bed.
‘Th- Th-’ It was too much. He lay back on the pillows and gasped.
‘You need oxygen,’ she said urgently, and turned to Jake. ‘Why isn’t he on oxygen? It’d surely help.’
Jake sighed. ‘Thank you, Dr McMahon. The US has heard of oxygen, then, has it?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, backing off in an instant. What was she about, interfering in a doctor-patient relationship that had nothing to do with her? ‘Of course it’s none of my business. And Angus-your… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to call you.’
‘I haven’t done the introductions,’ Jake said. ‘Dr Kirsty McMahon, this is His Grace, the Earl of Loganaich.’
She glowered, and then shot a cautious smile at Angus. ‘Gee, that makes it easier to know what to call you.’
Angus managed a smile back-and so did Jake.
‘Call me Angus,’ the old man managed. But then he started to gasp again and Jake’s smile died.
‘Angus, you need to let me help you,’ Jake said urgently, and Kirsty could hear the raw anxiety in his tone. This was something much deeper than a doctor-patient relationship.
‘Angus won’t use oxygen,’ Jake added, startling her by referring to a conversation she thought he’d effectively closed. ‘I know it’s none of your business, Dr McMahon, but now you’ve brought it up we may as well give Dr McMahon an answer, don’t you think, Angus?’
‘No,’ Angus gasped, and struggled for some more breath.
‘Angus won’t use oxygen because he’s decided to die,’ Jake said, still roughly. ‘Just like your sister. Just like Susie.’
‘Susie wants to die?’ Angus gasped. ‘Rory’s wife wants to die? Why?’
‘The same reason you do, I expect,’ Jake growled. ‘No point in going on.’ Then, as Angus started coughing again, he lifted the old man’s hand and gripped, hard. ‘Angus, let us help. Stop being so damned stubborn.’
Kirsty took a deep breath. She glanced sideways at Jake-and then decided, Dammit, she was going in, boots and all.
‘You know, the way you’re looking, without oxygen you could well die in the night,’ Kirsty said softly. ‘Susie’s travelled half a world to meet you. She’d be so distressed.’
‘I’m not… I’m not likely to die in the night.’
Kirsty cast another cautious glance at Jake but for some reason Jake had turned away. Go ahead, his body language said. This may be none of her business but he wasn’t stopping her.
‘Jake’s told you I’m a doctor,’ she said, and Angus took a couple more pain-racked breaths and grunted.
‘Aye. Too many of the creatures.’
‘He means two too many,’ Jake said. He’d crossed to the window and was staring out at the sea. ‘Until you arrived I was the only doctor within a hundred miles. Why he should say there’s too many doctors when he won’t even agree to see a specialist…’
‘No point,’ Angus gasped. ‘I’m dying.’
‘You are,’ Kirsty said, almost cordially. ‘But don’t you think dying tonight when Susie’s come all this way to see you might be just a touch selfish?’
There could have been a choking sound from the window, but she wasn’t sure.
‘Selfish?’ Angus wheezed and leaned back on his pillows. ‘I’m not… I’m not selfish.’
‘If you let Dr Cameron give you oxygen then you’d certainly live till morning. You might well live for another year or more.’
‘Leave me be, girl. I won’t die tonight. No such luck.’
‘Your lips are blue. That’s a very bad sign.’
‘What would you know?’
‘I told you. I’m a doctor. I’m just as qualified as Dr Cameron.’
He gasped a bit more, but his attention was definitely caught. The veil of apathy had lifted and he seemed almost indignant. ‘If my lips were blue then Jake would be telling me,’ he managed.
‘Jake’s told you,’ Jake muttered from his window, and glanced at his watch. And did his best to suppress a sigh. And went back to staring out the window.
There was a moment’s silence while Angus fought for a retort. ‘So my lips are blue,’ he muttered at last. ‘So what?’
Kirsty considered. Back home she worked in a hospice and she was accustomed to dealing with frail and frightened people. She could sense the fear in Angus behind the bravado.
Maybe he wasn’t ready to die yet.
Another glance at Jake-but it seemed he was leaving this to her.
‘Let us give you oxygen,’ she said, wondering how she was suddenly taking over from an Australian doctor, with a patient she didn’t know, on his territory-but Jake’s body language said go right ahead. ‘And let us give you some pain relief,’ she added, guessing instinctively that if he was refusing oxygen, he’d also be refusing morphine. ‘We can make a huge difference. Not only in how long you’re likely to live but also in how you’re feeling.’
‘How can you be knowing that for sure?’ he muttered.
‘Angus, I have a patient back home in America,’ she said softly. ‘He’s been on oxygen now for the last ten years. It’s given him ten years he otherwise wouldn’t have had-ten years where he’s had fun.’
‘What fun can you have if you’re tied to an oxygen cylinder?’
‘Plenty,’ she said solidly. ‘Cyril babysits his grandson. He gardens. He-’
‘How can he garden?’ Angus interrupted.
And Kirsty thought, Yes! Interest.
‘He wheels his cylinder behind him wherever he goes,’ she told him. ‘He treats it just like a little shopping buggy. I’ve watched him weeding his garden. He used a kneepad ’cos his knees hurt, but he doesn’t even think about the tiny oxygen tube in his nostril.’
‘He’s not like me.’
‘Jake says you have pulmonary fibrosis. He’s just like you.’
‘I haven’t got a grandson,’ Angus said, backed into a corner and still fighting.
‘No, but you’ll have a grand-niece or-nephew in a few weeks,’ she said with asperity. ‘I do think it’d be a shame not to make the effort to meet him.’
The effect of her words was electric. Angus had been slumped on the bed, his entire body language betokening the end. Now he stiffened. He stared up at her, disbelief warring with hope. The whistling breathing stopped. The colour drained from his face and Kirsty thought maybe his breathing had totally stopped.
But just when she was getting worried, just when Jake took a step forward and she knew that he’d had the same thought as she had-heart attack or stroke-Angus started breathing again and faint colour returned to his face.
‘A grand-nephew.’ He stared up, disbelief warring with hope. ‘Rory’s baby?’
‘Susie’s certainly pregnant with Rory’s child.’
‘Kenneth would have said-’
‘Kenneth-Rory’s brother-doesn’t want to know Susie,’ Kirsty told him, trying to keep anger out of her voice. ‘He’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with us. So we came out here hoping that the Uncle Angus who Rory spoke of with affection might show a little affection to Rory’s child in return.’ She steadied then and thought about what to say next. And decided. Sure, this wasn’t her patient-this wasn’t her hospice-but she was going in anyway. ‘And you can’t show affection by dying,’ she told him bluntly. ‘So if you have an ounce of selflessness in you, you’ll accept Dr Cameron’s oxygen-and maybe a dose of morphine in addition for comfort-you’ll say thank you very much, and you’ll get a good night’s sleep so you can meet your new relative’s mother in the morning.’
But he wasn’t going so far yet. He was still absorbing part one. ‘Rory’s wife is pregnant.’ It was an awed whisper.
‘Yes.’
‘And I need to live if I’m to be seeing the baby.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re not lying?’
‘Why would she lie?’ Jake demanded, wheeling back to the bed. ‘Angus, can I hook you up to this oxygen like the lady doctor suggests, or can I not?’
