At the Neurosurgery Unit we stopped off at the nurses’ station. Four nurses were there. They appeared to be discussing papers and one of them was standing and entering notes on a white-board. She looked across as we hovered at the door.
‘Can I help you?’
‘We’ve come to see Mrs Palmer,’ said Agnes. ‘She was transferred yesterday evening from Kingsfield.’
‘Oh yes, she was admitted last night,’ said one of the seated nurses.
‘She’s gone up, I think,’ said another.
‘Yes,’ said the nurse at the wall, ‘she’s in pre-op at the moment. It could be quite a while before she’s through. There’s a waiting room round the corner or you could ring in later.’
‘Is there someone we can talk to?’ I asked. ‘We’ve only just heard about the fall. We don’t know any of the details.’
‘I’ll see if we can get one of the doctors down to have a word. Would you like to take a seat in the waiting room?’
We went into the lounge, which was empty apart from one woman in a tartan tracksuit watching a quiz show. There was a drinks machine in the corner. I got us each a dubious-looking tea, then went off in search of the toilet.
When I came back Agnes was sitting ramrod straight, looking anxious. ‘I’ve just seen Dr Goulden,’ she said.
The tracksuit woman flicked her eyes our way, obviously interested by the tone in Agnes’ voice.
‘With another man, very tall,’ said Agnes.
‘Moustache?’ checked the woman.
Agnes agreed.
‘That was Mr Simcock – he’s the brain surgeon. They reckon he’s up for a knighthood. Ahead of his time and all that.’
‘You know him?’ I asked.
‘He’s looking after my dad. Simcock’s done his very best for him. Four operations he’s had, counting the one today. Four. Last one took eight hours. Brilliant man. If he’s on your case you know you’ve got the best.’ The credits rolled on screen. ‘Time for a fag,’ she laughed and padded out the room.
‘Which way did they go?’ I asked Agnes.
‘That way – towards the main corridor.’
I had a look round but the two men had gone. Why on earth would a humble GP like Goulden be here with the great brain surgeon? My scant knowledge of how the NHS worked told me that GPs and consultants usually communicated by letter, not in person. I determined to find out a bit more about Simcock and Goulden.
It was almost half an hour before a fresh-faced junior doctor appeared and introduced himself to us. We asked him to tell us what he could about Lily.
‘She was admitted after a fall,’ he began. ‘I think Dr Montgomery suspected there might have been a small bleed, what we call an extradural haematoma. She’s in theatre now so they’re probably removing a clot and they may need to tie off an artery.’