Page 7 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

Freya laid out the pyjamas and toiletries she’d bought for her dad,placing each one on his bed, hoping he’d approve.

‘You shouldn’t have,’ he kept saying as she pulled each item out of the bag.

Thank goodness she’d found a supermarket nearby and had been able to drop in on the way to the hospital this morning. She’d noticed that he didn’t have anything with him and, since he would probably be in hospital for a few days, she’d taken it upon herself to buy him some bits and bobs.

He touched the hem of the pyjama bottoms, and she noticed a tremor in his hand. The fall and subsequent operation had badly shaken him, she realised, her heart aching at how frail he seemed.

‘I’ve arranged for a bouquet to be sent to Rhona,’ she told him.

‘That’s nice. She’ll like that. I’ll thank her myself when I see her. I might even buy that cat of hers a little treat.’ He closed his eyes, and Freya watched the rise and fall of his chest, wondering whether he had drifted off to sleep.

If he had, he soon came awake again when a nurse bustled in, wheeling some kind of contraption.

She smiled at Freya, then said, ‘Right, Vinnie, let’s take your vitals, shall we?’ She picked up his hand, the one with the needle in the vein, and popped a peg on his index finger. ‘Blood sats,’ she explained, noticing Freya’s concern. ‘Oxygen levels.’ She made a note of the results, then took his temperature and blood pressure.

‘Is everything OK?’ Freya asked anxiously.

‘He’s fine,’ the nurse replied.

Freya was about to question her further when a small woman in a white coat walked onto the ward, trailing three people in her wake.

‘Hello, Vincent,’ she said. ‘I’m Magda Poole, your consultant. We met yesterday, but don’t worry if you can’t remember – you were a bit out of it. I performed the surgery on your hip. Do you mind if I check your wound?’

Freya looked away until the consultant had finished her examination, not wanting to embarrass him.

Mrs Poole said, ‘That’s looking good. I’m pleased to say that the surgery went well.’

Thank goodness, Freya thought, breathing a sigh of relief. Her dad had a way to go before he was back on his feet again, but with some TLC from her, he should make a full recovery.

As the consultant was about to leave, her dad asked, ‘How soon can I go home?’

Freya wanted to know the answer to that as well.

The consultant said, ‘You do understand that a fractured hip is a serious injury, and although the procedure to repair it is a routine one, it’s still a major operation. Recovery is likely to take several months. Your muscles, bones and ligaments need time to heal.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I expect you’ll be here for ten to fourteen days, under the circumstances.’

Freya was dismayed. She’d hoped she could have taken him home in a couple of days. She could see the disappointment on his face, too.

The consultant hadn’t finished. ‘The physiotherapist will be along later to help you get out of bed, and we’ll see how you progress from there. I want you to be able to get around with a walker before we discuss discharging you.’

Freya was horrified. ‘You intend to get him out of bedtoday?’

‘That’s right. It’ll help reduce the risk of chest infection and blood clots. The more mobile he is, the better.’ She turned back to Freya’s dad and said, ‘An occupational therapist will speak to you about your home situation and will want to discuss your ability to manage. A broken hip is a serious injury, so you may well need extra help at home for some considerable time.’

After the consultant left, Freya knew she should have asked how long the ‘considerable time’ might be – but she was too scared of the answer.

Chapter 3

Mackenzie Burns ran a practised critical eye over the deck of theSea Serpent. Whenever his boat was put to sea, he insisted on it being given a thorough hosing-down with fresh water as soon as it returned. Not only that, the head (or the loo, as customers called it) was scrubbed, any rubbish was removed, the cockpit was wiped down, and all the gauges were checked to ensure they were working and the engine was running smoothly.

Mack had already given the hull his customary once-over, scanning it for signs of wear and tear. To others, it might seem excessive to check it after every trip, but he liked being ahead of the game, hoping to spot minor problems quickly so they didn’t become big, expensive issues further down the line.

After checking the oil, he asked Angus, one of his crew, to flush the engine with fresh water (salt water was incredibly corrosive), while he examined the anchor, the dock lines, and every other line and rope on board. His final task was to inspect the life jackets and buoys.

Mack was fanatical about the safety of his passengers and crew. Although it might be a pain in the backside after a long day out on the loch to then do all this cleaning and perform all these checks, it had to be done. He could go home, happy that theSea Serpentwould be ready to set sail tomorrow, when he had three more whale and dolphin trips lined up, all fully booked.

‘See you tomorrow, Skip,’ Angus said, giving him a mock salute as he leapt onto the quay.

Mack saluted him back, feeling faintly ridiculous. Anyone would think they were in the Navy! And if any of his crew (he had three people working for him on and off, depending on the time of year and the weather) said, ‘Aye, aye, Cap’n,’ he might just make them walk the plank. They were a good bunch, though, and he would struggle to run his business without them. If he saw them in the pub later, he’d do what he always did and buy them a pint or two.

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