One Night in Emergency. Carol Marinelli

      ‘I am.’ Eleanor gave a small shrug. ‘I was wondering if I could take it in cubicle eight.’

      ‘Cubicle eight?’ Mary stared at her, nonplussed. ‘But Miss Nugent’s in there.’

      ‘I know, I just…’ Eleanor faltered, aware Rory was staring at her, too. ‘She’s near the end now and she’s on her own…’

      ‘Vicki will watch her,’ Mary said dismissively. ‘Now, for the last time, will you go to lunch?’ Turning her attention back to Rory, Mary resumed her conversation but Eleanor most definitely hadn’t finished.

      ‘I am going to lunch, Sister Byrne.’ Eleanor cleared her throat. ‘And if you need to find me for anything, I’ll be in cubicle eight.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘HEY, Em.’

      Pulling a chair over beside the gurney, Eleanor peeled the wrap off her Vegemite sandwiches before settling back in her seat and taking the old lady’s hand with one hand while holding her lunch with the other.

      As Vicki had said, Em seemed comfortable, her breathing shallow, her weatherbeaten, heavily lined face relaxed now, her hand slack as Eleanor held it. But whether or not Miss Nugent knew that someone was there, Eleanor wanted to stay.

      Didn’t want ninety-four years of life to go out unacknowledged.

      And probably the last thing this tired old lady needed was the neurotic chatter of a tense twenty-three-year-old, didn’t need to hear about the dramas going on in the nurse’s life as she slipped out of this world. So Eleanor kept quiet, apart from the occasional word of support, a gentle reminder that someone was near, that someone thought that Miss Emily Nugent was a very important lady indeed.

      Who knows? Eleanor thought as Em’s breathing gradually slowed down. Seventy-one years from now, she herself would look back on her life and today wouldn’t even merit a thought, today would be so insignificant in her life span it wouldn’t even rate a mention.

      It would.

      How could she ever forget the loneliness that gripped her now as she held onto Em’s hand? The horror of living in a very tiny bedsit in a very big city and surviving on Vegemite sandwiches till her very new bank account finally had some funds paid in. Or the awful quiet nausea of leaving her family behind, parents, brothers, sisters, friends who in turn had told her she was crazy to leave, all insisting she was overreacting. That things would get better soon.

      Maybe they would have, Eleanor mused as she sat there quietly. Maybe in time she’d have learned to stand up to Rita, but her problems with her old manager hadn’t been the only reason Eleanor had left.

      How could she tell her family and friends that somehow the country wasn’t quite enough for her any more? That she yearned for the nursing experience only a city hospital could give?

      Needed to find out if she could actually do it.

      Could be the emergency nurse she truly wanted to be.

      And what had she done?

      Her first shift in, she’d made a complete and utter fool of herself, acted just like the bimbo Rita had hinted she was, but worse, far worse than that, Mary’s throw-away comment that Rory hadn’t been able to rebuff.