The boy she was operating on-Henri-was a friend of Benjy’s. Three nights ago she’d made pizza for the pair of them and they’d watched a silly movie, she in the middle of the settee, with a little boy at either side.
Henri had been with his father on the beach where Kira had been killed. Henri’s father had fled with the wounded boy into the rainforest and had waited far too long before he dared bring the boy for treatment.
Benjy and Henri…
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t see what happened to Benjy,’ Henri’s father had told her, but all his attention had been on his son, and Lily’s must, be too.
The wound on Henri’s thigh was massive, tissue torn clear and jagged fragments of bone embedded in what remained. It was well beyond Lily’s area of expertise. She was sweating as she worked, and as she looked at the heart monitor and saw that she was failing, she knew tears were mixing with the sweat.
Damn them. Damn them, damn them, damn them.
Then the door slammed open. The theatre staff jerked to attention. In truth they’d spent the last twenty four hours expecting gunmen to burst in, and these were gunmen-but they were dressed in khaki uniforms she recognised. Friends.
‘Keep still, everyone,’ drawled a voice as armed men, pointed machine-guns and the officer in command assessed what was before him. Checking that the place wasn’t an insurgent stronghold. But here was no disguising that a very real operation was taking place. There was also no disguising that they were operating on a child. The officer in charge made a lightning assessment and obviously decided this was no place for warfare. ‘Who’s in charge?’ he said, and Lily checked the monitor, winced again and managed to reply.
‘I’m operating. This child is critical. We have to continue.’
‘What do you need, Doctor?’ he asked, and her heart, which had almost stopped beating, started to thump again.
‘Plasma,’ she said, and she made no attempt to disguise the desperation in her voice. ‘Now. And help. If you have anyone with medical training…’
‘Right.’ This was a man of few words and plenty of action and Lily blessed him for it. ‘Everyone out except theatre staff. Let’s keep this place as aseptic as possible. Someone find the medical supplies now, and get Ben in here, pronto.’
The machine-guns disappeared. Lily turned her attention to the wound again as the door slammed open once more.
‘Plasma’s on its way,’ a voice said. ‘I’m a doctor. Do you want me to scrub?’
She didn’t look up. She couldn’t. ‘Yes, please,’ she managed, and the man hauled off his outer uniform, let it fall to the floor and crossed to the sinks.
‘Lily’s exhausted,’ Pieter told him. ‘She’s been operating for almost twenty-four hours and her hands are shaking.’
‘That’s what I’m here for,’ the voice said. ‘More medics are on their way but I’m the forerunner. I’m a Lieutenant in the SAS, and I have surgical training. What do you want me to do?’
‘Ben,’ Lily whispered, and she lifted her hands clear. Her fingers were trembling so much she couldn’t go on.
‘Doctor,’ Pieter said urgently, and magically Ben was there, lifting the clamps from Lily’s fingers and checking the monitor.
‘Get that plasma here now,’ he roared in a voice that could be heard in the middle of next week. He glanced at Pieter, who was acting as anaesthetist. ‘Are you a doctor?’
‘I’m a nurse with the basic training Lily’s taught me. I’m Pieter.’
‘Then, Lily, you take over the anaesthetic,’ Ben snapped. ‘Pieter, no offence but…’
‘Of course there’s no offence,’ Pieter said, motioning to Lily to take over. ‘If you knew how pleased I am to leave this to you guys…’
‘I can imagine,’ Ben said, and fixed his gaze on Lily, forcing her to steady. ‘You can do this,’ he said.
She took a deep breath. ‘I can.’
‘Right,’ he snapped. ‘Don’t you dare collapse. There’s no time. Let’s get this kid out of danger and worry about everything else later.’
Ben was there.
She was so exhausted she could hardly think, but the knowledge settled in her heart and stayed. It made her feel…not better but somehow less hopeless.
Which was crazy. It was ridiculous to think that Ben Blayden could make all right with her world. Though he’d thought so from the start. He was loud and bossy and sure that his way was right.
‘There are no easy answers,’ she’d told him at the end of med school. They’d been discussing their future, but they’d already accepted their future didn’t involve each other.
‘Of course there are easy answers. You follow your vocation and you don’t get distracted,’ he’d said, and she’d wanted to agree with him but she hadn’t been able to. She had already been distracted.
And now here he was again, just as distracting. She could hardly see him under his mask and theatre cap, but she’d glimpsed enough to see that he’d hardly changed. Still with that mass of jet-black curls that always looked unruly, that always looked supremely sexy. Still with those deep brown eyes, creased at the edges from constant laughter. Still with that body that said he worked hard and he played hard, strongly physical.
Ben was just who they needed right now.
He’d always been just who she needed.
‘Blood pressure,’ he snapped, and she responded fast, the medical side of her working once more on automatic.
‘Seventy on forty-five.’
‘We’re clamping this and waiting,’ he snapped. ‘There’s muck further down but to clear it involves further blood loss. We have to get that pressure up first.’
Muck further down…
She’d never intended to clear it. The bullet that had smashed into Henri had obviously blasted though wood first, as there were shards of splintered timber in the wound. She’d decided her only option was to get the bleeding vessels clamped and the wound closed, then hope like hell they could get him off the island to a competent surgeon before the wound festered.
Now here was Ben, saying let’s take our time, let’s use the plasma, get his blood pressure up and get this wound properly cleaned.
The tiny frisson of hope built, both for Henri and for them all.
He wouldn’t operate this way unless he knew that things weren’t hopeless outside, she thought. He wasn’t closing fast and moving on to the next disaster.
Right. She firmed and made her tired mind find its third or fourth or maybe its twentieth wind. She could do this.
‘Thank you, Ben,’ she whispered, and he flashed her a look of concern.
She looked away. She didn’t need sympathy now. If he said just one word… Her world could collapse, she thought.
Dear God, where was Benjy?
Now that Henri’s blood pressure was rising Ben worked swiftly, knowing the anaesthetic itself was a strain on this desperately injured child. But now they had plasma he thought he’d make it. The child was strong and otherwise healthy, and Lily had done the hard part.
Lily.
This was no contented mama with six or seven babies. He glanced along the table to where she stood at Henri’s head. All he could see of her was her eyes. They were the same eyes he’d fallen hard for more than ten years before, when they had still been kids at university. But they’d changed. She seemed haunted. She looked exhausted beyond all limits, exhausted by something that went beyond this present drama.
If he’d had another doctor he’d have ordered her away from the table. Even if she wanted to work, having such an exhausted colleague had its own risks. But the rest of the medical team wasn’t flying in until they were sure it was safe to do so. Ben was the forerunner, sent to deal with frontline casualties, and there’d be no more medics
