He gives me a look.
I think of eighty-one-year-old Mrs Evans, one of my regulars. She’d come in last week, gripping my hand as I helped her into a chair in our treatment room. The waiting room was rammed but we’d chatted for five minutes about her worries for her son after his marriage break-up. ‘Don’t you ever leave this place, love,’ she’d said. ‘You’re the only one who listens.’
I’d smiled and assured her I was going nowhere.
And now I’m about to disappear.
I exhale. ‘I don’t want to leave them all in the lurch, Dev. I’m due back for my shift tomorrow and I need to handle this in the right way.’
He holds up his hands. ‘All right. Just don’t let the guilt keep you stuck, Merri. You have options now.’
I tell myself it’s just a job. That leaving doesn’t have to mean anything. People walk away from jobs all the time. But the thought of not working – of waking up without a shift to go to, without a purpose? That troubles me.
It’s not about the money. Dev’s right: we’ve got options now. But I’vealwaysworked. Always relied on myself. Evenbefore the health centre, I did things, showed up, kept busy. The idea of stopping – of depending on Dev, or on a bank balance that could run dry – is terrifying in a way I don’t know how to articulate.
Because what happens if it all goes wrong?
It’s not like I haven’t been here before, standing on what felt like solid ground only to have it crack beneath me. I know what it’s like to have to start again, to scramble for security when it’s ripped away at an early age. To rely on others who end up letting you down. I swore I’d never let myself get into that position again.
And maybe Idolove the job more than I admit. Not just because of the patients – the ones like Mrs Evans who trust me, rely on me – but because it anchors me. Keeps me in control. Gives me something that’s mine.
Maybe the real problem is that I’m not sure who I am without it.
I take a deep breath and dial my manager’s number.
‘Merri?’ Her voice is bright. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Hi, Karen. Yeah, all good. I wanted to let you know I have to resign.’
There’s a short, stunned silence. ‘You’re leaving? Where are you off to?’
I let out a small laugh. ‘It’s a bit mad, actually. Dev and I won a house in the Lake District. In one of those DreamKey draws.’
Another silence. Then Karen laughs – a proper, hearty laugh. ‘You’re kidding me. A house? I’ve never met anyone who’s actually won one of those prize draws!’
‘I know, it’s mad. It still doesn’t feel real.’
‘Well, congratulations, and good for you. You’ve worked hard here and we’ll miss you. I hope you’ll come back and visit us once you’re settled.’
Her warmth throws me off guard.
‘I definitely will,’ I say, feeling emotional. ‘I don’t want to drop you in it but things are moving fast here.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about the job,’ she says. ‘We’ve got a couple of temporary staff trained up who’ll jump at the extra hours. I should be able to sort this out, no problem, Merri.’
Relief floods through me. ‘I really appreciate it. Thanks, Karen.’
‘No worries, you just make sure you enjoy this. It’s not every day one of our own wins the jackpot.’
I laugh. ‘You’re right.’
But as I hang up, the nervous feeling hasn’t quite disappeared.
Back in the living room, Dev looks up. ‘How did it go?’
‘Karen was lovely. She said I’ve got to enjoy our win and stop worrying.’ I still feel nervous about everything – the move, the upheaval – but the excitement is growing.
Maybe this really is our chance to start again.
