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I close my eyes, and my chin falls onto my chest. Maybe we should go back downstairs. We could be waiting here for hours.This is crazy.
‘Mam worries,’ I explain, as if Nate doesn’t know. ‘She’s so stressed out. I hate seeing her like this.’
‘I didn’t tell her about your dizzy spell,’ Marcy interrupts. ‘I just passed Ben the tea and let your mother know I’m here if she needs me. She asked for you, of course.’
‘Oh.’ I stiffen. ‘What did you say?’
‘Just that you and Nate were going for a walk.’
‘And she believed you?’ I ask.
‘Absolutely.’ Marcy smiles. ‘Technically, it’s true. You did walk from the canteen to the lift.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’
‘Holly,’ a nurse in green scrubs calls, appearing at the waiting-room door with a chart in her hand.
‘That’s me,’ I say, standing.
Nate’s on his feet just as quickly as I am, and he cups my elbow firmly in case I fall. I won’t. I’m rested and less lightheaded now, but it’s nice to feel him hold me, so I don’t say anything.
‘This way, please,’ the nurse says, stretching her arm out to gesture down the corridor.
Marcy stays sitting.
‘Aren’t you coming?’ I ask, confused.
‘It’s okay, Holly,’ Marcy says, sensing my distress. ‘You don’t need me. I’d make a terrible midwife anyway. You’ll be okay.’
Nate’s hand lets go of my elbow, and it finds its way to the small of my back, gently edging me forward.
‘Nathan Bradshaw,’ Nate says, stepping forward to shake the nurse’s hand as we reach her. ‘I’m Holly’s fiancé.’
My heart pinches, hearing Nate introduce himself as if we’re still engaged, but I don’t say anything.
‘Good to meet you both,’ the young nurse says. Her hair is tied back so tightly it pulls the skin of her forehead taut. ‘Marcy tells me you took a bad turn downstairs, Holly.’
I blush. ‘It was really hot in the canteen. I should have taken my coat off. Silly of me not to. I was rushing—’
‘Okay, let’s get your blood pressure checked.’ The nurse cuts off my rambling as she turns into a small room at the end of the corridor.
Nate and I follow.
A desk and chair are squashed in one corner. An open laptop hibernates in the centre of the desk, and a tower of charts – one stacked on top of the other – sits next to it. I wonder if all those patients are waiting to be seen today. On the other side of the room, a narrow trolley-type bed is pushed up against the wall. There’s barely enough room for the three of us to stand in the middle without brushing each other. I thought the canteen was hot and stuffy, but it has nothing on this place. It’s positively stifling in here. There’s no window, and the florescent light makes me squint. This was a bad idea.What if they come to move Nana to the hospice while I’m up here?
My palms start to sweat, and I can feel heat creep across my face, sweeping from the tops of my ears to meet like fire on the bridge of my nose.
‘Hop up here for me, Holly,’ the nurse says, patting the bed with her hand.
I sit in the centre and sway slightly. Nate’s face is just as flushed as I imagine mine to be. He stands at the head of the bed with his back pressed against the wall. He’s trying to keep out of the nurse’s way, but it’s almost impossible in the overly compact room. My bulky duffel coat is tucked against his chest and draped over his folded arms, taking up way too much space.
‘Excuse me,’ the nurse says, reaching around him to pull an old-school blood pressure monitor off the shelf.
Nate shuffles awkwardly and tries to get out of her way, but there really isn’t anywhere for him to go. His thighs press into my knees, almost dragging me off the bed. I can tell he’d rather be anywhere but here right now. I feel the same. This is all rather sudden and self-indulgent, and I wished we’d never come up here. I fainted because I’m stressed out and too hot. It’s nothing to do with being pregnant. I eye the door longingly and drag my gaze to the pile of charts on the desk. A long list of patients with actual appointments waits. This was a mistake. But we can’t leave now. It would be rude.
The nurse steps around Nate again. ‘Can you roll the sleeve of your jumper up please, Holly?’ she asks.
‘Sure.’
