Free A Perfect Hero by Caroline Anderson Page B

sent him to merciful oblivion.
    ‘Out, Clare, you don’t want to see this.’
    ‘I can’t leave him,’ she whispered.
    ‘Have it your own way,’ Peter said with a sigh, and turned back to Ross.
    ‘OK, he’s yours.’
    Dry-eyed, Clare watched as they stripped away his trouser leg to reveal the damage. Ross swore quietly, then his voice assumed a cold professional tone, as if he was delivering a lecture.
    ‘Extensive de-gloving, nerve and major vessel damage, severe comminution of the tib and fib. We wouldn’t save it anyway. OK, everyone. Let’s just get him out fast and back to Theatre. Mayhew can tidy him up.’
    He picked up a scalpel and neatly stripped the soft tissues away from the bone, then he reached for the saw. Clare turned and fled.
    It was three hours before he came down from Recovery. Mary O’Brien was still on, and after one look at Clare she sent her home to shower and change.
    The cottage seemed appallingly empty without him. She fed O’Malley, and went up to the bathroom to shower. Wrapped in her towel, she wandered into the bedroom and stumbled over Michael’s shoes.
    It was only then that it really hit her, and with a little cry she collapsed on the bed, huge dry sobs tearing at her throat. His scent was on the sheets, making him so real she could almost feel his presence. One by one theheavy tears started to fall, becoming a flood that spent finally itself, leaving her exhausted but calm.
    She dressed in uniform, knowing that they would be rushed off their feet and that every hand would be needed. Michael, for one, would need specialling for the first twenty-four hours at least, and there would be others.
    She was back on the ward before Michael, and busied herself with settling in the new patients, her nerves at breaking point.
    When he appeared she was shocked at his pallor.
    God knows I shouldn’t be, she thought, I’ve seen this sort of thing often enough, but somehow, when it’s someone you love——
    Tim Mayhew was with him, and he beckoned to her.
    She went with him into the little side-ward opposite the nursing station, and stared numbly at Michael as they transferred his motionless body to the bed.
    ‘How is he?’ she asked through stiff lips.
    ‘He’ll be all right. The damage lower down was appalling, I gather, but I’ve been able to leave him with an excellent stump, thank God. He’ll be up and about in no time.’
    She nodded. ‘Just so long as he’s alive …’
    Tim Mayhew patted her on the arm. ‘It’s a terrible blow, so soon after your engagement. It’ll take a very special person to cope with him, Clare. Don’t take it on if you don’t feel you can stick at it.’
    ‘I love him,’ she said tonelessly. ‘We’ll manage.’
    Mary O’Brien bustled in. ‘You’ll be no use to me anywhere else on the ward, with your mind in here with him, and he’s in no position to object—would you like to special him for me, Clare?’
    They elevated the foot of the bed to encourage thevenous return from the stump, and then Mary left her alone with him.
    He kept her busy. Every fifteen minutes she took his temperature, pulse and respiration, and his blood-pressure, and he was linked to a cardiac monitor and a Pethidine pump for continuous pain relief. The last unit of whole blood was running in, and after that there was the saline infusion to set up, and drugs to inject into the giving set.
    When he woke he was very disorientated, unable to remember anything and extremely agitated by the drip. The third time he tried to tear it out she called for help and David Blake, the junior registrar, gave him a sedative. After that things were easier for a while, but as the night wore on and the sedative wore off he began to stir again.
    Clare, anticipating trouble, immediately began to talk to him soothingly. To her surprise his eyes opened and he looked straight at her.
    ‘God, I hurt,’ he whispered. ‘What happened?’
    She was cautious. ‘What do you remember?’
    ‘We