn’t seen before. His relaxed mouth made his bottom lip fuller, not stretched in annoyance as she’d seen so often since arriving. And suddenly she wanted to kiss those lips. Remembered kisses brought heady scents and tastes rushing back. She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to erase that thought. Tom’s steady eyes met hers, giving her no clue to his thoughts. Her cheeks burned.
Tom grimaced, tightening his mouth. ‘Sorry to interrupt you both, but, Fiona, you’re needed.’
She dragged her gaze away from his face, shocked to find Sophie sitting before her, their hands still gripped together. How easy it would be to lean back against Tom’s firm body and let go of all the tension eating away at her. To feel his arms go around her, holding her tight, would be like returning home.
‘Who needs me?’ Fiona croaked.
‘One of the nurses called the cottage, thinking you’d be there. Shaun’s getting fractious.’
Alarm brought Fiona straight back into focus. Fractious possibly meant an infection kicking in. Pushing off the bed, she said, ‘See you in the morning, Sophie. And say ten times before you go to sleep tonight, “I am beautiful”.’
Dashing along the corridor with Tom, she said, ‘It seems too soon for an infection to be getting a grip. I’ve loaded him with antibiotics.’
‘I read his chart. I’m not sure that’s the problem. His temperature is thirty-seven point four.’
‘Going up, then? The question is, why?’ It had to be an infection. What else would cause Shaun’s temperature to rise? ‘Unless he’s got an underlying illness.’
‘Nothing his parents mentioned when filling in his admission forms,’ Tom commented as he pushed open the door to Shaun’s room and stood back to let Fiona enter.
Fiona plastered a smile on her face as she looked at the feverish boy. ‘Hello, Shaun. How’s your hand feeling?’
‘It hurts.’
‘The nurse gave him some analgesics with h
is dinner,’ Shaun’s mother commented.
Fiona read Shaun’s latest observations. Why had his temperature risen? Not high enough for her to be too concerned yet, but rising body temperature in children was an early warning sign not to be ignored.
She checked his arm for reddened skin and found it normal, so there was no infection arising from the wound. But the lad was obviously feverish. His cheeks were a deep pink and his hair was damp on his forehead.
Fiona lifted Shaun’s pyjama top. ‘I’m going to check your tummy, Shaun. Have you got a tummy ache?’
‘No.’ Shaun’s wary eyes stared at her.
No tenderness, no distended area. But as Fiona slipped the top back over Shaun’s tummy, the boy rubbed his ear with his fist.
‘Does your ear hurt?’ Fiona asked, her mind quickly coming up with a list of causes.
Shaun nodded, and slid his thumb into his mouth.
Fiona examined Shaun’s ears, then felt the glands in his neck and armpits. ‘Open your mouth wide,’ she instructed, and checked his throat. ‘Have you had a sore throat lately?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the nurse when you arrived yesterday?’
Shaun’s worried gaze flicked across to his parents. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Tom, do you want to look?’ Fiona asked quietly, but in a tone that left him in no doubt that he should.
While Tom examined the boy, Fiona flipped through Shaun’s admission forms, clipped to the back of his medical notes hanging at the end of his bed.
Tom straightened and nodded to Fiona. ‘I’ll arrange bloods for a Paul Bunnell screen, and an EBV test.’
‘Yes, I think we should.’ Turning, Fiona asked, ‘Mr and Mrs Elliott, how long has Shaun been complaining of a sore throat?’
‘He said something about one last Monday, so I gave him cold mixture and he said it went away.’ Reluctantly Mrs Elliott answered Fiona’s question.
‘You should’ve informed us before he had surgery.’
‘Now, look here. What does it matter? It didn’t affect his operation.’ Mr Elliott’s cheeks reddened. ‘It’s taken months for us to get the money together to come here. We weren’t going to stay away for a bit of a cold.’