‘At least there’s a chance Brody won’t turn out as useless as my three oldest kids. All of them in their thirties but they still blame me for their pathetic lives. Want nothing to do with me now, which suits me fine. Basket cases, the lot of them. Mind you, if my mentally challenged wife—my current wife, I mean—if that woman keeps treating Brody like a little wuss, then that kid’s just as likely to—’

Paula jumped in to shut him up. ‘Because I need to take several samples, I’m going to use a butterfly catheter to make things easier.’

‘Oh right. Whatever.’

Ferguson tucked his right arm, the one with the injured hand, against the wall and stuck out his left arm, stiff with apprehension.

‘Try to relax,’ suggested Paula.

As she slipped the tourniquet around his upper arm, the touch of his skin under her fingers was disgusting to her. She tightened the tourniquet with slightly too sharp a tug and enjoyed hearing his nervous intake of breath. But apart from these petty satisfactions, she was amazed to find herself operating on autopilot again, searching for a good spongy vein to tap, calculating how to insert the needle without hurting the patient unnecessarily. Even if the patient in front of her was a violent, controlling, dangerous piece of shit.

As Paula reached for the butterfly catheter, she couldn’t prise Rochelle out of her head. Ferguson might be here in the consulting room right now, but his wife was more truly her patient. And it was Paula’s responsibility to protect a vulnerable patient from likely harm. It was her responsibility to help Rochelle, to get her safely away from this man without increasing the risk to her or the little boy. By leaving Rochelle in danger, she was failing a patient. She just needed to think, talk to some cops, talk to social services. Even if she couldn’t see a safe escape route for that woman quite yet, there must be a way.

‘Your hands are shaking,’ Ferguson scoffed.

His voice halted the tangle of thoughts in Paula’s head. She looked down and realised her hands were trembling as she held the catheter.

‘Not gonna stick that thing right through me, are ya?’ he asked, jokey but nervous too. ‘Do you even know what you’re doing, apart from all the bossy crap you bang on with?’

The urge to punch him in the mouth was so overwhelming, she felt the electricity buzz down her arm.

‘I know what I’m doing,’ she said firmly. ‘Many people find if they face away from the needle site, it’s more comfortable.’

Ferguson twisted his torso round slightly and turned his head to face the wall beside the bed. Paula steadied herself, then inserted the needle in the plump vein in his forearm.

‘That part’s done,’ she said.