Alfie

She looked me in the eye and it wasn't acceptance exactly, but it was like,

She knew.

She smiled as best she could and very slightly shook her head.

Behind me, I could hear the junior doctor, Hayley, going spare, talking fast about calling the consultant, about booking a surgery suite, about ordering more bloods, more fluids to restock the fridges, and I couldn't make my body move.

Hayley grabbed my arm, waffling still about calling the consultant or whatever, and I looked up from the patient's half-lidded eyes and Hayley just immediately shut up.

It felt like we stood there in silence for ages, but

It was probably only a second or two, really.

It was one of those transparent moments where you can see right through to exactly what is going to happen next, but for now you're just stuck there, knowing.

Powerless.

Hayley released her grip on my arm and swallowed.

Her expression was set, drained, and we were both completely still for a second, looking at the girl on the gurney.

I nodded at Hayley.

She nodded back.

We did everything we could, filled her with fluids, blood, plasma, but she died there, on the gurney, just like Hayley and I both knew she would.

Hastily fitted IVs were stopped, monitors detached.

I closed her eyes.

Hayley performed the slow, arduous task of pronouncing the definitely dead girl dead, and me and the other nurses went back to flitting between other patients in A&E as best as we could.

All in, it was 32 minutes since she came through the door.

I don't remember who I was seeing next, maybe stitching gashes on an arm, fitting an IV, drawing blood, but I know at some point I looked up to see a distraught woman in slippers and pink flamingo pyjamas with a duffel coat over the top, bounding through the door.

She was the spitting image of the girl on the gurney.