One Tiny Miracle... Read Free Page A

down and pull the sheet over her head and sleep—and get fatter—and read baby magazines and feel kicks and just rest .
    ‘Feeling better?’ Celeste jumped at the sound of Ben’s voice. ‘After this morning?’
    ‘I had a stitch,’ Celeste responded just a touch too sharply. ‘And, before you ask, I am quite capable of working. I’m sick of people implying that I shouldn’t be here. Pregnancy isn’t a disease, you know!’
    ‘I was just being polite.’ Ben gave her a slightly wide-eyed look. ‘Making conversation—you know, with my neighbour?’
    She’d overreacted, she knew that, and an apology was in order. ‘I’m sorry—I’ve had a bit of trouble convincing the doctor that I’m capable of coming back to work, and I’ve got Meg questioning me here. I just…’
    ‘Don’t need it.’
    ‘Exactly,’ Celeste said. ‘I’m hardly going to put the baby at risk.’
    ‘Good.’
    She waited for the ‘but,’ for him to elaborate, for the little short, sharp lecture that she seemed to be getting a lot these days, but ‘good’ was all he said. Well, it was all he said about her condition, anyway.
    ‘I’ve booked Matthew in for a scan. He had a small vomit, and I’d rather play safe. He’s a bit pale, and I’m just not happy—they should call round for him soon. I’ve also found a hand injury to keep you occupied…’ He gave her a nice smile and handed her the notes. ‘Fleur Edwards, eighty-two years of age. She’s got a nasty hand laceration, probable tendon, though the surgeons won’t be able to fit her in till much later tonight. Given her age, it will be under local anaesthetic, so if you can give her a light lunch and then fast her—elevation IV antis, the usual.’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘Could you run a quick ECG on her, too? No rush.’
    He was nice and laid-back, Celeste thought. He didn’t talk down to her just because she was a grad, didn’t ream off endless instructions as if she’d never looked after a head injury or hand laceration before. And, best of all, he hadn’t lectured her on whether she should be here.
    The observation ward was rather like a bus-stop—you were either standing or sitting around waiting, with nothing much happening for ages or everything arriving at once.
    Matthew was brought around first, pale, as Ben haddescribed, but he managed a laugh as he climbed up onto the bed as Celeste had a joke with him.
    ‘You do know exercise is bad for you?’ His mother and girlfriend had both come around to see him into the observation ward, but now he was there and settled they would be heading home. Celeste did a careful set of neurological observations, warning Matthew this would be happening on the hour, every hour. ‘Whether you’re asleep or not…’
    She told Matthew’s family about visiting and discharge times and wrote down the hospital and extension numbers for them. Just as she was about to get started on the admission paperwork, the doors opened.
    ‘Another admission for you…’ Deb, a fellow grad, was wheeling round a rather delightful Fleur—with rouged cheeks and painted on eyebrows, she was dressed in a blue and white polka-dot skirt with a smart white blouse, which unfortunately had been splattered with blood. ‘Fleur Edwards, 82, a hand injury—’ Deb started.
    ‘Ben’s already told me about her,’ Celeste said, sensing Deb was in a rush. ‘Any family?’
    ‘Her daughter’s coming in this afternoon.’ They flicked through the charts. ‘No allergies, she suffers with arthritis, but apart from that she seems very well…’
    ‘I’ll sort things out, then,’ Celeste said, smiling over at Fleur, who was patiently sitting in a wheelchair, her arm in a sling. ‘Is it getting busy out there?’ she asked Deb.
    ‘It’s starting to—we’ve got a multi-trauma coming in.’
    Though she smiled as she went over to help Fleur, Celeste was hit with a pang as Deb left, just a pang of something . She should be out there, would have loved to