Trauma by Ken McClure Page A

looked up and caught Lafferty looking at him. He gave a slight smile and pretended to look past him before sitting back down again in his seat. Occasionally he would glance over his shoulder to see if he was still being watched. Lafferty did not attract any smiles or nods from the others, not that he sensed any hostility however, just the feeling that his collar was out of place. Those present did not expect him to be waiting there like an ordinary member of the public. He was part of the establishment. He should be 'doing' not 'waiting'.
    A nurse appeared in the doorway and looked down at the clip-board she held in her hand. 'Mrs Simmonds?' she inquired.
    The mother and daughter duo responded and the nurse approached them with some news. When she’d finished, Lafferty saw the mother break into tears, her shoulders silently heaving. He got up and walked towards them. 'Is there anything I can do?' he asked the daughter quietly.
    'No, thank you,' replied the daughter sharply. She wrapped her arm further round her mother as if shielding her from Lafferty.
    Lafferty retired gracefully and sat down again. His head was full of broken glass.
     
    An Indian doctor came into the room, white coat flapping open and stethoscope protruding from his right hand pocket. He looked around, saw Lafferty and came towards him. He exuded a faint aura of sweat. 'I understand you are waiting for news of McKirrop,' he said.
    Lafferty noted the absence of any 'mister'. Society was putting 'McKirrop' back in his place already. 'Yes,' he replied. 'How is he?'
    'Not so good, I'm afraid. It's pretty amazing he survived at all after that kind of head wound. He's stable for the moment and we’ll be transferring him to the Head Trauma Unit as soon as he can be moved but as for when he might, if at all, regain consciousness, that's in the lap of the gods I'm afraid.'
    'Thank you, Doctor. I'll phone in the morning if that's all right?'
    'Of course.'
    As he made to leave, Lafferty saw one of the policemen at the tea vending machine and stopped to speak to him. 'You're staying?' he asked.
    'Yep,' answered the policeman with an air of resignation. 'Once they have him on one of these machines we could be here for the next six months on the off chance he'll come round.'
    'That won't please your colleague too much,' said Lafferty, remembering their earlier conversation.
    'Kevin's all right Father. It's just that the job gets to you some times. Some of the things you see every day . . . well, you start to see things differently.'
    Lafferty nodded and said, 'I know.' He glanced at his watch as he stepped outside and shrugged his shoulders against the cold. It was eleven thirty. He looked up at the sky to see that it had cleared completely. As a consequence the temperature was now below zero.
     
    * * * * *
     
    At three a.m. Sarah Lasseter's bleeper went off and she responded almost automatically. Her room was freezing as she pulled on a sweater and slacks - the hospital turned the heating in the residency off at eleven and it didn't come on again until six in the morning. Before getting into bed she had laid all her clothes out in order so that she could dress quickly and in complete darkness if need be. She reached under the bed for the pair of flat slip-on shoes she kept there and pushed her feet into them. She put on her white coat and clipped the bleeper to her top pocket before patting the other pockets to check that she had everything she should have. Satisfied that she did, she whispered, 'Off we go again,' and slipped out of her room, closing the door quietly behind her to avoid waking anyone else on the corridor.
    The coldness of the air outside almost took her breath away as she crossed the courtyard from the residency to the main hospital; she had to watch her footing on the frosty cobbles as twice she nearly came to grief. It was a relief to enter through the swing doors and find herself met with a wall of warmth but she was still rubbing her hands