‘What are you doing?’ said Meg sharply, although it was obvious, so he said nothing.
They watched in silence as the man’s head started to emerge, throat first – exposing a short, faded scar – then his chin, badly shaven.
‘Don’t,’ said Meg nervously.
‘OK,’ said Patrick, and stopped.
‘No, go on,’ said Scott, and Meg said nothing else, so he went on.
The man’s lips were parted over a slightly open mouth, as if the corpse was surprised by its sudden unveiling. The tips of the teeth were visible – reasonably white but a little uneven.
The nose was straight and short, with narrow nostrils and a few dark hairs.
Patrick felt suddenly nervous. He’d thought he’d started unwrapping the head of their cadaver because he’d wanted to put an end to the chatter and get on with the dissection. Now he wasn’t sure why he’d done it or what he wanted. He paused, the cotton strip draped over the bridge of the nose, feeling strangely shaky inside.
‘Tease!’ said Rob, and Dilip laughed.
‘Let’s see his eyes then,’ said Scott and leaned in to push the cloth aside. Patrick knocked his hand away. ‘Don’t!’
‘Hey, man, if I want to look at his eyes, I will! Don’t fucking hit me!’
Patrick hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t even realized he was going to until Scott’s hand had been right there over the man’s face.
‘Don’t fight. It’s not respectful,’ said Rob.
‘Neither is cutting his penis in two, but we did that last week,’ said Dilip mildly.
‘He hit me! You all saw it.’ Scott glared at Patrick. ‘Weirdo.’
Meg said, ‘Shut up, Scott,’ but Patrick ignored him. He’d been called worse.
Spicer was suddenly among them again.
‘Handbags at dawn?’ he joked.
None of them spoke and then Spicer noticed the partially exposed head. His smile disappeared in an instant.
‘Cover that up,’ he snapped.
Patrick started to wind the cloth slowly around the cadaver’s face again. The others looked at each other uncomfortably.
‘It was my idea, Dr Spicer,’ said Meg. ‘I wanted to see his face so we could give him a name.’
‘The ID is on the tags. That’s all. And you will proceed with this dissection in the correct order and at the proper pace, under my direction, do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Meg, and the others nodded. Except for Patrick.
‘What’s the difference?’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘If we see his face now or later?’ Patrick shrugged.
‘What’s your name again?’
‘Patrick Fort.’
‘Right,’ said Spicer angrily, and walked out of the room.
The others watched him until he disappeared.
‘Jesus,’ said Rob. ‘That’s not like him to go off on one.’
Patrick said nothing. He carefully slid his scalpel under what he thought was either the pronator teres or the flexor carpi.
‘You think we’re in trouble?’ said Dilip.
‘No, I think he’s in trouble,’ said Scott, and jabbed a finger at Patrick. ‘You ever touch me again, I’ll take your fucking head off.’
‘Oh, don’t be a melodramatic twat,’ snorted Rob.
Scott slapped his book shut and walked out, ripping off his gloves as he went.
‘Too late,’ said Meg quietly, and Rob and Dilip laughed.
‘Pronator teres,’ Patrick concluded.
It was six o’clock and already close to dark when Patrick unlocked his bike from the railings on the ramp outside the dissecting room. Students hurried past in the slow October drizzle, unaware that they were a slim brick wall away from thirty bloated bodies that looked as though bombs had gone off in their chest cavities.
As he wheeled his bike on to Park Place, Meg fell in beside him.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Scott’s not bad really. I think you just gave him a fright.’
Patrick was puzzled. Why was she walking with him? Why was she saying anything to him? Maybe she was just talking for her, not for him – the way his mother did.
His silence was no deterrent.
‘So, why don’t you want to be a doctor?’
Patrick had often noticed that the less he said, the more people wanted him to speak. But he had no idea what she wanted him to say. Meg wasn’t his mother or the med school interviewing panel, so why was she interested in what he did or did not do?
‘I’m just curious,’ she said, as if she had read his mind. ‘I mean, you’re clever enough, so why not?’
She kept asking; he was going to have to answer her.
‘Not interested,’ he said.
‘Not interested in what?’
Patrick was taken aback that she had a follow-up question – and so fast!
‘What aren’t you interested in?’ said Meg, as if he hadn’t understood her the first time.
‘In making people better,’ he said, and put a foot in his toeclip to show he was finished talking.
Meg wasn’t finished. ‘So what’s the point of just doing anatomy?’
She frowned and Patrick thought she was angry but wasn’t sure. He’d never been able to understand what people meant just from their faces. It was hard enough guessing from their words. She obviously wasn’t going to leave him alone until he answered, so finally he did.
‘I want to see what makes people work,’ he said.
Meg wrinkled her forehead some more. ‘But you don’t want to fix them or help them work better?’
‘No.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘But you have such a great bedside manner.’
‘No I don’t,’ Patrick said, and then saw she was grinning. ‘Oh, you’re joking.’
‘You’re allowed to laugh.’
‘Maybe later,’ he said.
‘There’s a party tonight. You want to come?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, come on. You’ll have fun.’
‘I won’t.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I know I don’t like parties.’
‘What do you like then?’
He stopped talking and looked up the street to the traffic lights, wishing he was already there and that she was behind him.
‘Do you like anything?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I like some things.’
‘Name your top five.’
He said nothing. He couldn’t. He only had three.
Meg sighed theatrically, then held an invisible microphone under his nose. ‘How does it feel to be a man of mystery?’
Patrick stared blankly at her fist. ‘I don’t know.’
She smiled. ‘If you change your mind, here’s my number.’
She took out a pen and lowered it towards his knuckles, so he tucked his hands into his pockets so she couldn’t write on his skin.
She went red. ‘All right then,’ she said. ‘It’s 07734113117.’
‘OK.’
She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘You got that?’
‘Yes.’
‘See you at Number 19, Patrick.’
‘OK,’ he said, and swung his leg over the crossbar.
As he rode home he replayed the conversation in his head. It was the longest one he’d had with a stranger in ages. Now he tried to analyse it, the way his mother always nagged him to.
People say things for a reason, Patrick. If you listen carefully, you’ll understand not only what they’re saying, but why.
But while people were talking, he was always so busy wishing they would leave him alone that he found it difficult to think his own thoughts, let alone decipher theirs. Patrick didn’t know what more he could have told Meg. Animals and photographs were two of the things he liked – and he didn’t have to say why. But if he’d told her two things, she might have asked about the third – and the third was secret.