‘Good weekend?’ she asks.
I nod. ‘And you?’
‘Not bad.’
Tania. My dental and aesthetic assistant. A plump girl of twenty-two, with mousy hair, a mousy face and mud-coloured eyes. So young she still has spots. Young. Sweet. Gentle. Her mousiness disappears when she smiles. Perfect teeth. The Hollywood kind.
The internal telephone rings. I pick up.
‘Hello again, Andrea.’
‘Hi Emma.’ A pause. ‘Just to say you have an emergency patient coming in first thing. Tomas Covington. Pain in his back teeth.’
Tania looks up from laying out the instruments. She flashes her film-star smile. The internal phone rings again in warning, and Tomas is here. Entering my consulting room. City suit. Suave. Sophisticated. White shirt. Red tie. Hair smoothed back. Closely shaved.
‘Hello, Tomas. Sorry to hear you’re in pain again.’
He winces a little. ‘It seems to be getting worse. I’ve been taking co-codamol.’
‘Sit in the chair and I’ll take a look.’
He slides into my chair. I have to adjust it as he is so tall. I put a bib around his neck and his eyes catch mine. Warm brown eyes, dappled with pain.
‘Which tooth hurts?’
He pats the rear part of his lower right jawbone. ‘This whole area.’
‘Open wide.’
He puts his head back and obeys. I press my probe on his lower right rear tooth. He jerks in distress.
‘The root of your back molar is infected. I’ll drill a root canal through your tooth, remove the infected debris and deaden the nerve now. The pain will stop. But your tooth will die so you’ll need a crown.’
‘Work your magic. Do what you must.’
I inject his gum with anaesthetic. When his mouth is numb I drill through his tooth and deaden the nerve. I apply a dressing coated in antibiotic to kill the infection.
When I have finished, he rinses his mouth out with the glass of pink antiseptic I hand him. He slips out of his chair and stands looking at me gratefully.
‘The pain is gone. Thank you so much.’
‘It’s not over yet. You need to come back in a few weeks’ time for your crown to be fitted.’
‘Thank you so much, Emma.’ He turns to leave. As he reaches the doorway he looks back. ‘Why don’t you and Alastair come to our place on Saturday evening and have a drink with us? I’m sure Jade would like to thank you, too.’
‘That’s very kind, but surely it’s our turn?’ I pause. ‘I insist you come to mine.’
11
Jade
I’m standing beneath the willow tree, watching you. Looking through the surgery window. You are looking into her eyes. She is lovely, isn’t she – in a predictable skinny blonde way? As soon as I saw her, I knew she was your type. Lots of men’s type. Men are like lemmings; they all follow the same thing. No individual taste.
Memories
My earliest memory was before the violence started. A time when I felt free. Running along a beach, holding my mother’s hand. Sun on my back. Sand between my toes. Where was my father then? Was he back at the holiday cottage working? Waiting for us to come back?
The memory flashes across my mind and fades. I can’t hold it or place it. It never stays for long.
12
Emma
Following my invitation at the surgery, Tomas, Jade and Alastair are at mine for drinks and nibbles. We are all standing around the fireplace making small talk. Alastair is looking suave. Pink shirt. White jeans. Tomas’ kindly brown eyes shimmer towards his wife. Jade hovers next to him wearing a baggy dress with small flowers on the fabric. A modern replica of Laura Ashley that doesn’t quite work. The dull brown flattens her complexion. She is quite pretty really, but she doesn’t know how to dress.
I disappear into the kitchen to take my M&S canapés out of the oven. When I reappear, carrying hot mini quiches and luxury sausage rolls, Tomas and Jade are sitting next to one another, on the sofa opposite the fireplace. Alastair has settled in the winged chair by the TV. Silence floats awkwardly as I walk across the room, laden with protein and carbohydrate.
Jade watches Tomas like a hawk as he leans towards me and takes a sausage roll. I move the plate in her direction. She stiffens and shakes her head.
‘No, thanks. I’m watching my figure.’
‘You have a lovely figure,’ Tomas says, patting her thigh.
She turns her head towards him. ‘Do you expect me to believe you?’
‘As I meant it, I do, yes.’
She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Men never mean what they say.’
Alastair looks as if he is about to object. I glare across at him and grimace to silence him. The word ‘clusterfuck’ resonates in my head.
13
Alastair
Tomas and Clusterfuck are here in your house, Emma, invading my weekend privacy. I cannot warm to the Clusterfuck. Even her scratchy voice annoys me.
My favourite way to spend Saturday night is snuggled on the sofa with you, drinking red wine and watching Netflix. Inhaling the scent of your perfume, your body heat, your sweet, sweet breath. But tonight I sit eating sausage rolls and drinking Champagne watching the Clusterfuck guard Tomas like a mother hen. I look at her and see feathers and beaks and dowdiness. You stand next to her holding a plate of canapés, and shine. I want your guests to go home. I need my Saturday fix of you, alone. Tell them, Emma. Put down the tray of canapés and tell them to go.
‘Are you all right?’ the Clusterfuck rasps, looking across at me and frowning. ‘Are we so boring? You look as if you’re in a total daydream. On another planet.’
Her voice scrapes across my mind.
‘Sorry. I was thinking about work.’
‘Swabs and latex. So much more interesting than us?’
‘No, no. Not at all,’ I mutter. I look at her and smile. A wide forced smile. The Clusterfuck is so annoying that smiling at her has to be forced.
She leans forwards and rests her elbows on her knees. ‘Was it an interesting case, taking your attention?’
‘You know we’re not allowed to talk about individual cases.’
‘Not allowed to, but people do.’
I sigh inside. Why is she pushing this? ‘They’ll lose their jobs if they get caught.’
She pouts her lips. The conversation is getting worse. ‘So, you’re a man who toes the line, are you?’
Trying to flirt now. Flirting that doesn’t work. ‘As much as I need to. As much as anyone else.’
I look across at Emma dressed in blue silk clinging to all the right places. And suddenly, from nowhere, I’m back on the day my ex-wife Heather left. Off to a nightclub in Brighton with her best friend Shelly. Both looking cheesy in matching onesies. Black onesies with orange flowers on. Whatever made them pick those? She rang me, from the nightclub, to tell me our marriage was over. I could hear a man’s voice in the background. Drum and bass music pounded down the line. I could hear the shrill tones of Shelly’s laugh.
Life has moved on. I have a much more attractive partner now. Emma, you are pure class.