From Single Mum to Lady by Judy Campbell

that was what he thought—throwing her to one side when he was frightened they would get too close. He was probably on the lookout for a girl from his background—the ‘local aristocracy’, not one already encumbered with a four-year-old daughter.
    Then she sighed. She’d obviously been reading all the wrong signals. He’d realised that she was not part of his world and it would be silly to form a close friendship with her. That hurt—no matter that they’d only had a brief acquaintanceship, she still felt the sting of rejection from a man she’d imagined had felt the same fierce electric attraction between them as she had. But most of all it hurt that he had, in effect, kept the truth about his life to himself, just like Terry had.
    * * *
    Friday night and there was the first hint of the cutting edge of winter cold about the air. Jandy pulled her coat around her as she walked from her car to A and E for her three-night stint on night duty, and wondered if she’d get the decorating done in her little house by Christmas. It was September now, and they would have to move in anyway in a few weeks, camping uncomfortably in the bedrooms and doing things gradually.
    It would have been fun, giving the place a make-over with Lydia’s help, but the whole thing had backfired with Patrick’s attitude towards her. How could he have turned out to be such an arrogant pig? From where she was, it seemed that pure snobbery was the only reason for his sudden coldness.
    Probably, she thought scornfully, his father wielded a lot of influence over him. He’d sounded very Victorian, she would be deemed as highly unsuitable—a single mother with no money, whose own mother lived with a mechanic young enough to be regarded as a toy-boy, just the sort of girl he would advise his son to avoid!
    Was she being over-sensitive? Jandy shrugged. Whatever the reason, she would keep her distance for a while and she was very relieved that he wasn’t on this weekend night shift. She was thinking far too much about the man, despite her annoyance with him.
    ‘Hi, there,’ said Bob, joining her as they walked down the corridor. ‘God, I hate this shift—it’s the worst of the whole week.’
    ‘Ah, well—it’s only for a few days,’ commented Jandy absently. ‘And then four days off.’
    ‘Three nights of hell…’ grumbled Bob, opening his locker and slinging his bag and jacket into it.
    Jandy sympathised with him. There were more attempted suicides, more alcohol abuse as drinkers celebrated the end of the working week, and more road traffic accidents on a Friday night—and all sometimes crowded into a small space of time.
    On her way to the central desk, Jandy passed an elderly couple walking very slowly to Reception. The woman was supporting the man as he shuffled along, stopping every now and then to draw breath.
    ‘Can I help?’ asked Jandy. ‘Have you booked in yet?’
    ‘My…my friend doesn’t seem able to breathe very well,’ said the little old lady, looking anxiously at Jandy. ‘We’ve only just come back from holiday and he started to feel unwell getting off the plane. I got a taxi, although he said it was nothing, and now…’
    She stopped speaking and watched in distress as the man slid slowly to the floor and lay there motionless, except for the labouring motion of his chest trying to take in air, his breath stertorous.
    ‘Oh, heavens…Charles, what’s the matter?’ She bent over him anxiously. ‘Oh, dear…’
    ‘Max—bring a wheelchair!’ called Jandy sharply to the porter, who as usual, when he hadn’t been given anything specific to do, was deep into a detective novel.
    ‘Comin’, Nurse—no worry,’ he sighed, stuffing the paperback into his back pocket.
    Jandy squatted down beside the man and felt his pulse. ‘Not too bad—a bit rapid,’ she murmured to herself.
    The man attempted to sit up and said rather breathlessly, ‘I’m all right—I just can’t get my breath. I seem to have hurt my