‘I like green,’ I said flatly, knowing what was coming.
‘Who on earth prefers the green ones?’
‘Just tell me, Lizzy.’
‘Scary Glenda.’
Chapter 19
Only a matter of time
As I walked up to the door of the flat I felt strangely numb. I couldn’t really even remember cycling home, but I knew I must have done because I was wearing my lycra and reflective gear, and my backpack was slung over one shoulder.
I was tired. I was so tired I could actually feel the fatigue seeping into my bones. All I wanted to do was lie on the sofa, watch crap telly and forget that this day had ever happened. It had started so brilliantly and deteriorated so rapidly that my head was spinning.
As I was rummaging for my keys I could hear male voices from inside. I couldn’t tell what was being said, but I could tell that they were angry. Great. Absolutely the last thing I needed. When I finally managed to locate my keys and open the door I could hear the voices more clearly.
‘Look, I’ve said I’m sorry,’ Dylan was saying with some urgency. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help now. Just please, please don’t tell her.’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’ My heart sank as I recognized Tom’s impatient voice coming from the kitchen.
‘She’s important to me Tom … please.’ Dylan’s voice was breaking slightly with emotion and I started to become alarmed. Dylan was not an emotional guy.
I heard Tom sigh. ‘I thought you were a mate,’ he said in a softer tone.
‘I was. I am. I was just blind to everything else but …’ Dylan stopped abruptly as I slammed the door.
I wanted to ask what they were talking about, but to be honest I didn’t have the energy to go through another of Dylan’s romantic dramas, into which he had evidently somehow dragged Tom.
As I came round the corner all eyes were turned to me. Dylan and Tom were facing each other on stools at the kitchen counter, a beer in front of each of them. Bizarrely Lou was standing next to Dylan with her hand on his shoulder. She looked almost protective of him, like she was lending her support.
I didn’t want to know what was going on.
I was numb.
Ignoring all of them, I made my way to the sofa, dumped my bag, and fell heavily onto it.
‘Frankie?’ Lou called, and I heard her approaching; but I remained staring up at the ceiling. I felt my mind shutting down and I welcomed the blankness. All I could hear was a vague roaring in my eyes. ‘You okay, sweets?’ I felt the sofa depress next to me. A warm hand took mine and gave it a squeeze. ‘Jesus, you’re freezing and soaking wet. Why didn’t you wear your waterproof?’ Fingers were pushing the hair back from my face and I heard a sharply indrawn breath. ‘Shit, Frankie, you’re bleeding! What –’
‘Not my blood,’ I muttered to the ceiling. ‘Not my blood,’ I repeated dumbly. I jerked when I realized that Lou was touching my neck. ‘No!’ I shouted, flinching away from her.
‘Frankie, what on earth –’
‘No,’ I screeched, batting Lou’s hands away, ‘don’t touch it.’
How could I have been so dense? I needed to shower. I leapt to my feet and careened to the bathroom, pushing past Dylan and Tom who were standing next to the sofa.
I made it to the bathroom, turned the shower on full blast, then bent over the toilet and wretched until everything I’d eaten that day had made its way back up. Once under the hot spray I watched as the water ran red, then clear, and I scrubbed every inch of my body, shampooing my hair three times. Unfortunately the numbness clouding my thoughts had lifted under the pounding shower, and I started reliving the events of the afternoon.
I’d been called down to see Scary Glenda. Everyone assumed that she was just making a nuisance of herself as usual, but because she was complaining of chest pain she came to the cardiologists.
I sensed that something was off as soon as I walked into her cubicle. For a start she was in so much pain that she didn’t even call me the c-word (her usual greeting of choice). She was also deathly pale. Her blood results were taking ages and I phoned the lab but there was a backlog of urgent samples.
I became really alarmed when I decided to take another set of bloods from her and run them through the arterial blood gas machine in resus. She barely mustered the energy to spit at me, when digging around for a blood sample in her overused veins would usually garner you at least a punch in the mouth.
My heart sank as I read the results on the machine. Her haemoglobin was five – half the normal value. I ran to the desk, fast-bleeped Ash, ordered some O negative blood, and sent a cross-match. By the time I made it back to her she was rolling around on the bed in agony.
‘It hurts,’ she moaned, then gave an animalistic groan of pain before sitting straight up in the bed. ‘I think I’m gonna –’ Suddenly she erupted, vomiting fresh blood in huge waves all over me. It was in my face, my eyes, my hair and soaking through my clothes down to my bra. I was like Carrie at the prom, although I would have vastly preferred pig’s blood to scary Glenda’s. I didn’t know her HIV or hepatitis status, but I did know that she was not a stranger to intravenous drugs or casual sex.
