St Matthew's Passion - By Sam Archer Page 0,10

and, at last, suture the abdominal wall closed.

Melissa emerged into the scrub room and fired her gloves at the waste container with a loud snap. She felt delirious, light-headed, and fifteen feet tall. For the first time she’d taken charge completely, suspecting a problem and following her instincts to make the correct diagnosis, then operating to solve the problem, without any outside advice or supervision. There was still a lot that could go wrong, of course, and the patient would have to adjust to life without a spleen which would render him more susceptible to infection. But he was alive now, all because of Melissa; his wife still had a husband and his children a father. Nothing Melissa had ever experienced before came close to the bursting joy she felt now.

One by one people filtered into the scrub room to slap her on the back and offer their congratulations: her junior assistant, the theatre nurse, even the anaesthetist, who’d perched through most of the operation on a stool reading a newspaper, as nonchalant as members of his specialty usually were. Melissa basked in the praise, all the while knowing there was someone else whose admiration would matter so much more.

Fin emerged nearly two hours later from the adjacent theatre, his gown painted with blood, the sweat matting his hair to his forehead. Melissa helped with the post-operative write-up of his case – the severely injured construction worker, Mr Khan, would live, though it would be a long time before he’d walk again – and found Fin as he was coming off the phone.

‘How did the laparotomy go?’ he said, as if he’d only just remembered it.

‘Not badly,’ she said as neutrally as she could. Quickly she described her approach. He listened, nodding slightly.

When she’d finished he nodded and asked, ‘Mind if I take a look?’

She led him into the post-op room where Barry, her patient, was still unconscious and being tended by a nurse. Fin uncovered him and gently peeled away the dressing, inspecting the incision she’d made in his belly.

Melissa watched Fin’s face, her body taut with tension. At last Fin smoothed the dressing back in place.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Spacing of the sutures could be a little more even.’

With that, he turned and left.

Melissa slumped into a chair, closing her eyes. She felt like a tyre which had suddenly had all the air let out of it. The adrenaline, the exuberance she’d been coasting on for the last few hours had dissipated like smoke in a storm.

What was his problem? Why was nothing she did ever good enough for this unreadable, infuriating man?

Chapter Three

The blow-up with Deborah Lennox happened on a Wednesday evening, and it was the first really serious point of conflict Melissa had had with anyone at the hospital since she’d started working there.

Melissa found Deborah in the nurses’ mess, shrugging on her overcoat. It was October, Melissa had been at St Matthew’s for six weeks, and the autumn chill was beginning to bite outside.

‘Deborah, I know you’re about to go home, but do you have a minute?’

The nurse looked at her in mild surprise. ‘Of course. Here, or my office?’

Melissa glanced about. There was nobody else in the cluttered, comfortable lounge, but someone might walk in at any moment and she really did want this to be a private conversation. ‘Your office, if that’s all right.’

In the office Deborah indicated a chair and took one herself, then crossed her legs and gazed at Melissa enquiringly. Melissa hadn’t seen the other woman out of uniform and with her hair down before, and she was surprised at how much younger she looked, and how much more attractive. Her auburn Scottish hair was naturally wavy and her figure was trim. Melissa thought she was probably in her middle thirties, five or six years older than Melissa herself.

‘What’s on your mind?’

‘It’s… a bit awkward.’ Melissa found it difficult to look directly at Deborah for any length of time. She could imagine how bewildered the other woman felt, seeing this normally so confident and decisive doctor at a loss for words. ‘It’s just… I need your advice.’

‘Go ahead.’ Deborah splayed her palms in encouragement.

Melissa took a breath. ‘I need to know what Fin thinks of me.’

It sounded desperately needy the moment it came out, and inwardly Melissa cringed. Deborah raised her eyebrows. Melissa hurried on: ‘You’ve worked with him for years. You know him better than most. I can’t tell if he’s pleased with the work I’m doing or not.