“Point proven.” Her tone was clipped, and I immediately felt like a colossal bastard.
“Penny, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I really,reallywant to–”
Penny’s expression softened. “You really want to like me. I’m not sure why, but you think youshouldlike me, or at least someone similar to me. I think in your mind there’s some sort of list or criteria a woman has to fulfil in order to be considered dating material.”
“No, that’s not–”
“I’m sure you have your reasons, but that’s not the way the world works.”
The reality was that Penny had come uncomfortably close to the truth. I did have a list of criteria. In fact, it wasn’t even a mental list – it was a word document on my laptop. At university and even throughout my training in my twenties, I hadn’t really bothered that much with The List. I wasn’t interested in settling down then, so the women I was with didn’t have to live up to it. But now, over the last couple of years, I’d decided that if I wanted to have a family and settle down I needed to get The List out again. I had my reasons. God, did I have my reasons. But I wasn’t going to get into that with Penny.
I sighed. “I really do like you, Penny. But you’re right, I don’t seem to like you that way. I’m so sorry – I’ve behaved like the most unbelievable wanker.”
“It’s fine,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “I had a good time – you’re an entertaining guy. Even if youwereattracted to me, it would never have worked.”
“Why not?”
“Heath, you’re in love with someone else.”
*****
I rubbed my chest as I moved through the department to resus. This ache had been building there for the last few months. I had thought it might be gastritis and had tried everything to ease it – antacids, change in diet. I’d even gone so far as having a heart tracing and a stress echocardiogram from one of my cardiology mates, but everything was fine. I just couldn’t shake this horrible feeling. As well as the chest weirdness, there was another strange sensation that had crept in – one that almost felt like I was falling. Like I was out of control. I hadn’t felt like that since childhood, and it wasn’t something I relished re-experiencing. The fact I wasn’t sleeping didn’t help. Whenever I managed to nod off, I had vivid dreams filled with curly blonde hair, green eyes, ripped cut-off jeans, soft lips… I would wake up drenched in sweat, ridiculously frustrated and wracked with guilt. It was two weeks since that day in Yaz’s studio and my obsession with her was only growing. Pennygate had not helped at all. Of course, Penny was wrong. Me, in love? With Yaz? Ugh, there was that bloody pain again. Maybe I needed a gastroscopy?
“Okay, so I’m worried about a case in majors. Can I run it past you?” asked Josh, the twitchy, anxiety-ridden senior registrar. This guy was not suited to emergency medicine. Last week he’d asked a vascular consultant to review what Josh had believed was a possible case of gangrene. Turned out the patient had a verruca. The vascular consultant was not amused. Josh’s response was that you can’t be too careful. Apparently he’d heard of a case of necrotising fasciitis starting in a similar way (“They had to chop the guy's knob off in the end, mate,” he’d told me in a worried tone). I’d tried again and again to encourage him to use his own clinical judgement – actually, scrap that, not just clinical judgement, but common bloody sense.
“Go on then,” I said, leaning against the central hub desk and preparing myself for a convoluted story, likely including a list of all the patient’s pets over the last decade (I’m not even joking – that was exactly what Josh did with the last asthmatic he presented to me).
“Okay, so recurrent falls, ninety-one. Tripped today. Denies loss of consciousness, but I really think that he might have…” I let Josh drone on as I snatched the notes out of his hands and headed towards the patient’s cubicle. I’d found from bitter experience it was better to take the history from the patient myself than to listen to Josh’s endless monologues where he postulates various medical theories whilst often missing the point entirely. But before I made it round the corner, Josh stopped me with a hand to my arm and lowered his voice. “Just to warn you before you go in. There’s a woman in there with him and she’s… well, you’ll see what I mean. I try to be professional at all times. YouknowI do.”
“Yes, Josh. I am well aware of your professionalism.” Josh had written a five-page entry into his learning log for his appraisal about a possible episode of overfamiliarity with a health care assistant. He was worried he may have ‘abused his position’ – the poor girl only asked him out for a drink. The half-wit should have just said yes and been flattered. Butno, he has to bore me as his educational supervisor with his non-existent ethical dilemma. He’ll never get laid at this rate. He cleared his throat. “Well. The lady is…” a trickle of sweat made its way down his forehead and I frowned.
“Given you a hard time, has she?”
“No, no… it’s just that–” he trailed off and gave a helpless shrug.
“Alright, mate,” Tim, one of the nurses, greeted me and I gave him a wave. But as he walked away, something caught his attention in one of the cubicles and he did a double take. Still fixated on whatever he was staring at, Tim nearly tripped over the phlebotomy tray in front of him. When I glanced over at the desk, a couple of the orthopaedic consultants were also staring past Tim into the same cubicle. One muttered to the other and a slow smirk spread over his face.
“What are all those buggers staring at?” I muttered.
“You’ll see,” Josh said darkly as he trotted after me around the corner. Then I saw her and it all made sense. Blonde curls everywhere as if she’d let them air dry from the sea. Loose white Billabong t-shirt, which was falling off one tanned shoulder and so old it was nearly see-through and doing nothing to hide the bright bikini underneath. Flip-flops and, of course, the frayed denim shorts that had seen better days revealing most of the toned, tanned legs. She was crouched, talking to an elderly man in a chair, smiling at him and filling the whole department with her energy. Her head turned as I approached, and her smile fell. That aching feeling was back in my chest again.
Chapter 8
What kind of manareyou?
Heath
“Great,” I heard Yaz say under her breath, her tone implying my presence here was anything but.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
She stiffened at the accusation in my tone, and I immediately wanted to claw the words back. Where was my natural, effortless charm that seemed to be so easy to wield with everyone else?
“You know Miss Hardcastle?” Josh asked me with a hint of reverence.
“Josh, I’ve told you five times already to call me Yaz.” She gave Josh a patient smile, which fell again when she looked at me. “I’m here because Bryn is my friend, and I was the one who found him. He lives in the flat below mine.”
“Oi! I know you,” Bryn shouted at me, waving his stick in the air. “You’re the bugger what carried my Yaz up to her flat. Taking advantage of her.”
