High Heels & Pink Glitter (the heavily edited version)

Attempted murder

Nate hated hospitals. Didn't everyone? Hospitals brought together a collection of depressing sights, sounds and smells and shoved them in your face. From the overflowing car park to the dismal sight of grey-faced, pyjama-clad people still attached to drips standing outside the front door smoking, the out-patients staring at the signs trying to figure out which way to go, the wailing sirens and the antiseptic that tinged the air.

Gartnavel's A&E department was situated to the side, allowing ambulances flashing blue lights to screech to a halt outside and the green-clad medics to fling open the doors and rush inside with their stretchered patients.

At the front desk, a flustered-looked receptionist was dealing with a woman, who had a red-faced, gurning youngster balanced on her hip. "But we've been waiting two and a half hours already! When is someone going to see us, you stupid bitch?" the woman screamed at her.

Another uniformed older woman leant over the receptionist at the desk and pointing out their surroundings. The waiting room's rows of plastic seats were all occupied. "Madam." She had a voice honed on years of raising it and demanding compliance. "We are very busy, and your child's temperature isn't at a critical level. Can I remind you that we have a zero tolerance approach to abuse of our staff?"

She pointed at the notice above, stern grey-blue eyes and the hard set to her jaw daring the woman in front of her to say anything more.

"Sorry," the mother muttered. She walked back to her seat and cradled the child close to her chest.

Nate presented himself. The younger receptionist glanced up from her screen. She must be new, as she looked as if she might burst into tears any second now. He had a sneaking suspicion that after today's shift, she would be heading home to craft a resignation letter.

"Hiya. I'm Ross Walker's dad. He was brought in wi' stab wounds?"

The older woman nodded. "The sixteen-year-old? Oh, aye. He's in the bed along the corridor. Fifth one on the right."

He thanked them and walked past the throng of people crowding the corridors, his heart pounding hard against his ribs. Green curtains hung either side of the corridors, as a man in a suit accompanied by a younger guy entered one, allowing Nate to catch a glimpse of an elderly woman who couldn't have much longer left to live.

There was a foot of space between the floor and the fifth green curtained-off area, through which Nate could see an expensive pair of polished tan leather brogues next to the bed's metal legs. He whipped back the curtain, dreading what he might see.

Ross lay against the pillows, mortuary pale and eyes closed, his hair sweat-soaked. They'd removed his clothing, and his bare chest rose and fell. The grey bed blanket came half-way up his torso, the top of a bandage visible there. His hand lay against the side of his body. One canula was inserted into the front and another into the crook of his arm.

Two bags were hooked above him, one of them delivering blood and the other, Nate surmised, antibiotics, pain medication or fluid resuscitation. A machine beside the bed bleeped, green lines against black showing what Ross's heart was doing.

"Dad!" Erin hurled herself at him. He hadn't even noticed her. Still all too aware of Ross, he held on tight, but after a few seconds, he clasped her shoulders and pushed her back to inspect her face. One hand was wrapped in a bandage, and she shared Ross's paleness.

"What happened?"

She bit her lip.

"Mr Walker, I'm Gordon Montgomery. Ross's form tutor."

The owner of the polished brogues. His shoes matched with herringbone trousers, a pullover in the school colours and the knot of his tie peeking out the top. Nate recognised him from parents' evenings. Despite his outfit choices, Nate guessed him to be not much older than himself.