“Oh!” he says, sounding impressed. “So you’re one of those hokum doctors are you? Is that the right word? Or is it poke-’em doctors? Although after what you said yesterday, maybe you’re more of a scrotum doctor…”
“You know perfectly well what the word is, you old fraud.”
“I do,” he replies, shaking his head. “But it’s a long time since I’ve been able to see one. The nearest surgery to us is miles away, and getting an appointment is about as easy as putting a man on the moon. They do this thing where you have to call in the morning, and then you can’t get through, and then even if you do, all the appointments are gone!”
It is a familiar story, and a complaint that I know has relevance all across the UK, not just here. It’s one of the reasons I could always get work in the drop-in centres.
“That must be frustrating,” I say, seeing that there is more to it. That as I suspected yesterday, there is something on his mind. “Especially if you’re not feeling well.”
“Oh, I feel fine, Ella – healthy as a horse, me, feel like I could do one of those Iron Man contests most days! It’s just…well, I have this mole, you see, and I have to be honest, I’ve been a bit worried about it…”
I nod, and try to look surprised, and obviously completely fail. He points one finger at me and grins as he says: “You knew there was something, didn’t you? You could tell somehow. That’s why you’re here!”
“Yes,” I answer, grinning back. “It’s a little-known secret power they teach us in medical school. Anyway, if you want to, you can show me the mole. I do like a good mole.”
He considers it for a few moments, and then replies: “All right, can’t see as it’d hurt. But I warn you, I’m going to roll my trouser leg up now, so prepare yourself – you’re only flesh and blood!”
“I’ll do my best not to swoon,” I say, as I pull some disposable gloves out of my bag. He raises an eyebrow, and I say: “Never leave home without them. Now come on, don’t be shy.”
He leans down and shows me the offending mole. I take a look at it, and ask a few questions about when it first appeared, and if it’s changed at all. I can tell by the way he answers that it is genuinely concerning him, much as he tries to hide it. I also suspect from its size and shape and colour, plus what George is telling me, that he may be right.
“Well,” I tell him once we’re done, “the good news is I don’t think you’re about to drop dead any time soon, George. The not-so-good news is that I do think you need to get it checked out. I genuinely think it’ll be easy to deal with at this stage, but you can’t ignore it. If you’re struggling to get an appointment with your GP, maybe there’s a drop-in nearby? Or a lot of surgeries these days do a thing called an e-consult – we could fill out the form, send them some pictures, maybe get a referral quicker that way?”
Of course, given the wi-fi reception around here, we might end up having to do it on the fire escape of the Starshine Inn surrounded by teenagers.
“Would you help me with that, Ella?” he says once he’s gathered himself. “I’m not bad on the tech stuff considering I was born before electricity was invented, but I’m not a natural. I could ask one of the grandkids or Archie or Connie, but…well, I don’t want to worry them without cause, do I?”
“I could definitely help you with that, as long as you do it before I leave – I’m only booked in until Sunday.”
He looks marginally surprised, and says: “You know what, I’d forgotten about that. Suppose I’d got used to you being around brightening the place up.”
Ha, I think – that’s a first, me brightening a place up. I already like George, but now I think I might be just a bit in love with him.
“Tell you what, why don’t me and you go on a sneaky coffee date?” I ask. “I could do with a few supplies from the outside world. We can do it tomorrow if you like. I’ll even drive.”
I see his eyes light up, and realise just how much this has been playing on his mind – how hard it must have been for him, shouldering the worry, not wanting to burden his loved ones. Seeing him so relieved fills me with a warm feeling deep inside, and as we say our goodbyes and I walk across to the café, I am smiling happily to myself. I’ve felt so useless for so long and not even recognised that fact. I’m sure Priya would have a term for it, but I’m just accepting it for what it is – a win.
As soon as I think of her, I stop and send her some photos of the cave, even though they hardly do the place justice. She replies: “Wow! Every pic you send me of that place is amazing. Can I come and visit? Or maybe just bring my girls down there and, you know, leave them with you while I go shopping in Paris?”
“Tough day?” I respond.
“Tough morning. Tired out and pissed off. No apologies for language, it makes me feel better. How’s you?”
“Did CPR in the café (all good). Talked about piles over breakfast. Just been shown a mole.”
She sends me crying-laughing emojis and adds: “I’ve been cleaning up projectile vomit from two sick little people all night. I have chunks of it in my hair, and the shower is broken. At least you’re being useful. Enjoy the feeling.”
I am, I decide – at least for now.
By the time I walk into the café, it is almost 11am, and the place seems to be in something of a lull, a quiet spell between breakfast and lunch. Only a few tables are occupied, and I spot Connie sitting on a tall stool at the counter, chewing a pen and doing a crossword. Adele is on the radio, saying hello.
Connie stands up as soon as she sees me, clearly preparing to go and find something delicious from her display of delights.
“No, I’m fine, honest!” I say, as I take a seat next to her. “I couldn’t eat another single thing, and I’ve had so much tea I might wee myself.”
“Right. Well, we’ve all been there, I shan’t judge. Evelyn called in earlier.”
“That’s nice,” I reply quickly. “Who the heck is Evelyn?”
