‘You should come out to Thailand with me. You’d love it, I swear.’
You know, Samuel, you really shouldn’t say things like that to people. Not if you don’t mean them.
‘Can I let you into a secret, Constance?’
I nodded. Unable to look you in the eye.
‘I don’t like hospitals either.’
I laughed. ‘What do you mean, you don’t like hospitals? You’re a doctor.’
‘I know. You’re right. I was just trying to make you feel better . . . Anyway, enough about me. What about you? What about your folks?’
A nurse shouted my name.
As you know, it wasn’t broken. Just badly torn ligaments and bruising. I was gushing words of relief as you wheeled me down the corridor, my crutches in hand. But as we approached the exit, a tall, blonde female doctor was walking towards us and you hurriedly turned off down a side corridor and stopped.
‘Where are you going?’
Your breathing was heavy above my head. ‘Sorry . . . sorry. That was a friend of my ex and I didn’t want to deal with her, sorry. We split a couple of months ago, but I swear she’s gone crazy, Constance . . . Won’t let it go. We keep going round in circles. God knows what bullshit she’s said about me.’
‘Oh no, I’m sorry. Well, maybe you’ll get back together?’
‘God, no. I just want her stuff out. I think the only thing we agree on now is that we hate each other.’
I was glad you were behind me, unable to see the delight overtake my face.
The drive back was quiet. But unlike before, we were both swathed in calm. The tiny clock inserted into the walnut dash said it was nearly ten. The motion lulled me into a hazy tiredness and so I rested my head against the back of the seat.
You turned on the radio. ‘Do you mind? It relaxes me. I’ll keep it low.’
It was classical music. I had no idea what. I thought I hated classical music, but it turned out it relaxed me too. We listened in silence. I was so comforted, being with you, that I almost nodded off, until you said, ‘I was lying when I said it was to make you feel better. I really don’t like hospitals.’
I pushed myself up straight, opened my eyes but didn’t look at you. Sensing allowing you to talk was the right thing.
‘My mother . . . she died . . . in a psychiatric hospital . . . when I was fifteen. She was there for just over a year. The constant visiting, the walks down the corridors . . . Now the smell of those places makes me . . . I don’t know. She wasn’t mad, though. My father . . . she . . . she’d react to his womanizing. He deserved it. But she loved him, you see. And was, I don’t know . . . inconvenient.’
‘So he put her there?’
‘He’s a top neurosurgeon. All the Stevens men are doctors. Whether we hate hospitals or not. Obviously, though, as a GP, I’m a terrible disappointment.’ Your laugh that followed was tinged with hysteria. ‘Anyway, he followed the procedures, but . . .’
‘That’s horrible.’ In that moment everything made sense. Why our souls were magnets. ‘Did she kill herself?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. She just died. They didn’t know why. Sudden adult death syndrome, the coroner concluded. But everyone knew why, really.’
‘That’s . . . I’m so sorry, Dr Stevens.’
‘Hey, I think “Samuel” now. Especially after telling you that. I’m not sure what made me blurt it out in that way.’
I did. I knew.
‘Oh, this is beautiful.’ You turned up the volume. ‘Shostakovich. Symphony No. 5.’
I nestled back, closed my eyes. Thinking about what you’d told me. Confided in me. And you were right – the music was beautiful. Fitting. I’ve since bought an old vinyl record of that piece. And others. I play them when I can’t sleep or am stressed. Which is often. Along with our song, of course.
Everything was perfect in that moment. It made me want to share about myself. Though I kept my eyes shut to say it.
‘Mine died in April.’
‘Sorry?’ You turned the volume down.
‘My mum . . . She died in April.’
‘Constance, that’s so recent . . . I didn’t . . . I’m so sorry. But you’ve only been here since April? Is that why you—’
‘She had cancer.’ It wasn’t a lie.
The car stopped. I presumed at lights, but I still couldn’t look.
You searched for my hand. Squeezed it. ‘What about your dad?’
I shook my head.
‘Brothers or sisters?’
I shook my head again.
‘Oh, Constance. Well, you’ve got me. We’re friends now, don’t you think?’
I dared to open my eyes and moved my finger to touch yours. The lights turned green. You placed your hand back onto the wheel and we drove again.
‘Does anyone know about your mum?’
‘My housemate knows.’
‘No, I mean like Harris or Franco. You should speak to Dr Franco.’
‘No. Why? No . . . I’m fine.’
Before you could talk about it anymore, ask me questions, I leant forward and turned the volume up again, then sat back and closed my eyes. This time, so you couldn’t see me, I faced the passenger window.
Shame washed over me when we arrived at mine. I’d grown used to the sink and car parts in the garden, but I saw it through your eyes. Sat in your expensive car. Knowing about your grand flat. And I was pissed off with Mr Papadopoulos and his lazy-landlord ways.
You parked in the nearest spot and switched off the engine. We sat for a moment in darkness before turning our heads towards each other.
‘Well, thank you, Dr Stevens.’
‘Samuel.’
‘Samuel.’
The leather creaked beneath us. Time stopped. Only starting again when you said, ‘Oh God, I need to get you out, don’t I?’
I looked through the window, back towards the house, for signs of Dale. ‘No, I’m . . . I’m fine from here.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll walk you to the door.’
‘No, honestly . . . I need the practice.’
‘Well, I must help you get out at least. Even the able-bodied can’t get out of this bloody thing.’
Before I could argue, you were already outside, opening my door, lifting me up. I fumbled with my bag, which you took from me and placed across my body like a pageant-queen sash. ‘Well, at least let me watch you. Make sure you get in.’
It felt like an eternity as I clumsily made my way down the front path on the crutches. When I finally reached the door, I scrambled in my bag for the key. Before I’d located it, Dale was standing in the light of the open doorway. I turned towards you, but you were back in the car.
‘You poor sod. Here, let me help you.’ He fussed around me, making everything more difficult. ‘Don’t you worry – I shall be your nurse slave. Hey, I’ve bought the new Call of Duty for us, so you won’t be bored being laid up.’ As he shut the door, I felt our severance. ‘That wasn’t Dr Harris. You said Dr Harris was with you.’ He lifted my bag over my head.
‘Did I? I don’t think I . . . I was in agony, Dale. Sorry . . . I meant Dr Stevens.’
‘Well, it’s easily done,’ he said, smiling, but as he turned away, I noticed his grin drop in the hall mirror.