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Olivia's bad day (redux)

Holly shivered and pulled the thin material of her cardigan around her shoulders more tightly. It was surprisingly cold in this draughty corridor by A&E and the cheap plastic chair was digging uncomfortably into her legs. She’d barely noticed, though, holding on to Olivia’s frail hand while a succession of staff had first poked at her, then fixed the gash at her temple. Their silent disapproval of her obviously strung out condition echoed loudly against the virtually see-through curtains.

The consultant’s arrival removed last of her fortitude. His face was open and his voice calm and sympathetic, but the department listed on his ID was more than she could bear.

“Olivia?”

“Yeah,” came the faint reply from the bed.

“My name’s Dr. Singh. We’re going to admit you for a few days. Just until the bleeding stops.”

“Oh God. Not again.”

“Were you aware of your pregnancy?”

The silent crumpling of her face gave all the answer he needed. The chair fell away with a thump as Holly stood to better comfort her friend.

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