‘There you are.’ Bev hurried up, an expression of relief on her face. ‘The SHO just called us from A and E. He’s taken a call from a GP who’s sending in a three-year-old with a high fever and vomiting. Can you get the side room ready?’

Libby hurried off to do as Bev requested and as an afterthought laid up a trolley for a lumbar puncture just in case it was needed.

She’d just finished the room when the little boy arrived on the ward accompanied by the paramedics who’d been called by the GP.

‘This is Max King,’ one of the paramedics told her. ‘He’s been ill since last night but he’s gone downhill very fast.’

Jonathon, the SHO, was by his side and looked distinctly flustered. ‘I’ve been calling Andreas, but I’m not getting an answer,’ he muttered to Libby. She sensed immediately that he was out of his depth and one glance at the child confirmed the reason.

The little boy was drowsy and irritable and his breathing was rapid. One touch of his dry, scorching skin confirmed that his temperature was sky-high.

‘All right, Max,’ she soothed gently, ‘we’ll soon have you sorted out.’

‘I’ll try bleeping Andreas again,’ the SHO muttered, and Libby caught his arm as he went to leave the room.

‘Has the child had penicillin yet?’ she asked urgently, lowering her voice so that the parents didn’t hear her question him.

The SHO shook his head and glanced at the little boy. ‘I was waiting for Andreas to look at him. There’s no rash or anything, so I didn’t think—’

‘Get some penicillin inside him now,’ Libby ordered softly, knowing that the doctor was still relatively inexperienced and not wanting to take any chances. ‘There doesn’t have to be a rash for it to be meningitis and that child is very sick. Do it, and then we can do the rest of the investigations knowing that at least we’ve covered that option. He’s showing definite signs of raised intracranial pressure.’

She’d nursed children with meningitis before and she knew that the presentation often varied. But it was still a lethal disease and she wasn’t taking any chances while they waited for Andreas.

Jonathon hesitated and then nodded. ‘All right. If you think so.’

‘I do,’ Libby said firmly, reaching for the penicillin that she’d put on the trolley. She turned to the parents, her tone calm and reassuring. ‘We’re just going to give him some antibiotics. Do you know his weight?’

She calculated the dose based on what the parents told her and then handed it to Jonathon, who checked it and gave it to the restless child.

Max’s mother, Heather, was white with anxiety. ‘You think it might be meningitis, don’t you?’

‘It’s a possibility,’ Libby said gently, ‘which is why we’ve given the penicillin at the earliest time, but our consultant will be here soon and—’

‘I’m here.’

Libby felt a rush of relief as she recognised the voice behind her. She’d never been so pleased to see Andreas in her life.