Picking up the Pieces

He left for the men’s changing-room, and Cassie finished scrubbing and went into the operating-room.

The first patient was a woman of thirty-seven, who was having a hip replacement following deterioration of her joint with recent pregnancies. She had had Perthes’ disease as a child, and after she had slipped and fallen out of a tree at the age of eleven the subsequent displacement of the head of the femur had been corrected with surgery.

Now, twenty-six years later, the joint had finally and literally ground to a halt and was to be replaced.

Nick and Cassie were looking at the X-rays when Miles Richardson, the consultant in charge, popped his head round the door and grinned.

‘OK? How’s the new boy? I gather young Armitage has been under the weather and you’ve had to take over the weekend. Sorry about that — went to the wife’s parents’ for a night or two, or I would have done it myself.’

Nick’s smile was rueful. That’s all right, sir. No problem. Might as well start with a bang.’

‘Good chap — happy on this one? Nasty mess on the radiograph — need to be a bit ruthless, I feel. Left it rather long. Ah, well, off to the wards. See you later.’

The door swooshed shut behind him, and Nick turned to Cassie and smiled.

‘Shall we?’

It was, as Richardson had predicted, a nasty mess, and it taxed all Nick’s skill to position the joint to his satisfaction.

Once again, working with him was a joy. They were perfectly in tune, their minds and bodies in total harmony, and, when he shifted against her, as well as the thrill of awareness, there was a wash of familiarity and happiness.

They exchanged glances over their masks, and she knew he felt it, too. And somehow acknowledging it made it easier to ignore, to subdue and dismiss, so that it just became a part of working with him, like the smell of his soap and the deeper, more natural smell of his skin, warm and faintly musky.

They finished that hip, and then the arthroscopy on the knee of a young amateur footballer with meniscal tears.

The last job, the thumb, was an untreated fracture of the scaphoid that had resulted in non-union of the detached fragment and consequent loss of movement in the thumb. It took time to sort out, but Nick took the time, and only finished when he was satisfied.

‘Sorry about that, it was rather trickier than I’d anticipated,’ he said to everyone there, and they murmured an acknowledgement and disappeared.

Cassie laughed softly.

‘What?’

‘Trevor would have said there wasn’t time and gone to lunch. The patient would have had to have waited, possibly till tomorrow. Actually, no, he would have finished quicker than you because he wouldn’t have bothered about the first hip to such an extent, and the thumb he would have hardly bothered with at all!’

‘I can’t believe he gets away with it,’ Nick murmured.

‘He gets away with anything he chooses. Did you hear Richardson? “Under the weather” indeed! We’re all under the weather — difficult to be above it unless you’re in a rocket!’

Nick chuckled. ‘Lunch?’

‘Have we got time?’

He shrugged. ‘A sandwich?’

‘Done. Give me two ticks to change.’

They went down to the canteen and got a sandwich and a cup of coffee each from the snack bar, then slumped in the corner with their feet propped on each other’s chairs and munched in contented silence. Then Cassie looked up.

That’s Trevor’s old man over there — grey hair, navy suit, paunchy, balding.’

Nick eyed him steadily, then nodded. ‘Right. Thanks. I’ll remember.’

There was a coldness about him that Cassie hadn’t seen before, and she suddenly got a bad feeling about the whole business.

‘Nick? You’ll be careful, won’t you? He could wreak havoc with your career.’

Nick laughed softly. ‘That overgrown puffball? My career’s more solid than that, Cassie. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything rash. I’ve got friends in high places, too. The difference is, I don’t choose to use them. Now, about tonight.’

She blinked. ‘Tonight?’

‘Yes — tonight. How about a quiet supper in a bistro somewhere? Nothing wild — I’m still tired after the weekend. I think I’ve done a week’s work in three days.’

‘Then are you sure you want to — ?’

‘Yes — absolutely certain. I’ve missed you.’

She laughed, a little self-consciously. ‘I’ve missed you, too. Silly, isn’t it? I hardly know you — how can I miss you?’

His smile was tender and very dear. ‘I’m glad you do. What time?’

‘Seven?’

He nodded. ‘I should be finished by then. I’ve got a clinic with Miles Richardson this afternoon, to ease me in, but that should be over by six at the latest.’

‘He’s very prompt — a bit of a stuffy old boy, but he’s a dear, really, and very good. Actually you remind me of him a bit when you’re operating — you’re very alike to work with.’

‘You mean you sidle up to him like that and rub yourself against him?’

She flushed. ‘Certainly not — and I don’t do that with you, either!’

He chuckled. ‘No, of course not,’ he teased. He was practically sitting on her foot, so she lifted it slightly and kicked him ever so gently on the back of the thigh.

‘Ouch.’ He grabbed her foot, and before she could wriggle away he slipped off her shoe and tickled her mercilessly.

She shrieked, just as Mary-Jo came and dropped down into the chair beside her.

‘Having fun, children?’

He released her reluctantly, his fingers sliding over the top of her foot with a very different touch, and smiled at Mary-Jo.

‘Hi. Thanks for your help over the weekend.’

‘My pleasure. Trevor’s an idle waste of space, isn’t he? I wonder when he’ll get his comeuppance.’

Nick smiled enigmatically and stood up. ‘Let’s just wait and see, shall we? Seven, Cassie?’

‘Fine.’