Left You Dead

42

A staff nurse with a yellow plastic tag reading Hello my name is Nadine, who had been waiting for Roy and Cleo, escorted them through the normal mayhem of the Emergency Department receiving area. Roy felt in a daze being here as he numbly followed, past the hectic reception counter, screened-off beds, patients on trolleys in the corridor waiting to be processed, and into the quiet, bland calm of a Relatives’ Room, spritzing their hands at a sanitizer dispenser before entering.

The nurse gave them a form for Bruno’s medical history and a consent form, told them the A&E consultant would be along to see them in a short while and offered to get them drinks. Grace gratefully asked for a strong black coffee and Cleo a glass of water.

As she left, they sat down in front of a coffee table sprinkled with a bunch of magazines and children’s books. Cleo read the consent form while Roy read through the medical history form, feeling utterly helpless. Bruno had been with them for such a short time, during which his health had been fine, apart from a cold in February, and he knew very little about his son’s previous medical history. All Sandy had said in her suicide note that she had written him was that she was worried about him. But no more.

Had he had appendicitis? Tonsillitis? Any operations? He had no idea at all. He looked up at a row of information posters on the walls, but took none of them in. Memories of the surreal time he’d visited Sandy in hospital in Munich, when she was in a coma, were flooding back. Bruno surely couldn’t go in a similar way to his mother.

This nightmare was unfolding before his eyes. He felt bleak and close to tears. That poor, troubled little boy. Sure, he was strange, but wouldn’t any child be, after his upbringing with his erratic mother? Roy had really hoped that giving him a stable, loving family life would eventually change him. And it would, dammit. Bruno was going to survive this and if — no, when — he came out of hospital they would make even more of an effort with him, do whatever it took. Maybe, he wondered silently, he should quit his job and properly be around for him?

The door opened, interrupting his thoughts, and the nurse came back in with their drinks. She set the coffee down in front of him and said apologetically, ‘I’m afraid it’s from a machine — I added an extra shot of espresso to try to make it stronger.’

He thanked her, signed the consent form and explained about his lack of knowledge of Bruno’s medical history. She was sympathetic and told them not to worry. Just as she departed with the forms, a stocky, balding man in his early fifties, dressed in green scrubs, came in. He had a kindly face and a professional aura that instantly inspired confidence.

‘Mr and Mrs Grace?’ he asked with a trace of a Brummy accent.

‘Yes,’ Roy Grace replied. He recognized the man, they’d met before on a couple of occasions: once when his officer EJ Boutwood had been crushed by a van and badly injured, and the other time when the American hitman, Tooth, had been brought in here after being hit at high speed by a bicycle. Adrian Burton, Senior Intensive Care Consultant. ‘Good to see you again,’ Grace said.

‘I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. I just wanted to let you know that your son is in the hands of four consultants here: a paediatrician, an intensive care specialist, an A&E consultant and an orthopaedic consultant. We’ve got Neurosurgery and Radiology waiting to review him.’

‘How is Bruno? What can you tell us about him, so far?’ Grace asked.

Burton wrung his hands together absently, which Grace, from all his knowledge of body language, did not interpret as a good sign. ‘Well, at the moment he is being assessed by the radiologist, who is carrying out a trauma CT. Your lad has head injuries and a possible fractured skull, but we don’t know enough at this stage. We need to see the extent of his internal injuries before I can give you a real indication of his condition.’

‘Can we go and see him?’ Cleo asked.

‘Not just at the moment. I’ll let you know as soon as you can, and I’ll take you to him.’

‘Dr... Mr Burton,’ Cleo said. ‘Please be honest with us. Is Bruno going to survive?’

There was an uncomfortable moment in which the assurance seemed to drain from the consultant’s demeanour. ‘Ordinarily I would do my best to give a positive prognosis. But I know from your lines of work you are both strong people, so I’m not going to dress this up — I assume that’s what you want from me? Honesty?’

‘It is,’ Grace said.

Cleo nodded in agreement.

‘OK. Bruno’s been admitted with a very weak pulse. Our initial assessment is that he has massive internal bleeding — probably from a ruptured spleen, which can be dealt with if that’s the case. More of a concern is the potential brain damage, along with other internal damage, and we won’t know that until the CT scan is done. But what I will say, to give you something positive, is that youngsters like Bruno are able to absorb remarkably high levels of impact, compared to adults.’

‘As I keep hearing,’ Grace said, more harshly than he intended.

His reassuring smile returning, Adrian Burton said, ‘I’ll be back with an update as soon as I have it but it’s likely to be at least an hour or so. Meanwhile, please do be assured your son is in the very best hands. We’re fortunate in having all our senior consultants on duty today.’