‘Gathering STDs more like,’ she mumbled, managing a weak smile. The door to the flat swung back open at that point and Dylan stormed back in with a face like thunder.
‘I forgot my wal –’ he began, but stopped when he looked at us. His angry expression changed to that of shock as he took in Lou’s tear-streaked face.
‘Babes,’ he said striding over to her, pulling her up off the sofa and into his arms. ‘Please don’t cry,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m sorry.’ He shifted over to the armchair and sat down with her in his lap. Lou looked embarrassed, but tucked her face in his neck, the tears silently streaming down her face. Dylan looked over her head at me with an alarmed expression, and I shrugged.
‘Please stop crying, Lou-Lou,’ he muttered into her hair. She sniffed but her tears continued to fall. ‘Would you stop if I calledmyselfa taffy prick? How about chocolate? Tea? How about I promise to buy you some shoes? You like shoes. Please, Lou, I hate seeing you cry. You never cry.’ He was looking a bit desperate now. After a few moments Lou sat up in his lap, swiped at her face and gave him a watery smile.
‘Shoes would be nice,’ she said shakily. Dylan searched her face and assisted in the tear-swiping endeavour. When it was clear that she had calmed down, they both seemed to suddenly realize the intimate position they were in.
‘Sorry, guys,’ Lou mumbled, springing up from his lap, ‘Don’t know what came over me. Hormones probably.’
‘Right, well,’ Dylan said, looking embarrassed and suddenly in a mad rush to leave. ‘I’d best be off. Um … see you later. Hope you feel better, Ladies.’ He grabbed his wallet and dashed for the door. By the time it had closed behind him Lou was in the kitchen area with her back to me, standing in front of the kettle.
‘Lou, what –’
‘Tea?’ she asked, cutting me off.
I ignored her blatant attempt at evasion and for once in my life did not take up the offer of tea.
‘What was that all about?’ I asked her back, and saw her shoulders tense.
‘He just winds me up. You know how he can be,’ she replied defensively. ‘Anyone would get riled having to put up with his bullshit day in, day out, and he’s not even making an attempt to learn anything. It’s like he’s just doing his time in purgatory before he can go and play carpenters with the big boys. He doesn’t get how important it is.’
‘Okay,’ I said slowly, not quite believing that this was all to do with work, but I didn’t want to push her in case she broke down again. To be honest seeing Lou crying scared me a little; it seemed against nature or something. ‘You know you can talk to me if something was really wrong, Louey, don’t you?’
‘Of course, Frankster,’ she said, her shoulders relaxing. She walked over to and gave me a cup of tea, snuggling in next to me on the sofa. I put my arm round her and rested the side of my head against hers.
‘Love you, even if you are a cry-baby.’
‘Love you too, even if you swoon like a pathetic heroine in a romance novel.’
Chapter 12
Bed-blocker
Luckily I seem to have a fairly hard head, and I was back to work after the weekend. The week was getting off to a boring start with the joint cardiology and cardiothoracic meeting. This generally involved extensive technical discussion on which approach would be best for difficult patients: either open-heart surgery with the cardiothoracic surgeons, or angiogram and stenting with the cardiologists.
More often than not it degenerated into a pissing contest when the two sides couldn’t agree. This at least could be entertaining if it became heated.
‘Hey, princess,’ said Mr Fletcher (the cardiothoracic surgeon who had looked down my scrub top at the arrest) as he sauntered past me, brushing my hair over my shoulder.
‘Uh hi,’ I muttered into my list, on which I was sketching, flinching away from him. I glanced around nervously after he’d moved away, and caught sight of Tom glaring at him. He must have still been smarting from Mr Fletcher calling him a pussy in the meeting a few weeks ago.
‘Yikes,’ Rosie whispered into my ear, nodding towards Tom. ‘He’s lush when he’s angry, don’t you think?’
I shrugged noncommittally and looked back down at my sketch. It was coming along quite well; sculpting all the individual flowers would be time-consuming but, as with all wedding cakes, this was inevitable.
The meeting passed without incident other than a short stand-off over an elderly gentleman with triple vessel disease, resulting in anextremelyboring discussion, after which everyone decided to do nothing anyway. On the plus side I had finished the first rough draught and thought it looked great.
Leaving the conference room, most people drifted into their teams to start morning ward rounds. Dr Williams swept past Rosie and I. ‘Rosie, we’ll be in the cath lab most of the day. Just finish up all the ward work would you?’ he threw over his shoulder, not stopping to listen for a reply. Rosie slumped against the wall and looked down at her shoes dejectedly.
‘I don’t get it,’ she mumbled in a trembling voice. ‘Why doesn’t he want to teach me? He doesn’t even ask me any questions. I read and read stupid journals all the time and he doesn’t even care.’
She sniffed and I realized that she was close to tears. I put my hand on her arm, not wanting to draw attention to us with a full-on hug.
‘Look, Rosie, I think you should talk to him. This is out of order. Apart from anything the deanery would be furious that he’s not teaching you.’ She sniffed again, but after a few moments she lifted her head and squared her shoulders.
‘You’re right,’ she said firmly. ‘I refuse to be just his ward bitch anymore. I’m going to sort this out once and for all.’
