Page 76 of The Night Before Christmas
‘Try and get some sleep,’ said James. ‘We’ll talk to the doctor tomorrow.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The next morningcame very slowly, as it so often does when you are wearing a tracksuit made of polyester and trying to sleep on an uncomfortable bed cobbled together from NHS-standard plastic and metal waiting-room chairs. They had spent the night surrounded by people shouting and doctors coming and going and generally just hospital noise and detritus. Felicity had eventually dropped off in the early hours, only to be roused abruptly at 7am, first by the extraordinary noise made by the canteen workers bringing breakfast round the wards, and then the tall, thin doctor looming over her, looking rather like Jack Skellington fromNightmare Before Christmas.
James had moved to a bench a few metres away at some point during the night and now, annoyingly, was still asleep as far as she could tell from the steady up-and-down movement of his back.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ said the doctor in a low voice, ‘but I’m about to go off shift and I wanted to update you first.’
‘He’s okay, isn’t he?’ she said, standing up and straightening her clothes as best she could.
Please God.
‘Yes, yes, he’s had a good night and seems to be doing okay.’
He hesitated then, and Felicity waited anxiously.
‘Has he had some kind of emotional stress or trauma that you know of?’ said the doctor, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his green scrub top.
At that, Felicity must have gone even paler than she usually is.
She decided the truth was the only way forwards and explained what had been going on when it happened. A slightly edited version, of course.
‘Did…? I mean, who…? I mean, was it me, is it my fault?’ she said at the end, swallowing back fresh tears.
‘Not exactly,’ said the doctor, which wasn’t all that reassuring. ‘It does explain a few things though.’
He paused. For dramatic effect? Or was he trying to find the right words?
‘I shouldn’t really say any more. You’re not his next of kin.’
But he really looked like he wanted to tell her. So, Felicity waited patiently, keeping her features as still and friendly-looking as possible.
Come on, Jack Skellington.
It didn’t take long for him to crack.
‘Okay, fine. But I didn’t tell you anything, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Good. Well. Okay. Our initial scans seem to show he didn’t have a heart attack. It presented very much like it, but I suspect this may be what’s known as stress-induced cardiomyopathy or broken heart syndrome. We don’t normally see this in men… it’s usually women, I’m afraid to say, around ninety per cent of cases, in fact. Perhaps because you are generally more in tune with your emotions,’ he added, with a weak smile. ‘In any case, it can be brought on by a severe emotional trauma. Usually, the death of a loved one. Hence the name.’
Felicity’s hands flew to her face.
‘Oh my goodness. I did it. It was me. I nearly killed him.’
‘Oh no, I shouldn’t think so,’ said the doctor. ‘Even if your, er, argument was somehow a trigger, you couldn’t possibly know that this would happen. It’s not your fault.’
‘I think you’re just being kind.’
‘No, honestly. It’s not something we see very often, it’s very unusual. Most likely he’s got something underlying. We are doing some more investigations.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘He’s in good hands, don’t worry.’
‘Can I see him now?’
