I looked up to find myself being smiled at by one of the administration’s flunkeys. He was a human resources case manager according to his ID card, and it sounded ominous.
“Dr. Maynard?” he said.
I nodded and he handed me an envelope and walked off.
Looked like I wouldn’t be pronouncing Mrs. Silva after all. I pushed my dismissal notice into my pocket and got into the elevator.
Matthew was sitting on the pavement, waving what I suspected was a curry sandwich around with one hand as he talked to Lizzie from Micro. The sun was making his hair shine and it was the most gorgeous colour. Not brown at all, more like titian.
Being sacked certainly made one thing easier.
F was drinking a takeaway cup of coffee and it smelled great. I spotted the boxes of coffees lined up beside the statue of some git in a greatcoat with an inadequate gun. I agreed with the pigeons.
I took my coffee back to F and handed him my letter for him to read.
He scanned it and handed it back to me, then took my elbow and walked me across the courtyard to the dank walkway where the homeless lived.
Two shaggy old men looked up at me and one of them grinned toothlessly and held up his cup of takeaway coffee. I held my own up in greeting. Guess it was a good day for them; no rain and free coffee.
F said, “Had you thought about a change?”
“Looks like change has been thrust upon me,” I replied.
“No, a real change. London have headhunted me, offered me a consultancy there, along with a research grant. Come across with me, change to renal.”
I stared at F.
“Nephrology?” I said.
He nodded.
I looked at the two old men in their grimy clothes, made happy by an unexpected free cup of coffee.
“I don’t like nephrology,” I said. “All those blood levels to monitor. Transplants to manage.” I shook my head.
“No?” F said disbelievingly.
I knew that in his little world, there was nothing better than a dodgy kidney, but I’d rather be a general practitioner than deal with renal.
“What do you want, then?” he said. “Go on, tell me what you want. I’ve not accepted their offer yet, I can always counteroffer and include you in the deal.”
“And Clarissa,” I said. “If they sacked me, they’re going to sack her, too. And there’s no shortage of surgical residents out there.”
“Sure, Clarissa, too. So, what do you want? Name your specialty.”
I blinked. F was kidding, right? He couldn’t possibly be serious about this.
“Gastro?” F asked. “Hematology? Rheumatology?
Endocrinology? Take your pick.”
Fuck. This was not a question I’d ever allowed myself to think about. I’d blown my chance of a specialist career path when I’d left the US partway through my first posting as something other than a resident.
“Palliative care,” I said.
F rolled his eyes. “Fuck, Andrew, choose something with a bit of glamour, a bit of lifestyle in it, so you can buy yourself and your pretty boyfriend a decent car each.”
I glared at him and he looked contrite.
“Sorry,” he said. “That was out of line.”
“No problem,” I replied. However bad a day I was having, F’s must be much worse.
Chapter Thirty One
A familiar voice made me look up from my sandwich, and I stood up in time for a pale, but surprisingly neat and tidy, Heidi to bounce into my arms. “Matthew!” she cried, hugging me hard.
Angie was right behind her, blue plastic hospital bag in one hand, bunch of flowers in the other.
“You’re coming home?” I asked Heidi.
“I am,” she said, beaming. “I’ve got to come back here at the end of the week to have the stitches out, so I’m going to Mum’s for a few days, but I’ll be back at the house on Friday.”
Angie smiled at me. “Say thank you to that nice boyfriend of yours for us,” she said. “I’m going to take Heidi home now.”
I spent the day listening to the doctors around me talking about their work, their careers, and the responsibilities they carried, and it made me feel very small and inadequate. How was I ever supposed to cope with any of this?
The shadows were slanting across the courtyard and the homeless old men had picked up their shopping bags and shuffled into the hospital, pausing to beg coins from the doctors. My bum was numb from sitting on the concrete when there was suddenly movement; doctors were hugging each other, and Dr. Seagate was going around shaking people’s hands and thanking them.
I struggled to my feet, trying to stamp the pins and needles out of my feet, when he hugged me, much to my amazement, and said, “Is he bringing you along to my place later? After we’ve been to the pub?”
“Um, yes,” I said. “He asked me anyway.”
Dr. Seagate nodded, looking serious. “Make him happy, I’ll love you forever, and believe me, that’s not an offer I make very often.”
I stared at him and he quirked me a smile and turned to talk to the BMA lawyer, leaving me gobsmacked. It had never occurred to me that Andrew might have told someone about me. Especially another doctor at the hospital.
Nevins came over. “Are you coming to the pub? One of the burns unit residents invited us all.”
“Sure.” Nevins was so obviously pleased that I couldn’t resist it. “Just like we’re real people, right?”
Lin walked up just in time to catch this and she shook her head at me. “Leave him alone, Blake, you’ll only make it worse.”
“Make what worse?” Nevins asked.
Lin slipped her hand under his arm. “He’s teasing you,”
she said to Nevins. “Ignore him, you’re only encouraging him.”
I had to work at not laughing at Nevins’ look of confusion when she led him off. I knew the bloke was smart, he’d thrashed me in biochem, but he really seemed to not be awake half of the time.
Of course, it could be that. Maybe he was desperately sleep-deprived.
I was surprised that Andrew came to the pub, too, and didn’t head back into the hospital with most of the doctors. It seemed to me that someone who was so dedicated that they got up at three in the morning to do rounds would want to check that nothing had happened in his absence, but Andrew was leaning against the bar, drinking hard with the young woman who had seconded his motion at the meeting.
I thought about going over to stand with him, but it felt like it would just be too conspicuous in front of Lin and Nevins so I stayed with them, listening to tales of horror from a brand new resident who had had four hours sleep since Friday afternoon.
She was too tired to sleep, she explained, as she downed glasses of Kahlua and Coke as fast as the barman could make them.
I was drinking lager with whiskey shooters, since Dr.
Seagate had held up a credit card when we’d walked in and announced the drinks were on him. Free booze was too good a thing to turn down, and Lin and Nevins were getting stuck into it, too.
I was engrossed in conversation with the resident, who I was beginning to suspect was trying to pick me up, when Lin and Nevins disappeared. I looked up from dodging yet another flutter of eyelashes against skin so dark from lack of sleep the woman might just as well be wearing goth eyeliner, and they’d gone.
I was sure they hadn’t left the bar, because Lin’s backpack was where she had abandoned it under the table. The resident, whose name was Tracey, or so she kept telling me, nodded at the loos. “Think they’ve gone off for a shag.” I groaned mentally.
That was my fault. The bar was completely full of doctors, and they were shagging within earshot of actual and potential supervisors, assessors, and tutors. Hardly prudent.