Chapter 1 - Just Another Shift
Chapter One
Just Another Shift
I trudge through the automatic doors, and a flood of heat engulfs me, sharp against the biting autumn cold still clinging to my skin.
Then comes the smell.
Disinfectant. Bleach. Something faintly medicinal beneath it all.
Hospital.
Again.
Work.
I have worked at New Queens Hospital for nearly six years. I would love to say the time has flown by, but I would be lying. It has dragged itself along, one twelve-hour shift at a time.
The place became predictable a long time ago.
Same corridors. Same flickering lights. Same broken vending machine that steals your money and gives you nothing in return. Same managers sending emails about staff wellbeing while asking whether anyone can cover their fifth shift of the week.
I feel like the kind of nurse I used to hate.
The kind who comes in, does the job, gets paid and leaves.
No passion. No enthusiasm. No bright-eyed speeches about making a difference.
I used to love it.
I really did.
But nursing has changed so much that some days I barely recognise the profession I trained for. Everything is targets, discharge times and beds.
Get them in.
Patch them up.
Get them out.
The patients are still different, of course.
Medical SDEC sees everything.
Chest pain. Breathlessness. Infections. People who should have come in three days ago but waited until their bodies gave them no other choice.
Different faces.
Different outcomes.
Same pressure.
I undo the top of my coat as I cross the main entrance, already too warm. My ID badge knocks against my chest with each step, the plastic clip making a small, irritating tapping sound.
The woman behind reception gives me the same tired nod she gives me every morning.
I nod back.
Neither of us has the energy to pretend it means anything.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
A message from Leanne. She left our flat early to finish yesterday’s notes.
Where are you? New consultant starts today.
I glance at the clock above reception.
Seven forty-two.
My shift starts at eight.
I type back while I walk.
Inside. Calm down.
Her reply comes almost immediately.
Apparently he’s young.
I snort.
Every new consultant is young according to Leanne. Anyone without a walking stick qualifies.
You said that about Dr Patel.
Three dots appear.
He’s only fifty-one.
I put my phone away.
The lift is full, so I take the stairs and regret the decision halfway up. By the time I reach the second floor, my coat feels as though it weighs a stone and my coffee has gone cold inside its paper cup.
I push through the staff doors into Medical SDEC, nod hello to Jane, our unit clerk, then trudge through the office doors.
The usual morning noise hits me at once.
Phones ringing. Monitors beeping. Someone asking where the obs machine has gone. Someone else insisting they returned it.
Leanne is standing at the nurses’ station, eating toast over a patient referral.
“You’re late,” she says.
“I’m early.”
“You’re usually earlier.”
“That doesn’t make me late.”
She gives me a look, then tears off another bite.
Leanne has been my closest friend on the unit for four years and my roommate for two. She is also the only person I know who could eat during a cardiac arrest.
“You look miserable,” she says.
“Thank you.”
“I mean more than usual.”
“It’s autumn.”
“You like autumn.”
“I like autumn when I’m not coming to work in it.”
I hang my coat over the back of a chair.
Leanne leans closer.
“So. New consultant.”
I take a sip of cold coffee and immediately regret it.
“What about him?”
“No one knows anything.”
“That sounds promising.”
“He transferred from St Alexander’s.”
“Fancy.”
“Exactly.”
“That usually means arrogant.”
“That usually means rich.”
“Consultants are not rich.”
“They’re richer than us.”
“Everyone is richer than us.”
Leanne ignores that.
“What do you think he’ll be like?”
I set my coffee down and begin sorting through the referral sheets.
“Old.”
“He’s not old.”
“Grey hair.”
“No.”
“Glasses.”
“Maybe.”
“Leather briefcase.”
She frowns. “Why a briefcase?”
“They all have one.”
“They don’t.”
“They do emotionally.”
Leanne laughs.
I continue, warming to it now.
“He’ll sigh whenever anyone under Band Seven speaks. He’ll call every nurse by their title and ask why nobody takes a proper history anymore.”
“Maybe he’ll be handsome.”
I look at her.
“The last consultant you called handsome had three grandchildren and wore compression socks with sandals.”
“He had kind eyes.”
“He had cataracts.”
The staff door opens behind us.
I do not look straight away.
People come and go constantly through that door. Porters. Doctors. Staff from other units and wards. Occasionally, a patient who has ignored every sign and somehow found their way into an area clearly marked STAFF ONLY.
Then the room changes.
Not dramatically.
It just quietens.
A little.
Enough that I notice.
I lift my head.
A man has stepped through the doorway.
For one second, my brain refuses to place him.
He is wearing a long black coat over dark trousers and a charcoal jumper. One hand rests against the door as he looks around the staffroom.
He does not look lost.
That is the first thing I notice.
The second is that he is far too young.
Dark hair falls untidily over his forehead, although the rest of him is composed.
Still.
Controlled.
His face is clean-shaven, sharp without looking harsh, and there is a small silver ring through one side of his lower lip.
Another curves through his eyebrow.
Several piercings catch the light along one ear.
I stare before I can stop myself.
There is no chance this is the new consultant.
Consultants do not have eyebrow piercings.
They do not have dark tattoos visible at the edges of their sleeves.
They do not look like that.
Like he has stepped straight out of my favourite K-drama and wandered into Queens by mistake.
Leanne straightens.
Then, to my horror, she brushes the crumbs from her uniform and puts on her patient voice.
The slow, soft one.
“Hello,” she says. “Can I help you?”
The man looks at her.
His eyes are dark and unreadable.
“I need somewhere to leave my coat.”
His voice is low.
British.
Calm.
Leanne smiles with painful patience.
“You’ve come through the staff entrance.”
He glances briefly at the sign beside him.
STAFF ONLY.
Then back at her.
“I’m aware.”
I stop breathing for a second.
There is something in the way he says it.
Not rude.
Not embarrassed.
Just certain.
Leanne, unfortunately, does not notice.
“Main reception is downstairs,” she explains. “If you go back through these doors—”
His gaze moves past her, slowly taking in the lockers.
“I’m not looking for reception.”
That should be the point where she stops.
It is not.
She steps towards him.
I finally notice the yellow badge clipped to his coat, partly concealed beneath the lapel.
HELLO, MY NAME IS—
Behind it hangs a hospital ID card.
I lean slightly, trying to read it.
Leanne places a hand on his upper arm.
“Let me show you the way.”
His eyes lower to her hand.
He says nothing.
Something cold settles in my stomach.
“Leanne.”
“Give me a second, San.”
“Leanne.”
“I’m just helping this gentleman.”
She begins trying to turn him towards the door.
He does not move.
Not even slightly.
It is like watching someone attempt to redirect a wall.
The movement shifts his coat.
His ID badge becomes visible.
DR MISUKI CHOILEAD CONSULTANT
Oh.
Oh, no.
“Leanne.”
She glances at me. “What?”
“Let go of him.”
Her eyebrows draw together.
“I’m hardly restraining him.”
“Just let go.”
The man’s gaze moves towards me.
It lands and stays.
I tilt my head towards his badge, widening my eyes.
Leanne stares at me as though I have lost my mind.
I mouth the words.
His badge.
She looks down.
I watch the exact moment she reads it.
All the colour drains from her face.
“Oh.”
The man looks at her.
Leanne removes her hand.
Very slowly.
“Oh.”
The silence becomes unbearable.
I can feel everyone pretending not to listen.
The man walks past us without saying anything.
He crosses the room, opens an empty locker and removes his coat.
His jumper pulls slightly at the wrist, revealing a line of black ink before he pushes the sleeve back into place.
He hangs the coat carefully.
Closes the locker.
Then turns.
“My name is Dr Misuki Choi.”
He does not raise his voice.
He does not need to.
“I’m the new lead consultant.”
No one moves.
Somewhere behind me, a teaspoon clatters against a mug.
Dr Choi glances towards the yellow badge hanging from his coat.
“I was advised to wear an introduction badge.”
There is a short pause.
“It appears the system has limitations.”
His expression remains composed, but I catch the smallest movement at the pierced corner of his mouth.
He is amused.
Barely.
But he is.
Leanne clears her throat.
“I am so sorry, Doctor. I thought you were a patient.”
“I gathered.”
His voice stays even.
He does not rescue her from the silence.
He simply lets it sit there.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Physically remove me from the unit?”
Leanne closes her mouth.
His gaze lowers briefly to the hand she placed on him.
“Next time, check the identification badge before making physical contact.”
Any trace of amusement disappears.
“If I had been a patient, touching me without explanation or consent would still have been inappropriate.”
Leanne’s face turns red.
“You’re right. I apologise.”
He gives one nod.
“Thank you.”
That is it.
No raised voice.
No public humiliation.
The matter is finished because he has decided it is.
Then he looks at me.
I straighten without meaning to.
His gaze drops to my badge.
“Sanaa Campbell.”
The way he says my name makes me suddenly aware of the pen mark on my uniform and the fact that my hair is still damp from the rain.
“Yes.”
“You noticed.”
It is not a question.
“Eventually.”
“But before she did.”
I glance at Leanne.
“Yes.”
“And you allowed her to continue.”
“I tried to warn her.”
“You said her name.”
“Twice.”
His eyes hold mine.
I cannot tell whether he is annoyed or entertained.
“I didn’t want to undermine a senior colleague,” I say.
A pause.
“And now?”
I look at Leanne, who appears to be reconsidering every choice she has ever made.
“Now I think undermining her might have been the kinder option.”
Something changes in his eyes.
A flicker.
Gone before I can be certain it was ever there.
He looks at my badge again.
“You observe before you act.”
I am not sure whether that is praise.
“Usually.”
“Not always?”
I glance towards Leanne.
“Apparently not quickly enough,” I say, trying to relieve the tension.
The pierced corner of his mouth moves again.
Almost a smirk.
Again, it disappears so quickly I could have imagined it.
“Handover starts in three minutes.”
Every person in the staffroom suddenly remembers they have somewhere else to be.
Dr Choi picks up the TCI and referrals folder from the counter and walks towards the consultant’s office.
Leanne waits until he is out of sight before grabbing my arm.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
“You said my name.”
“I was trying to be subtle.”
“You watched me escort the new lead consultant out of his own unit.”
“You weren’t escorting him. You were physically rotating him.”
She covers her face.
“I’m going to lose my job.”
“No, you’re not.”
“He hates me.”
“He corrected you.”
“That was worse.”
I look towards the doorway.
For the first time in a long time, the unit does not feel entirely predictable.
That should not feel exciting.
It does.
“He doesn’t hate you,” I say.
“How do you know?”
I pick up my blank patient list.
“Because if he did, I don’t think we would have to wonder.”
Leanne lowers her hands.
“That is not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
We head towards the unit boardroom.
As I reach the doorway, Dr Choi’s voice comes from the corridor.
“Three minutes has become 5, Ms Campbell.”
I stop.
There is no reason for him to use my surname.
No reason except to let me know he heard every word.
I step into the corridor.
He is standing several feet away, looking through a patient referral, his eyes skimming the details at an alarming speed.
He does not look at me.
Only the slightest curve at the pierced corner of his mouth gives him away.
I narrow my eyes.
He turns a page.
“We currently have twenty-six expected patients,” he says quietly.
Professional again.
As though nothing has happened.
Maybe New Queens will not be so predictable after all.
Misuki Choi - 33 years old lead Consultant of New Queens Hospital Medical SDEC 1/4 Korean and White his dad's side and 1/4 Japanese and 1/4 Korean from his mum. Born in London spent some of his teens in Korea.
Parents are together but dad often away for work.
Saana - 27 Band 5 Staff Nurse of f New Queens Hospital Medical SDEC of British Caribbean descent born in London lived there her whole life.
Parents are separated but happily apart.
