Tom knew he didn’t just want Colin to survive because he felt like he’d only just found his brother. The truth was he didn’t fancy spending the rest of his life blaming himself for his brother’s death. He should have known better. Life always had a habit of kicking you back down just when things seemed on an upward path.
After ten minutes of recriminating with himself, he returned to the reception desk to remind them he was still waiting to hear news. The nurse gave him a sour look and informed him someone would be there as soon as possible. Then she quickly went back to the papers on her desk, signalling their conversation was over. What did as soon as possible mean? It was a meaningless answer. It could be minutes or hours. He stood for a few seconds hoping his presence might elicit further information from the nurse but she didn’t even bother looking up.
He went back to his seat and decided to give them a further ten minutes and then he would simply have to call Liz. She would never forgive him if she found out he hadn’t bothered calling immediately even if his intentions were sound. Then again she was never going to forgive him either way.
He picked up an old magazine from the table in front of him and leafed through a few pages without really focusing on the contents. His mind was jumping all over the place but his thoughts were all linked by what had happened to his brother. He glanced around and noticed the sign on the wall forbidding the use of mobile phones. He was going to get cold when it came to making the call.
Tom was getting restless in his chair and repeatedly looking at his watch. It had been nearly fifteen minutes since his last confrontation with the nurse. He had been more firm in his request for information but had met the same brick wall response. He noticed a rather distinguished looking man walk up to nurse no information, exchange a few words and then she pointed in Tom’s direction.
“Mr Ashdown?” the man asked as he came near. He was in his early fifties and the stethoscope around his neck identified him as a doctor. Now he was closer Tom could see the dark bags under his eyes that spoke of too many long hours. The fact he was wearing a suit rather than a gown suggested he would be a consultant.
“I’m John Seymour,” the man said. Tom jumped to his feet and shook the outstretched hand. “I’m about to operate on your brother.”
“How is he?”
“I’m afraid it’s too early to say. He’s lost a lot of blood but the x-rays show the bullet has missed his heart. We’ve spent the last half an hour stabilizing him. Until I open him up I can’t see the full extent of the damage. Does he have any medical history I should be aware of?”
Tom looked at him blankly.
“Is he allergic to anything?” Seymour prompted.
“No nothing as far as I know. I don’t remember him ever being in hospital before.”
“Good. I’ll come back soon as I’ve finished operating.” He turned to leave.
“What are his chances?” Tom persisted.
The consultant turned back and looked Tom straight in the eye. “As I said, until I open him up I can’t be sure of anything. His vital signs are very weak but he has a fighting chance. I can’t say better than that. Now I must be going.”
Tom breathed a sigh of relief. They didn’t sound like the best odds but what was a fighting chance. Was it thirty percent; forty percent? The doctor would surely have erred on the side of caution not wanting to build his hopes too high in case it all went pear shaped. At least Colin was alive and there was real hope. He had to trust in the doctors.
Tom glanced around and located a coffee machine. He helped himself to a disgusting tasting very sweet cappuccino and went outside to telephone Liz. He shivered from the change of temperature. He wished it could be Melanie he was calling but she would undoubtedly be asleep and it didn’t seem fair to wake her. He really wanted to talk to her right now and hear what he knew for certain would be a supportive voice. He was equally as certain as he pressed the buttons for Liz’s number that she would blame him for Colin’s situation and perhaps fairly so. At least he could confirm Colin was alive and in good hands. It was going to be a long night.
Miller was woken from his bed by the call to inform him firstly of the shootings in Brighton and then of the anonymous tip off that had led them to a hotel room but no killer. He had only had a couple of hours sleep, as the earlier murder of Lord Bancroft had led to a large number of politicians running around like headless chickens, demanding answers without even yet really knowing the questions.
Miller was confused as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. He had a sudden spate of terrorist murders to contend with and he wasn’t entirely sure if they were linked or not. There were superficial reasons to connect the shootings, namely the Irish link they shared but he was still far from certain that was the only significant factor at play.
He recalled the line from Goldfinger; Once is happenstance, Twice is coincidence, Three times is enemy action. Was there a bigger picture he couldn’t see? The IRA was extremely unlikely to be responsible for Bancroft’s death, given the current political climate and Sinn Fein’s increased respectability.
