She checked her fob watch, one eye on the monitor as it recalculated his blood pressure. She had been given an ETA of ten minutes for the ambulance three and a half minutes ago, and she was starting to sweat through her shirt.

“Easy, Ian,” she said. “I know it hurts, but try to keep still.”

His blood pressure had dipped again. She adjusted the flow of his IV and gave him a further small dose of morphine, trying to keep him comfortable and calm while balancing his pressure on a knife edge: too low and he’d die, too high and he’d die even faster. She unzipped the side of the defib, making the pads easier to grab. She didn’t want to stress him further by sticking them on his chest.

“Will he be all right?” his wife asked. She was still in her nightie, looking pale and scared, and oblivious to her bedhead.

“He needs surgery,” Jem said. His odds of surviving a rupture repair were about one in five, but she kept that to herself. “We’ll tell the hospital that we’re coming in with him, so they’ll be ready. Do you want to get dressed? The ambulance should be here soon.”

“Yes, okay.” The woman grabbed whatever clothing was to hand and disappeared with it into the bathroom, leaving Jem alone with Ian. As soon as he heard the bathroom door click, he pulled his oxygen mask down.

“How serious is this?” His voice was weak and tremulous, but he’d found Jem’s hand and was holding it tightly.

“Pretty serious.” There was no point sugarcoating her answer; she could see from the fear in his expression that he’d worked it out for himself. She took a shaky breath. His prognosis might have been less bleak had anyone else been sent to him.

“Shit.” He grimaced, his free hand clawing at his abdomen. “Don’t tell Margaret. She’ll only panic.”

“I won’t.”

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment. “Should someone call the kids?”

She put his mask back into place. “That might not be a bad idea.”

He nodded, his eyes closing. “Take my phone. It’s in my jacket—Ally and Jake.”

Jem did as he asked, pocketing the mobile as she caught the first wail of a siren. The crew didn’t wait to be let in; she heard their boots on the stairs shortly after the ambulance doors slammed.

“Hey, Bob,” she said, relieved to see familiar faces.

“How do.” Bob immediately stooped to disconnect the monitor. “Did you request the dream team or did you just get lucky?”

She took the ECG leads from him. “I’m always lucky. You know that.”