(2013) Looks Could Kill by David Ellis Read Free Book Online Page B

be full of obstetric models displaying babies in open abdomens that were crying out for some artist to  copy and transform into a twenty-foot piece of art.
    Emma and her three colleagues were divided between midwives and they were told that their task was to follow through all the women who presented; from stepping out of the car or ambulance to going home with baby plus bouquets of flowers, helium balloons saying “It’s a girl/boy” and the shell-shocked father. Given that the average duration of labour for a first pregnancy is 16 hours, it rapidly dawned on them that this could mean four weeks of total sleep deprivation.
    But the curious thing is that Emma’s experience in that four weeks of obstetrics was one of the most meaningful she had throughout her three years as a clinical student.
    And the very best was her first labour.
    Emma walked into the labour suite, found the delivery room she’d been allocated to, knocked on, and warily poked her head around the door, not knowing quite what to expect.
    The young couple she saw were calmly lying together on the birthing couch and spraying each other with Evian water.
    “Oh, hi,” said Emma, “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I’m Emma, a medical student and I’ve been asked to stay with you for your labour.”
    “Come in and join the party,” said the very handsome husband. “I’m Tim and this is Jemma plus one. Would you like a spray of Evian water? Sparkling or still?”
    And despite that most unorthodox start, Jemma and Tim turned out to be a delightful couple who were also opera singers when they weren’t having babies.
    As the labour progressed, the sound of their singing spread around the labour suite and Emma kept on having to close the door on people wanting to find out the source of the singing. By the time the third stage came around, their voices were getting rather ragged, but they managed to retain a sufficient reserve to end the labour with a duet from Puccini’s ‘La Boheme’ as the baby was actually born. And to round it off, they asked for the placenta to be put in a doggy bag as they planned to fry it with shallots and garlic.
     
     
     
     

June 1987
     
     
    Emma collected a small package from her pigeon-hole on the way back to her room. She had no idea what it was but her name had a ‘Dr’ in front of it. That surprised her as the Finals results had only just come out. Someone with friends in high places, she thought.
    As she came back into her room, Emma realised that she’d miss it, despite its pokiness. She was glad that she’d been able to move back into a college room for her last clinical year as it gave her a stability that she’d found difficult to find when living in lodgings.
    Most of her possessions were now in boxes ready to go back to Hindhead until she started her first house job. Emma reflected that putting things in boxes had also been her way of finally making sense of medicine and which had undoubtedly helped her pass her exams. Emma had also learnt a lot from a neurologist who’d asked her what Ockham’s razor was and then proceeded to give her an erudite mini-lecture about William of Ockham and his principle that the simplest solution was usually the best. She’d used Ockham’s razor for her medical long case and had been spot-on with her diagnosis. But she’d also been helped by the telling look in her patient’s eyes which had confirmed what she thought. She was also relieved that Ockham’s razor had pretty much replaced her own.
    Emma looked out of the window at the college chapel. Although she still occasionally imagined the steeple turning into a spaceship and taking off into outer space, she didn’t really mind that much if religion stayed behind. Better a belief in something than in nothing, she thought.
    She turned her attention to the mysterious packet. The writing on it was in italics and unusually beautiful. She tore off the paper and found a strange, five-inch square, thin plastic case