Every time you make a move

Was It All Worth It-Pt 2

Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, around 12pm, 6th January 1987...

"God, Paula. You shouldn't have sold the bloody camper van..."

Paula McIntyre barged through the automatic sliding doors of the hospital's accident and emergency department, short of breath from having sprinted all the way there from Imperial Wharf, the nearest Underground station to A&E being a mere 20 minutes away...

Other people sitting in the reception area stared at the woman as she crouched in the middle of the floor and put her hands on her knees, catching her breath as she let out a triumphant pant of relief.

"Excuse me miss, are you alright?" One of the receptionists sounded from the reception counter.

"Hello, my name is Paula McIntyre," she let out breathily, answering with difficulty, "I'm looking for my friend and her two weans, they've been in an accident"

The receptionist looked down at her files, "Do you have an appointment?"

"Listen, the police officer at the scene phoned my number and said that they were in an accident only an hour ago and that they were being taken here!" Paula approached the counter, perplexed.

The receptionist lowered the pen in her hand, and asked, "What are their names?"

"Monica Brannigan, and Johnny and Roshni Bulsara," Paula answered before hesitantly elaborating, "The kid's surnames are different to their ma's because their parents aren't married... yet."

"Take a seat, please" the receptionist ordered, pointing to the waiting area with one hand and lifting her office phone receiver with the other.

Paula reluctantly turned around, her heartbeat steadying as her body slowly came down from the adrenaline rush that got her from the station to the hospital.

It was an all too familiar feeling that she experienced only weeks before back in Dublin, one that kept her awake all night and wondering if Monica was going to be okay after her intoxicated brush with death in a Hilton hotel swimming pool.

"I still don't understand why they'd call me," Paula thought yet again, sitting down, "Why wouldn't they call Freddie?"

Of course, Ms McIntyre was completely unaware of what had transpired back at the Garden Lodge household only an hour or two before as she watched as the receptionist make a telephone exchange that lasted only several seconds before setting the receiver back down.

"What's the score?" Paula urgently asked, anxiously clutching onto the strap of her white tote bag, "Do you know if she or the little ones are badly hurt?"

"The head nurse will tell you if you just wait here for them, miss" the receptionist insisted, her tone of voice a little more ill-mannered than the last.

"You know what? I'll just go and bloody-well find them myself" Paula muttered, getting back onto her feet and ushering towards the double doors beside the desk.

"Miss? Miss, please!" the receptionist called after her in protest, "The medical team might still be taking care of them, this is a large hospital and you might lose your way!"

Fortunately Paula still had adrenaline rushing through her, giving her the drive and determination to search for a woman with dark brown hair, a little boy with brown eyes and a girl with curly black hair in one of the busiest hospitals in a major capital city. Shouldn't have been too difficult, right?

"Monica!! Mo??"

Ms McIntyre cried out for her friend as she rushed through the ward, weaving her way past the havoc that were the hospital beds, the machines on wheels that were constantly beeping, and the nurses and doctors in blue scrubs rushing up and down the corridors.