wary; he’d had to convince her as well as the board that this was worth trialling, but the constant clashing had tested him. Naturally, she wanted instant results, for the burns to fade and heal overnight, but that wasn’t how it worked. Almost every day she demanded to know ‘Why?’ and he couldn’t always give her the answer she wanted. He knew the results were favourable compared to some he’d seen, and indeed, Simon’s facial burns were exceptionally better healed than those on his arm but he was still disfigured. For now. Until the boy resembled his pre-fire self, Matt was going to take the flak, and so far he’d been happy to do so.
He knew he’d probably become too involved with Simon’s case, more so than the other children he’d seen at Paddington’s as a result of the fire at Westbourne Grove Primary School. Perhaps it was because his burns had been so extensive, or perhaps the reason was closer to home. The single foster mum reminded him a lot of himself and the hand he’d been dealt once upon a time.
Although he assumed she’d voluntarily agreed to take on the responsibility for other people’s children. His role as a stand-in father had been thrust upon him when his dad had died and left him in charge of his younger siblings.
Matt recognised the fear in Quinn’s brilliant blue eyes, even when she was giving him grief. He’d spent over a decade fretting about getting his sisters through their childhood in one piece with much the same haunted expression staring back at him in the mirror.
It was only now that Bridget, the youngest of the brood, had gone off to university he was able to relax a little. Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still handling relationship woes or doling out crisis loans, but at least he could do most of his parenting over the phone these days, unless they came to visit him in London.
It meant he had his life back, that he’d been able to leave Dublin and take this temporary contract. When his time was up here he would have no reason to feel guilty about moving on to somewhere shiny and new and far from Ireland.
Quinn wouldn’t have that luxury for a long time with Simon being so young. As his foster mother, she was probably under even more pressure to get him through his injuries, and naturally, that had extended to his surgeon. If fostering authorities were anything like social services to deal with, she’d have to jump through hoops to prove her suitability as a parent.
Life was tough enough as a substitute parent without the added trauma of the fire for her and Simon. Especially when she appeared to be doing this on her own. He hadn’t spotted a wedding ring, and to his knowledge there hadn’t been any other visitors during Simon’s hospitalisation. When the cancer had claimed his father, Matt had been in much the same boat and being a sounding board for Quinn’s frustrations was the least he could do to help. Unless her comments were in danger of unnecessarily upsetting Simon.
A boy needed a strong mother as much as a father. Matt’s had been absent since shortly after Bridget’s birth, when she’d suddenly decided family life wasn’t for her. With his father passing away only a few years later, there had been no one left for them to turn to. For him to turn to. He’d had to manage the budget, the bills, the parent/teacher meetings and the numerous trips to A&E which were part and parcel of life with a brood of rambunctious kids, all on his own. Most of the time it had felt as though the world was against him having a life of his own.
He knew the struggle, the loneliness and the all-encompassing fear of screwing up and he would’ve gone out of his way to help anyone in a similar situation. At least, that’s how he justified his interest. It wasn’t entirely down to the fact he enjoyed seeing her, or the sparks created every time they had one of their ‘discussions.’ Attraction to single mothers wasn’t something he intended to act upon and certainly not with the parent of one of his patients.
He’d only just gained his freedom from one young family and he wasn’t ready, willing or able to do it again. As it was, he would be in young Simon’s life for a long time to come. Perhaps even longer than Quinn. There were always going to be more surgeries as the child grew and his skin stretched. Treatments for scar tissue often took months to be effective and new scar contractures, where the skin tightened and restricted movement, could appear a long way down the line in young patients who were still growing.
‘He’s out.’ The anaesthetist gave the go-ahead for the team to begin.
Time was of the essence. Generally they didn’t keep children under the anaesthetic for more than a few hours at a time in case it proved too much for their small bodies to cope with. Hence why the skin grafts were still ongoing months later. Before they could even attempt the graft they had to clean the wound and harvest new skin from a separate donor site.
And Quinn wondered why recovery was taking so long.
‘Saline, please. Let’s get this done as quickly and accurately as we can.’ Despite all the support in the operating theatre from the assisting staff, Matt had never borne so much responsibility for a patient as he did now.
Simon was completely at his mercy lying here, lost among the medical equipment surrounding the operating table. The slightest slip and Matt would have to face the wrath of the Mighty Quinn.
He smiled beneath his surgical mask at the thought of her squaring up to him again, her slight frame vibrating with rage as the mama bear emerged to protect her cub. She was a firebrand when she needed to be, not afraid of voicing her opinion if she thought something wasn’t right. Matt didn’t take offence; he was confident in the decisions he made on his patient’s behalf and understood Quinn’s interference came from a place of love. That didn’t mean he wanted to give her further reason to berate him or challenge his authority.
He was as focused as he could be as they debrided Simon’s wounds, cleaning and removing the dead tissue to clear the way for the new graft so it would take. As always, he was grateful for his perfect eyesight and steady hands as he shaved the thin slices of tissue needed for the graft. His precision as he prepared this skin before placing it on the wound could impact on Simon for the rest of his life.
No pressure.
Just two vulnerable and emotional souls relying on him to work his magic.
IF WAITING WAS an Olympic event, Quinn would never make it through the qualifying rounds.
Although she’d had enough experience to know to come prepared, she hadn’t been able to sit still long enough to read her book or make any lesson plans for her tutored students. She’d even added an extra body to the picket line outside to save this hospital from closure in the hope it would take her mind off Simon going under the knife again. It was hard to believe anybody thought it was a good idea to merge this place with another outside the city when so many walked through the doors every day, and she was happy to wave a placard if it meant Simon’s treatment continued here without any disruption.
The kids called it the Castle because of the beautiful architecture, and the story-like turrets and spires certainly gave it more character than any modern glass building could hope to replicate. Quinn had actually found it quite an imposing place at first but that could have been because of what she’d had to face inside the walls. These days it had almost become their second home and the people within were now all so familiar she didn’t want anything to change.
‘How’s Simon?’
‘You poor thing…’
‘And you’re out here? With us?’
‘Have you heard how Ryan Walker is?’
‘He’s still an inpatient. I don’t think there’s been any real improvement. Even if he gets to go home I think the family are going to need a lot of help.’
‘And they have a toddler to look after too. It’s such a burden for them. For you too, Quinn, with Simon.’
The other Westbourne Grove Primary parents on the picket line had been well-meaning but the chit-chat hadn’t helped her paranoia.