A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

Linda Lewis

Going to the hospital wasn’t what I’d expected to be doing that afternoon.

For the first time in months, I’d finished work early so I decided to call in at the library on my way home and pick up the latest Lee Child thriller.  I’d only just parked the car, when a woman appeared from nowhere, her hair matted with blood. She’d obviously been beaten up.

‘I need to get to the hospital,’ she sobbed. ‘Can you call me a cab? I don’t have my phone with me.’

I decided the library could wait and offered her a lift.

I wasn’t surprised when she hesitated - I’m six feet four in my socks and she was a mere slip of a woman – then a man came running towards us, yelling ‘Rebecca’ at the top of his voice. The change in her expression was nothing short of miraculous.

‘I’ll take that lift,’ she said. She almost jumped into my car.

It was a good, ten-minute drive but she didn’t say a word until we reached the hospital.

‘Thanks. I can take it from here.’

‘Sorry, but I need to make sure you’re OK. ‘

She didn’t argue. She might have to, but she didn’t have the strength. Looking at her face, my guess was the shock had worn off and the pain had kicked in.  

When we reached the desk, I stepped back while Rebecca gave the nurse her details. 

By the way the nurse looked me up and down, she probably thought I was the one who’d done this to Rebecca. I couldn’t blame her. I’m not just tall, I’m built like a barn door. Mum used to say I was like a sheep in wolf’s clothing.  Soft on the inside but tough as nails on the outside.

Minutes after registering, Rebecca was called to triage. Again, she told me to go home.

‘No thanks. I’m staying right where I am.’

I hadn’t been to an emergency room for ten years.  I was fascinated by the contrast between the calm efficiency of the people who worked there and those that needed their help.

Rebecca had only been gone a few minutes when she came limping back.

‘My head needs stitches. The rest isn’t too bad, mainly bruises. And I need an x-ray in case my arm’s broken. They said it might be a while.’

‘That’s OK. I’m happy to wait. I don’t want you having to catch a cab.’

‘You mustn’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,’ she said.

I knew what she meant, she meant she’d been down this road before. It was a story I knew only too well. My mother had ended up in casualty five times thanks to my brute of a father.   

‘You should leave him, Rebecca.’ I told her.  

She laughed. ‘How am I supposed to do that? Where would I go?’

I had no answer. I had a spare room I could clear out but this woman was a stranger. ‘Can I get you anything? Coffee? A snack?’

She shook her head.

‘Do you mind if I get something?’

‘Go ahead.’

When I came back, her seat was empty.