A senior matron has followed me there. She has a check-shirted man in tow - a photographer, judging by the fat and expensive-looking camera he has round his neck. The matron stands next to me and immediately has everyone’s attention.
‘Mind if we take a few shots of the department?’ she says.
It so completely fits with the holiday mood of the place, there is almost a burst of studio laughter and a round of applause.
Only if you get my best side.
He’s a photographer, not a magician.
I need something to do with my hands.
There’s no answer to that.
Just look busy, people.
Thank god you weren’t here yesterday.
The matron absorbs all the comments with a strangely glittering expression, something like a fox in a chicken coop. When the hilarity subsides, she speaks to the charge nurse.
‘Actually he’s from the coroner’s office. We need to establish the sight-lines from the desk to this bed here.’
The charge nurse blanches.
‘How do you want me in the picture?’ she says, picking up the phone and sitting up straight. ‘Is this all right?’
The matron raises her eyebrows.
‘I don’t know. Alert would be good,’ she says.