Page 14 of Stranded with the Surgeon

‘I’ll have a whisky, thanks, Di… Bloody cold tonight, eh?’

‘Sure is.’ Jennifer pulled the folds of the pale blue anorak more tightly around her and drew her knees up to her stomach. ‘What time do you think it is, Guy?’

‘I’ve no idea. I’ll check my watch the next time we use the torch.’

‘Ah… Diana,’ Digger murmured. ‘The goddess.’

‘Who’s he talking about?’ Jennifer whispered.

‘The woman he was in love with for years.’

‘Oh?’ Something in Guy’s tone left a question unanswered.

‘She was also my mother.’

‘Oh.’ Jennifer frowned in the darkness. ‘So, is Digger your father then?’

‘Closest thing I ever had to one, anyway.’

‘Stepfather?’

‘No.’ The conversation was clearly over and silence fell until Digger’s voice startled them both.

‘Oi!What the hell… do you think you’re doing? Come here, you little bugger… and bring that back!’

‘It’s only us, Digger. Guy… and Jenna. We’re here with you.’ Guy’s voice was reassuring but Digger seemed oblivious.

‘I have to get up at sparrow’s fart… I don’t need some thieving kid… taking off with my smokes…’

‘Smoking’s bad for you, mate. You knew it was time to stop.’

‘Don’t need a snotty-nosed kid… telling me what to do… Just wait till I talk to… your mother…’

‘Did you steal Digger’s cigarettes?’ Jennifer found herself smiling. ‘Were you on a crusade or trying a life of crime?’

‘I was twelve. A life of crime seemed a good idea at the time.’

Guy was probably in his mid-thirties now, so he had known Digger for a very long time. A father figure. Jennifer remembered the glimpse of anguish she had seen on Guy’s face when he’d first confronted the extent of Digger’s injuries. Now he was lying close to someone he loved, and that person was dying. As if to emphasise her bleak thoughts, Digger mumbled something completely incoherent and lapsed into silence.

Jennifer swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly into the darkness a minute or two later.

‘What for?’

‘That I can’t do more to help Digger.’

There was a long hesitation before the response came. ‘Not half as sorry as I am.’

Jennifer shrank a little further into the folds of her anorak as the depth of feeling in his words echoed in her head and squeezed her heart hard enough to be painful. Had that been a personal slight? Did he expect a consultant in emergency medicine to be able to perform some kind of miracle? She shook her head, dispelling the faintly paranoid notion. Given the bond that existed between these men, it was far more likely that the comment was a bitter reflection on his own inability to provide assistance.

The sounds of Digger’s breathing filled the tiny tent. How long would his injured lungs manage to struggle on, trying to provide enough oxygen to keep cells alive? Jennifer looked upwards. She couldn’t see the bag of saline in the darkness, but she could picture the steady drip of fluid entering Digger’s veins. It was such inadequate treatment for the condition he was in.

If the internal bleeding continued, he would enter irreversible shock within the next few hours. Lack of oxygen-carrying red cells would cause the major organs like the kidneys and heart and brain to fail. If they had been in an emergency department, it would be so easy to do what was needed. X-rays and ultrasound. Aggressive fluid replacement. A proper chest decompression. A quick trip to Theatre to have the source of the abdominal blood loss fixed.

The isolation of their situation was suddenly overwhelming because it was going to cause someone’s death, and there was absolutely nothing Jennifer could do about it. Her sigh was heartfelt.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’

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