Magda by Sarah England

Author:Sarah England [England, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: EchoWords
Published: 2016-10-28T04:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Seventeen

Drummersgate

After Noel had gone, Becky flew around the unit picking up the pieces from the night before. It was so unlike Noel to leave handover notes unwritten, drug charts unsigned, and phone messages unreturned; not to mention a ward full of patients kicking off. The list was endless.

It was almost time for the afternoon shift to take over before she had time to shut the office door and grab a sandwich in peace. What a nightmare. Anyone else and they’d get it in the neck, but Noel…well, if he was going through anything like her own experiences last year he had her full support and more. Massaging her lower back, she grimaced. Hopefully it wasn’t anything like as bad as that; and with Harry’s help he’d soon be fine and could confidently be left in charge while she took maternity leave. Sooner rather than later though, please God, because this was stressful - really physically and mentally tough.

Cramming the sandwich into her mouth, she quickly tidied the desk and set about filling in the patients’ notes; after which she called in one of the students to double check the drug cupboard with her.

“It doesn’t add up,” said the student, a male nurse with a goatee, who slopped around with his hands in his pockets.

Becky frowned. There was indeed a mistake. They went through it all again. Pharmacy would go ballistic. “I think it’s probably a case of someone needing a tramadol and whoever it was forgetting to sign for it.”

“Haloperidol, as well.”

“Yes.”

“Someone’s had too much.”

“Indeed. Right. Well, if you’d just witness my signature, Ewan, I’ll report it this afternoon.”

He stared at her for a moment too long, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly, then scrawled his spidery autograph with a flourish and sauntered out again.

Becky slammed shut the cupboard door. Little prick, looking at her like that.

Outside it was the kind of golden September afternoon the great romantic poets had eulogised about. She should be relaxing on the terrace back home, drifting off with nothing to do but flick through a magazine and let warm sunshine melt into her skin.

She began to wash out cups, and when one of the buzzers sounded yet again, this time from the dayroom, she opened the door and yelled for that lazy article with the goatee to go and answer it.

“Ewan!”

He was leaning over the reception desk chatting to Security, deliberately ignoring her. She made a hand gesture through the glass pane, along with the mouthed words, “Get that, please.” He took his time, finishing the conversation before ambling over to the day room.

Becky closed the office door, exhaling slowly through flared nostrils. “Count to ten, Becky, count to ten… Nope can’t do it…Just too sodding tired.”

After Toby’s call in the early hours of this morning – four o’clock to be precise - she’d fallen into a comatose sleep, the kind she would have killed for seven hours previously, only to be woken again an hour later when the alarm clock shrilled into her brain.

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