Page 67 of Never Gonna Happen

Jamie gave her a weak smile and tried to swallow. ‘Not sure. I was paddle boarding, then there was a wave and everything went dark. Guess I hit the rocks.’

‘My God,’ said Mr Hunter. ‘You could have been killed.’

‘Don’t let them cut my leg off,’ said Jamie dramatically, before drifting away again.

Mr Hunter patted his hand. ‘Don’t worry. Emily and I will sort everything out.’

The doctor appeared a few minutes later, looking like he’d been strong-armed down the corridor by Jessie. He was in his fifties and looked about as exhausted as Emily felt.

Mr Hunter stood up and shook the doctor’s hand. ‘I’m Charles Hunter,’ he said, ‘James’s father.’

‘I’m Doctor Ramsamy,’ said the doctor. ‘We’ve been trying to find you. It helps a great deal if you put the correct information on your immigration form.’

Emily gave a guilty cough. She’d apologise properly for that later.

‘I’ve had a look at your son’s X-rays,’ said the doctor, flipping through some pages on a clipboard. ‘He has several broken ribs and multiple fractures in his right leg and ankle, plus some likely ligament damage in the knee. And he has concussion, but nothing to suggest a more serious head injury.’

‘Is he going to be OK?’ asked Mr Hunter.

‘Yes, of course,’ said the doctor, looking at Mr Hunter like he was an idiot. ‘It’s a broken leg and ankle. It will need surgery to pin it, but it’s a routine operation.’

‘Does it need to be done here?’

The doctor looked up from his notes and glanced at Mr Hunter’s expensive watch, before smiling thinly. ‘He shouldn’t be here at all; only locals use this hospital. But it was closest and they thought he was going to die. He should be moved to a private clinic as soon as possible.’

Mr Hunter slumped in the chair and rubbed his hands across his face. ‘Thank you.’

The doctor smiled. ‘He was very lucky. Some local fishermen witnessed the accident and dragged him off the rocks, then had the common sense to call for help rather than trying to move him any further. If they hadn’t seen him, he would almost certainly have drowned.’

Emily cleared her throat. ‘Will he be able to fly?’ she asked.

‘Yes, but not for at least two weeks. He will need to recover after the surgery, and the swelling will need to go down before he will be signed off to travel.’

Emily nodded, feeling like she should be doing something useful, but not sure what. ‘He’ll be fine,’ said the doctor. ‘The private clinic will look after him – perhaps it would be best for us to make those arrangements.’ He stared pointedly at everyone, letting the unspoken ‘get out, you’re taking up a much-needed bed’ hang in the air like a toxic fart.

‘I’ll go and get that all sorted,’ said Emily, grabbing her handbag. Mr Hunter said nothing, happy to let Emily do what she did best. Jessie disappeared into the corridor with her phone, presumably to check in with the café and let them know what had happened.

Emily followed the doctor through the rows of curtained beds to a horseshoe-shaped desk manned by nurses. The doctor handed over the clipboard and said a few things in French. Emily got the general gist – call the clinic, get him picked up in a private ambulance as soon as possible.

The nurse turned to Emily. ‘Do you have his passport?’ she asked, still in French. Emily nodded, rummaging in her bag and handing it to the nurse. She picked up the phone and made a call.

‘He will go to the Darné Clinic,’ said the doctor, switching back to English. ‘It’s the best on the island, and not far from here. He will be in the care of an excellent orthopaedic surgeon. Very experienced.’

Emily nodded, feeling slightly disconnected from everything. This morning they’d woken up in a beautiful hotel, gone swimming, taken a lazy drive back across the island to the beach house. Now Jamie was in a hospital with multiple fractures, having nearly died in an awful freak accident. She felt herself start to shake and wondered how she could feel so cold when this hospital was so stifling.

‘What is your name?’ asked the doctor, looking at her properly for the first time.

‘Emily,’ she whispered.

‘It’s OK, Emily.’ He put his hand on her shoulder to steady her. ‘It’s a shock, I know, but please don’t worry. I have seen many injuries like this, and I’m sure Mr Hunter will make a full recovery.’ Emily tried to filter this through her addled brain, then realised he was talking about Jamie and not his father.

‘OK,’ she said, still not feeling very OK at all. She gave the doctor a weak smile.

‘It will be fine,’ said the doctor, his attention drifting to some panicked movement and shouting from a room behind some swing doors. ‘The nurse will tell you when the ambulance is here.’ He gave her a nod, then disappeared through the doors and out of sight.

Emily waited silently at the desk until the nurse finished her call and gave her back Jamie’s passport. ‘They are on their way,’ she said. ‘Twenty minutes.’

Twenty minutes in Mauritian time is more like an hour, but it felt like several weeks to Emily, waiting with Jessie and Mr Hunter at Jamie’s bedside for something to happen. Whatever painkillers he was on had knocked him out cold, which she was glad of – leg and ankle fractures and three broken ribs sounded incredibly painful, never mind all the cuts and scrapes. But eventually a team of paramedics arrived, checked Jamie’s notes and spoke to the nurse, then swarmed around his bed with purposeful efficiency. He was hooked up to a different drip, hopefully with better, more expensive painkillers, then transferred carefully to a trolley. They stabilised his right leg, signed some forms, then wheeled him off down the corridor without a backward glance.