“Not to worry, love.” She snatched a wad of tissues and began to dab at his pyjamas. Why was he in his pyjamas? He didn't remember getting undressed.
“Leave it, Mrs White. I'll see to it.” The bossy woman fussed over him like a broody hen with a duckling. “Let's get that gown off you, Cameron.”
“What? No. I'm not getting undressed in front of a stranger. Beryl? Tell her, please.”
His wife smiled indulgently. “He's a bit shy.”
“What time is it? I've work to do.”
“Not today you haven't, Cameron.” The nurse pulled him forward and untied the gown from behind. Not pyjamas, then, but a hospital gown. One of those garments that exposes your bum for all and sundry, no doubt. She unclipped the drip from the back of his hand – that explained the pain there – and pulled off the gown. She ruched up a second one like a lion tamer with a net and all but flung it onto his outstretched arms before pulling it around his back and fastening his ties. He remained uncertain if she'd got a flash of his family jewels. “There. All clean again.” She wadded up the soiled cloth and dropped it in a bin marked 'laundry'. “How are you feeling?”
“Never mind that. I've work to do. There's an open case. Missing boys.”
Beryl pressed a hand firmly to his chest. “All of which can be left in the capable hands of Sergeant Peters.”