Page 40 of Sing it, Sam

Chapter Fourteen

I run to reception and find a white ambulance parked out front of the double doors. Two male paramedics dressed in navy blue exit the vehicle and rush to open the rear doors.

“What’s happened?” I ask Kathleen, unable to tear my gaze from the men. One of them pulls out a large black bag with a red cross on the side of it. The other wrestles with a stretcher, wheeling it towards us.

“Mrs Ferguson has had a heart attack,” Kathleen says, matter-of-factly.

I swing my head in her direction as my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. “Oh no,” I gasp.

My feet freeze to the ground. I know this is something that I should be prepared for, having sick and elderly people living here, but I’m not.She has so much life in her yet. Please don’t let this be it for her.

“What do you need me to do?” I ask as Kathleen moves to meet the emergency crew.

“Firstly, Sally-Anne had to leave early, so I need you to man the desk. Secondly, see if you can reach Paige. She went up the road to grab something for lunch. Thirdly, make sure Helen can work later this afternoon. Paige might have to go to the hospital in case they want to discuss Mrs Ferguson’s medical history, and we’ll need someone here just in case.”

“Okay. I’m on it.”

My hands shake. It takes me a moment to find Paige’s number. When she answers my call, she has to tell me to slow down because she can’t understand a word I’m saying. Eventually, after a tonne of deep breaths, I get the message across that she’s needed back here.

I’m more together when I speak with Helen at the nurses’ station. Thankfully, she’s happy to cover until the night shift arrives.

Paige arrives a few minutes later, just as the men are loading Mrs Ferguson into the ambulance, Kathleen standing by the side. Paige talks to the men and then ducks her head and climbs into the back. Lights and sirens blare once more as the vehicle pulls out onto the curb.

Kathleen walks inside, her gaze on her feet. “I’ll be in my office,” she says in a robotic voice as she scans her ID card and strides through the secure doors.

I don’t move from my post at reception for the next two hours. Each time the phone rings, I’m desperate for it to be the hospital or Paige with an update. The phones are eerily quiet.

At around three o’clock, Kathleen breaks the silence and walks with purpose into reception.

“Any word?” I blurt out and then realise she’s talking on her mobile.“Sorry,”I mouth to her.

The look on her face is unreadable as she pauses and nods her head.She’d be great at poker. “Thank you for letting me know,” she says, her voice firm. “Yes … of course … I’ll try making contact with them again.”

I gasp and stand, gripping her upper arm. “Was that the hospital?”

She huffs out a breath and slowly nods. “Mrs Ferguson didn’t make it.” Her thick voice carries the weight of the world.

My face turns to stone.

She’s gone.Just like that.

Tears well in my eyes.

“I’m going to try to get in contact with her family, yet again. Can you please bring her full file up to my office? I couldn’t find it.” Kathleen sniffs and then retreats down the hall.

My hands tremble as I search for Mrs Ferguson’s file from the tall white filing cabinet behind me. I eventually find it stuck inside another file.

As I walk to her office, a series of photos slip from the file and fall to the ground. One is a picture that Kathleen took of Mrs Ferguson and me when we made the floral headpieces; another is of her sitting in a sunny spot in the courtyard with a multi-coloured blanket draped over her lap. My nan had one not so different. It brings back so many memories of the day Nana passed. I swoop up the pictures and shove them into the file.

When I enter the room, I slide the file onto the corner of Kathleen’s desk.

“I know it’s sad, Jane. Mrs Ferguson was a colourful character. A lovely woman.” She dabs a tissue at the corner of each eye and breathes in deep.

“It’s t-terrible.”

“What’s really sad is that her family haven’t visited her for two years. Some of them are even local.”

“Really?” I breathe.How can someone treat their own flesh and blood like that? Like they don’t even exist?My hand rushes to my mouth, attempting to cover a sob. I can’t turn into a mess in front of her. I need to hold it together. A cry bursts free of my mouth.

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