by Lindy Dale
That would explain his rumpled appearance and how he got to my bedside so quickly with each progressive failure.
“I’m sure that doesn’t mean anything. He was concerned. And time was of the essence. If he hadn’t been there, things might have been a whole lot worse.”
“There’s concern and concern, Sophie. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t sleep at the hospital for every patient in difficulty, seeing as he only lives five minutes away.”
“The circumstances were extenuating.”
I’m trying to justify his actions now because I can’t comprehend what Angela is trying to say can be true. Jared can’t possibly like me as more than a patient. Not after the way he’s acted recently. He was concerned for my wellbeing, that’s all. He needed to be close in case I had to go for more surgery.
“It wasn’t that. I think he likes you.”
“You sound like we’re in high school. Perhaps you could get your friend to ask his friend and then let me know?”
“Don’t be facetious,” Angela chuckles, “wait till your next appointment. I bet you’ll see him in a new light.”
I hope not. All these different lights are making my head spin.
I change the subject. “I got my ticket for the quiz night at school.”
Angela does a refill on her wine. Then she hops up, goes to the pantry and comes back with one of the blocks of chocolate she brought with her. She undoes the foil and breaks the squares into bite-sized pieces. “It’s in a fortnight, yeah? I bought ours ages ago but I haven’t even got them out of the envelope. I’ve organised our table, though. Do you think you’ll be up to it?”
“It’ll be good to get out of the house. See some familiar faces. I can’t come to any harm sitting at a table all night, can I?”
“I dunno. Those quiz nights can get pretty heated. Don’t you remember last year?”
I let out a giggle at the memory. The image of Hilary and Melinda who were seated at opposing tables, rushing to the front to sing the final line of It’s Raining Men and score extra points was a highlight of the evening. They set a new land speed record for running in stilettos. And when Melinda tried to hip and shoulder Hilary and grab the microphone, I was convinced there was going to be a catfight.
“Is Melinda going this year?” I still haven’t seen hide nor hair of my so-called friend. Not since the party at Hilary and John’s.
“As far as I know. She’s sitting with the Cressleys.”
As she would be. If there’s one family in the school who take quiz nights more seriously than a Korean nuclear strike, it’s the Cressleys. They train for weeks beforehand by playing Trivial Pursuit and gate-crashing quiz nights around Perth. They don’t like to lose. And Melinda’s renowned for her competitive streak. A few years back, she bought a new house merely because one of her other cronies had done a complete renovation. She was never that way with me, though. Possibly because she knew I wouldn’t enter into her one-upmanship.
“I still don’t know what I’ve done to upset her,” I say. “She’s been avoiding me for months.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. You know Melinda’s hot and cold. She’s probably pissed off that your stomach is flatter than hers now.”
“But she was one of my best friends.”
Angela shrugs. “I’m sure some people thought that about The Backpacker Murderer too.”
*****
“How are you feeling, Sophie?”
I’m sitting on the edge of the examination bed, my feet dangling towards the floor. Today is the first day I’ve worn jeans for about three weeks so I’m feeling pretty good, especially because they’re way looser than they were before the surgery. A baggy pair of jeans will do mountains for a girl’s confidence.
“I’m good,” I admit, realising that I am. “On the mend. If you discount the massive chunks of hair that seem to be falling out of my head. If I keep losing it at this rate, The Christmas Shop might mistake me for a bauble.”
“It’s your body’s reaction to the amount of anaesthetic you’ve had and possibly the stress. Give it three months or so and your hair should be back to normal.”
“Excellent. In the meantime, I’ll go around wearing a beret or looking like a shagpile carpet that’s worn thin in patches, shall I?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Jared swings away to check something on the computer and I let out a breath that I hadn’t even realised I was holding in. I should be pleased that he’s returned to acting like a doctor and not a friend, shouldn’t I? I mean, the only thing he’s supposed to show interest in is my boobs, or lack thereof. And maybe my back fat and love handles. He can show interest in those if he’s going to suck them away with his lipo machine. But what about Angela’s admission the other Friday night? Why would he ask questions about me if he’s not interested? And now I’ve decided I’d like him to be interested, it’s rather annoying that he’s only playing doctor. He hasn’t even broken into a smile.
I shuffle on the bed. “I’m a bit tired and stiff but apart from that, okay.”
“That’s to be expected.”
Jared stands up and moves towards me, studying me more closely. His muscular thigh brushes against my knee as he directs me to unbutton my top and jeans. A hint of very manly cologne wafts into my nostrils. A tingle of something rushes through my veins and I try to crush it.
He’s your doctor, he’s your doctor, I keep repeating to myself. He’s not coming on to you. He has to be close so he can look at you.
I pull my top aside and allow him access to my torso. While he examines me, I concentrate on the thin white stripes in his shirt, outlined with an even thinner navy stripe. This is so awkward. I wish he wouldn’t peer at my skin like that. I wish Angela had kept her big mouth shut.
“The wound on your stomach is healing nicely,” he says, his fingers carefully lowering my knickers a discreet amount so he can analyse the area. “The scarring should be minimal.”
Pity I can’t say the same for the embarrassment factor, because right about now that’s going through the roof. His fingers have barely grazed my abdomen and I’m imagining all sorts of unspeakable things. He, on the other hand, is the picture of impassive concern. Why did Angela have to tell me? I could kill her for planting this seed. I was handling my crush well. I wasn’t bothered by him in the least. Well, only a little. But certainly not to this extent. Since she told me, I’ve been unable to get him out of my head. I don’t want him to just be my doctor. I want him to be my lover but I know a snowball would have more chance in Hell.
Jared finishes his examination and snips the stitches away. “I’ll get Catherine to fix you up with some cream for this. Put it on every day, after your shower. It’ll keep the scar nice and soft.”
Nice and soft. God, he makes that sound so erotic.
“Um. Thank you.”
He moves away and I feel a little deflated. I don’t know why. It wasn’t like he was going to throw me over the examination bed and kiss me, now was it?
“And emotionally?” he asks. “I know what happened must have been difficult. Have you had time to process it?”
“I’m okay with it. I guess I just have to realise it wasn’t for me and move on.”
“A lot of women wouldn’t be able to do that, you know. You’re very brave. The ICU nurses couldn’t believe that someone in such trauma could make jokes and laugh all day. Such a positive approach can only be a good thing for healing.”
A hint of a smile passes over his lips. It’s small but it’s definitely there.
I finish dressing and come to sit in the chair next to his desk. “So what happens now?” I ask. “Clearly, we won’t be doing the graft thing again.”
“I wouldn’t advise it. Let’s wait till we get the results of your blood tests. I’m not keen to proceed with more surgery until we know for sure what caused the trouble in the first place. Come back in three months and we’ll discuss the options.”
What he means is ‘we’ll discuss the ‘new’ options’.
Chapter 28
There’s nothing like a good musically themed quiz night to bring out the inner idiot in people and the one at Rory’s school appears to be no different. It’s seven-fifteen in the evening; the official games don’t commence for another fifteen minutes and yet people are running frantically around the room, swapping place cards and doing deals. Most of them appear to be arguing about the seating arrangements. Nobody’s seated because nobody is certain of where their table is anymore, given that the numbers have been switched and no longer match the seating chart in the foyer. It seems the Cressleys amended the list of who’s acceptable to sit in their near vicinity this year, and a couple of the older families of the school are not happy. Tonya Thompson should have seen it coming. She did inadvertently call Cressida Cressley a heifer at the school fair last term. Now she’s being punished.
I make my way through the circle of tables to table seventeen. Angela and Jeff have assembled our players including a few of the regular quiz goers and a couple of new faces. I’m hoping whoever they are, they know a lot about music otherwise I’ll be stuck answering the questions. Angela’s already informed me everything after 1990 is a blur and Jeff is about as musically inclined as a set of golf clubs.
“Hey everyone,” I say, as I pull out a chair next to Angela and put my supper offering on the table.
Jeff looks up, giving me the once over. I haven’t seen him since he came to visit me in hospital where he caused havoc by telling the nurses he was a polygamist and I was his fourth wife. Thank heavens Jared was able to set them straight. The nurses got to the stage of eyeing every female visitor in the hopes of meeting the other three. It was very embarrassing.
“Hey, Sophie,” he says. “You’re lookin’ fine tonight.”
“Thank you, Jeff. I made a special effort, just for you.”
After we finish teasing each other, Angela introduces me to a couple I haven’t met before — Babs and Mike. They’re an odd-looking pair. He’s quite short, with shoulder-length, sandy coloured hair and a beard that reminds me of Jesus. Babs is taller than him and buxom, with huge, obviously natural, breasts that are accentuated by a body-hugging top cut in a deep V at the cleavage. She has hair the colour of grapes and red-painted lips that match her booming voice, but she seems friendly.
“They’re our secret weapon,” Angela whispers. “Babs sings with Beryl and the Bootymen and Mike is a music tutor at the Performing Arts Academy. He taught that boy who plays guitar in that band.”
I look at her blankly.
“You’d know him if you saw him. Anyway, between them Babs and Mike have got every genre from punk to rap sewn up.”
“Cool.” I smile at Babs. “I was beginning to think I might be the only person at the table tonight who associates The Beatles with a band and not a bug. Angela’s not exactly renowned for her musical knowledge.”
“Hey! I know a lot about Hi 5 and The Hooley Dooleys.”
“Kid’s bands. I rest my case.”
Babs pulls a bottle of bubbly from the Esky she has hidden under the table and pops the cork. Next, she whips a set of Waterford crystal stem glasses from heaven knows where and proceeds to fill each one. “Anyone for a tipple? I think it’s time to get this party started.”
I take my glass with a thank you.
“Help yourself to nibbles,” I say, pulling the plastic off the plate of spring rolls and money bags. “I made them myself.”
Angela begins to laugh. She recognises them from the Herdsman Fresh. She’s bought them herself on many an occasion.
At last the room is quiet. Everyone seems to have found their seats and has their heads together plotting strategies on how to win the most spot prizes and who will do the running. Over at the Cressleys’ table, two empty seats remain next to Cressida, one of which I gather is Melinda’s. She’s always running late. You could almost set a stopwatch by her tardiness.
Our table has a spare seat too, so I lean toward Angela to enquire as to its owner. Angela goes red. Puce in fact. “Ah, that would be for Jared,” she mutters, rather sheepishly.
My mouth drops to the floor. My eyebrows shoot into the stratosphere. “Oh Angela. You haven’t.”
“It wasn’t me. It was Jeff. I’m totally blameless this time.”
Which is an absolute joke because in every other instance, she would be anything but blameless.
I turn to Jeff. “How could you?”
Have they not got the hint yet? There will be no shenanigans between Jared Hanson and myself.
“It sort of slipped out. I didn’t mean to. We were playing squash last week and I mentioned that we had a spare seat on our table. Before I knew it he’d invited himself. Honestly.”
I roll my eyes in disbelief. “Well, don’t go getting any ideas about him driving me home or anything. And if I hear one innuendo, or silly sexual joke I’m leaving.”
“Yes, Boss.” Jeff chuckles. “I understand perfectly.”
The master of ceremonies stands and coughs into the microphone. He smoothes his silver hair and begins to explain the rules.
“Looks like Jared’s late, anyway,” Jeff comments.
“That’s unusual,” Angela adds. “He’s normally so punctual.”
I ignore them and try to focus on what’s being said at the front of the room. With these two on board, our team is going to need every scrap of help it can get. I wouldn’t want us to be disqualified because Angela does something against the rules.
We sit listening for a minute or two, when a ruckus begins at the back of the room. A loud female voice is telling someone, in no uncertain terms, that she doesn’t care if the games are commencing, she must be allowed in, she has a seat reserved on the Cressley’s table.
It’s Melinda.
Wearing a tailored black jumpsuit and heels so high she could see into the penthouse apartments in the city — from the outside — she shoves the woman on the door aside and prances into the room. Her long, dark ponytail flicks over her shoulder as she goes. She’s like an elegant, black panther and ten times as haughty. “Sorry, I’m late, everyone. You can start now.”
Trust Melinda to make a grand entrance.
Melinda glides between the tables, coming to a stop at ours, giving us a full frontal of her crotch. She’s clearly not wearing underwear, as even a blind man could see she has a bad case of Camel Toe. Ignoring that the master of ceremonies is attempting to start the first round of questions, she purrs. “Hi everyone.”
“You’re not sitting here, Melinda.” Angela’s tone is icy, which is out of the norm. She’s friendly with everyone.
“I wasn’t intending to. We’re sitting at the Cressley’s table. I was merely stopping by on my way there.” She points to the table up the front where Cressida Cressley is tapping the face of her watch and pouting, so her lips look a bit like a cat’s bottom. It’s nothing compared to the silence emanating from around the room. It feels more like a funeral than a fun night out. The whole school community is watching to see what’s going to happen next.
“Oh, hello Sophie. It’s been such a long time, babe.”
Not through lack of trying on my part, I think. She’s behaving like she hasn’t been avoiding me for the past six months.
I look over her shoulder to see who the ‘we’ she’s referring to is, expecting to see one of those bitchy tennis women she hangs out with at times but unless they’ve changed sex and have become quite snappy dressers since I last laid eyes on them, I’d say Melinda is here with Brendan.
My Brendan. Or should I say my ex-Brendan.
“Hi, Sophie.”
Suddenly, my head begins to pound. It feels like someone’s detonated a bag of dynamite in it and the blood is rushing to the surface of my skin, looking for an outlet. Brendan is with Melinda? How could this be?
I watch as she pulls him from his hiding place behind her and hooks her arm through his, a gesture she’s seemingly done a million times before.
Beside me, Angela’s face resembles
that of a dying fish. Her jaw is flapping up and down and she’s gasping for air. This is obviously a new piece of information for her, too. “You’re here… together?” she asks, giving my knee a nudge under the table.
“We decided tonight might be a good time to announce our relationship,” Melinda simpers.
Suddenly, I am engulfed with rage. I want to slap her. I want to get up from this table and punch her right in her cosmetically enhanced nose. After I deal with Brendan that is. A communication between his nether regions and my clenched fist is in order.
“And how long exactly have you two been an item?” The sarcasm is thick on Angela’s tongue.
Melinda gives an airy wave of her hand. “Oh, you know. A while. We didn’t like to say anything though, not with Sophie going through her illness and everything. We’ve been friends for such a long time, it seemed only fair.”
That’s a bit rich. It’s my ex she’s dating. And has been for quite a while, judging by their familiarity.
I stand up, fighting the urge to push them both over as I pass.
“Can you excuse me for a minute? I think I’m going to —.” And at that moment, a massive projectile of vomit erupts from my mouth and sprays across the front of both Melinda and Brendan’s chests. A strangled screech fills the air. I’m fairly sure it’s come from Brendan. He was never good with body fluids.
“ — Be sick.” I finish my sentence, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. I want to laugh at the horrified look on Melinda’s face but, honestly, I’m so mortified, all I can do is gape. Oh, and dash from the room and out to the foyer.
I round the corner in the direction of the toilets and run, forehead first, SLAP! into the rock hard chest of Jared Hanson. Could this night get any worse? I’m crying and red faced and I must stink of sick.
“Sophie? What’s wrong?”
His hands come up to brace my shoulders, which is fortunate because after the collision we’ve had, I think I may have a slight concussion. I rub my head and suck in a deep breath.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” His eyes are scrutinising my face in a worried manner.