‘I hate stick shift,’ she growled. ‘I always drive an automatic.’
‘You didn’t think that was worth mentioning before you got in the driver’s seat?’ I asked with an eye roll. ‘Left foot on the clutch, then change gear. Quinn, seriously,’ I gasped as we jerked forwards again. ‘Left foot on the clutch. Left foot on the bloody clutch.’
‘What’s the bloody clutch?’
‘The left hand pedal. Put your damn foot on the left pedal before you try changing gear, or stick or whatever you call it.’ I winced as my head ricocheted off the headrest. ‘Left. Foot. On. The. Bloody. Clutch,’ I shouted.
‘Don’t be a … side seat driver, I’m doing my best,’ she warned.
‘How about I tell you when to put your foot on the left pedal and then I’ll change gears?’ I suggested through gritted teeth as I saw the revs in the danger zone while the engine screamed. ‘Foot on the clutch now,’ I said as calmly as I could, batting her hand away from the gearstick.
‘It’s on,’ she said, so I moved up to third and she gave me a surprised look as the car gently carried on moving without tossing us around.
‘And off,’ I said, letting her go a bit further, ‘and on,’ then waited a beat as I moved into fourth, ‘and off.’
‘I feel like Mr. Mayagi. “Wax on, wax off,”’ she chuckled.
‘You’ll be giving my car a wax by way of an apology for treating her so badly. Do you think you get it now?’
‘I’ve got it,’ she nodded.
We made it off the country road in one piece and turned left onto one of the main roads, and I relaxed a little as we got closer to town. My relaxation was short lived as Quinn decided to forget the whole “we drive on the left” deal once we reached a major roundabout.
‘Quinn,’ I screamed, gripping the seat and the door handle. ‘Wrong way, wrong way!’
‘Damn it. Get out of the way, asshole,’ Quinn yelled, almost pressing her face up against the windscreen as a car approached, set for a head-on collision. It veered out of the way at the last moment, the driver ranting at us with a furious-looking face and a few rude finger gestures, and I quickly looked in the wing mirror to make sure he’d not skidded off the white snow-covered road into the ditch. My heart sounded like it was beating out a bass drum in my ears. ‘Asshole,’ Quinn hollered again.
‘I’m going to die before I even make it to the hospital. Left, left, ignore the road ahead, that’s oncoming traffic. For the love of God, left of the metal barriers,’ I yelled.
‘Don’t yell at me, I’m doing the best I can,’ she yelled back. ‘Get out of the bloody way, you … bloody asshole,’ she roared as a car zoomed up on our left, nearly taking out my wing, and me in the process.
‘He actually had the right of way, as he went the correct way around the roundabout.’
‘What’s a damn roundabout?’ she asked, forgetting the whole clutch in our lesson and jerking the car along the road again.
‘That big round thing you just went the wrong way around.’
‘That’s a roundabout? We call it a traffic circle.’
‘You’re in England, it’s a roundabout or an island.’
‘Stupid bloody name.’
‘What’s with all the bloody? It’s a swear word. You don’t have to insert it in every sentence to sound more British, you know.’
‘I bloody do,’ she giggled.
‘Whatever. Clutch down. Clutch down,’ I cried, almost shedding actual tears of sheer terror.
‘How much further? This is fun now that I’m getting the hang of it.’
‘Our definition of fun is obviously another cultural anomaly,’ I stated flatly. We were approaching the hospital and had a mini island to navigate. It was just a small white hump in the road, so I told her to slow down and reminded her to use the clutch as she dropped gears. ‘Ok, island coming up, keep left,’ I warned, moments before we both smacked our heads on the ceiling of the car.
‘What the hell was that? Did I run over someone?’ Quinn asked, sitting up to look in the rearview mirror that she hadn’t adjusted to suit her.
‘No, that would be the island that you just drove straight over.’
‘I didn’t even see a damn “island.”’
‘Obviously, as the lump on my head will attest. Ok, take a left at the next roundabout and keep left. Left, left, got it?’
‘Right.’
‘No, left.’
‘I meant left.’
‘You said right.’
‘I meant I’m going left, left, right?’
‘Good God, there’s no right, it’s all left. Left, bloody left,’ I huffed.
‘And I meant right, question mark, as in left, bloody left, right question mark, all right? As in, you got it?’
‘Ah, right,’ I said, catching her drift.
‘Was that a right full stop, or another instruction to turn right?’
‘I give up,’ I moaned as the gears crunched and we jerked along again. I resorted to covering my eyes as we approached the “traffic circle” and hoped for the best. ‘And indicators aren’t optional extras in the U.K., by the way.’
‘What the bloody hell is an indicator?’
‘Charlie Faulkner please,’ called a female nurse.
‘Are you coming with me?’ I asked Quinn as I gingerly stood up.
‘Not if you’re going to yell at me again.’
‘You did go the wrong way around a one-way car park.’
‘Well, it’s a stupid country with a stupid driving system,’ she muttered petulantly.
‘Which is now your home, so you’d better get on board with its rules and systems,’ I smiled, linking my arm through hers. ‘Come on, don’t be so grumpy. You might get to meet McFitty or McNotQuiteSoFitty again. If we see him, you have my full permission to get your flirt on.’
‘Nice, I get the doctor you deem not hot enough to warrant the title of McFitty. You’re such a great friend.’
We exchanged a look and grinned at each other. We were different in so many ways, but we also seemed to complement each other so well. Like salt and pepper, fish and chips, pie and mash, pepperoni and pizza. I sighed as I realised I was coming up with food analogies. I was starving. We’d missed lunch as we’d been sitting here waiting for so long. Even Quinn had complained of a numb bum.
‘Ok, I’ll get a doctor to come and assess you,’ the nurse said after taking all of my details. ‘If you can please remove your jeans and knickers and lie on your left-hand side facing the wall, then cover yourself with the blanket.’
‘Take my knickers off?’ I asked in surprise.
‘Yes, the doctor will need to do a rectal exam to see how much sensation you’ve lost.’
‘A what?’ I spluttered.
‘It’s where he shoves a finger up your–’
‘Thanks, Quinn, I’m pretty confident a rectal exam is the same in American or British English,’ I said quickly, cutting her off. ‘Is that really necessary?’ I asked the nurse.
‘You’ve got decreased sensation, back and front, after a heavy fall. Yes, it’s necessary. Trust me, we’ve seen everything here. You’ll be more embarrassed than the doctor.’
‘You’re not kidding,’ I muttered as she slipped out of the door. ‘I’ll be even more embarrassed if McFitty’s the one to do it.’
‘It’s a big hospital. What are the chances of you getting him again?’ Quinn said, trying to reassure me as I tugged my jeans down.
‘With my luck?’ I scoffed. ‘Close your eyes, the knickers are about to come off.’
‘Why knickers?’ she said, doing as she was told. ‘It makes no sense at all. You nick yourself shaving, why would you want to stick something that nicks you so close to the sensitive fun zone?’
‘Fun zone? You’re thirty-one, you can’t call it by its real name?’
‘Says “it” girl. Are you decent yet?’
‘No, give me a minute.’
‘How about you tell me when it’s safe? I don’t want to accidentally ope
n my eyes and be scarred for life by a sighting of a possibly hairless British beaver.’
‘You know, I think I’d actually choose kitchen shopping over this,’ I huffed as I got up on the bed and draped the blanket over myself. ‘It’s safe, you can open your eyes.’
‘You sure? If you’re facing the wall and haven’t covered yourself properly, I’ll be seeing a British chocolate starfish.’
‘I don’t have a chocolate starfish! We’re so progressive in England that we have this thing called toilet paper. I assure you that if you opened your eyes and I wasn’t decent, it would be the pinkest starfish you’d ever seen.’
‘That’s good to know, as I’ll be the one witnessing it, Miss Faulkner,’ Guy Fitton’s voice said, making me groan as my cheeks coloured up.
‘Seriously, I get you for one of the most embarrassing examinations of my life? Again? Do you specialise in south-of-the-border treatments?’
‘I’ve been known to travel north on occasion,’ he chuckled. ‘I did treat you for an eye injury last time, if I recall correctly. Hi there, I’m Doctor Fitton.’
‘Ah, McFitty in the flesh. We did meet briefly in a nightclub last year. I’m Quinn, neighbour and friend of the injured.’
‘Quinn!’ I uttered, mortified as he said ‘McFitty?’ with a puzzled tone and the nurse let out a girlish giggle.
‘She thinks you’re hot, and I have to agree. Are you dating anyone at the moment?’ Quinn asked.
‘Ermmm, I think we’ve got slightly off topic here. Why don’t we focus on the patient and her injury,’ he suggested. I screwed my eyes up even tighter, and just to be sure I couldn’t see his reaction, covered my face with my hands, jumping a little as I heard the snap of the gloves he was putting on, then the unmistakable farting sound of lubricant being squirted out of the tube.
‘Kill me now,’ I whispered.
‘You might want to turn to look the other way to save your friend being embarrassed.’
‘There’s another level to the embarrassment I’m feeling right now?’ I asked.
‘I’d say not,’ Quinn chuckled as I heard the scrape of a chair on the smooth flooring.
‘Ok, Charlie, if you can bring your knees up to your chest … higher... that’s great. Now you’re going to feel something cold and some pressure. Just try and relax, it shouldn’t hurt and won’t take long,’ he said in his best comforting tone. I automatically jolted forwards as I felt his scouting mission brush past and he placed his other hand on my hip. ‘Relax for me and push out as I push in, it will be easier. Relax. Relax … Relax!’
I bit the heel of my hand as he set to work, me fighting him every step of the way and resisting the urge to shout back, “You try and bloody relax while I do this to you.”. This was it, our non-relationship was now doomed. What girl wanted to go on a date with a guy who’d probed her intimate areas before he’d even kissed her? I mean, he might be put off, too. He’d not exactly seen me at my prettiest, with dermatitis rash on my eyes as well as down there, even before this?
‘Can you feel my finger?’
‘Jesus,’ I muttered, my cheeks flaming. ‘Yes, I can feel it, but it feels … weird. I mean, I know it’s normal to feel weird when something’s … there, but it’s extra weird.’
‘Extra weird? You’re saying it doesn’t feel the same as when your partner has been intimate with you back here?’
‘Someone pass me my English thesis to do again, as that would be preferable to what’s happening here right now,’ I groaned, beyond humiliated. ‘Yes, extra weird to … normal. Not that it’s normal, you know? I don’t go around inviting explorations. There’s no “Open for potholing” sign that I stick back there. I’ve even slapped one guy who ignored the “wrong hole” warning I screamed at him. So no, in summary, vis-à-vis butt examinations, while it doesn’t exactly happen on a regular basis, I have a vague recollection that that doesn’t feel normal.’
‘A simple no would have sufficed,’ he said, and I heard Quinn giggling to herself. ‘Clench for me.’
‘If I clench any harder, you’re liable to lose a finger,’ I warned him. It took a concerted effort to answer his questions as I tried to remember if I’d ever been more embarrassed. I think this actually topped the whole “looking at my lady parts” incident. When he withdrew, removing the tattered shreds of my dignity at the same time, I could have sobbed with relief.
‘Well, I’d like to get an MRI of your lower back, so I’ll leave some paper towel for you to clean up and go and see how long the waiting list is. You’re free to get dressed. I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said, covering me back up with the sheet.
‘Ok,’ I whimpered, not unfurling from my foetal position or removing my hands until I heard the door open and then the soft click as it closed and they left the room. ‘Did that really just happen?’ I asked Quinn.
‘You said you were a walking medical disaster, but to have him do that? Jeez, I’d have died.’
‘I think I have, I can’t move. He’s going to come back to talk to me and I can’t look at him. Go and grab a wheelchair. You can stick me in it and we can make a run for it before he comes back.’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Quinn said as I heard her heavy boots walking towards me. ‘If he’s looking at an MRI, he’s worried you’ve ruptured a disc or something. That’s serious, Charlie. Here, the towel to clean up. I’ll go out for a few minutes and give you some privacy. I think I saw a vending machine. I’ll get us a soda and some candy as I’m starving.’
‘Thanks,’ I whispered.
I just lay there for a while after she left and took some deep, calming breaths before using the sandpaper-like towels on my delicate behind and getting dressed again. I was washing my hands when he came back into the room and I had to force myself to look at him as he explained that he couldn’t get me an MRI scan, so I was on the waiting list and was being admitted until the scan had been done and assessed. In fairness to him, he was nothing but professional, but I could tell from the heat radiating off my face and neck that it was obvious to him how embarrassed I was.
‘You really need to admit me? I can’t go home and rest and just come back when you’re ready for me?’
‘Afraid not. The waiting list can change quickly and you’d miss your slot if you couldn’t get back fast enough. The worst case scenario is that a disc can rupture or pop out completely, which is a medical emergency that necessitates immediate surgery. Until we’ve reviewed your scans, we need to keep you here. They’re just organising a bed for you. Do you have any questions or concerns?’
I shook my head and listened as he went through the admission procedure and risks if the disc caused cauda equina syndrome. Quinn slipped into the room and grimaced at me as she listened.
‘I’ll find out if we have a bed ready for you and what ward you’ll be on. I understand being suddenly admitted like this is a shock, but you’re in the best place here. We’ll take good care of you, ok?’
‘Ok, thanks.’
‘Oh, Charlie,’ Quinn sighed as he left the room. She dumped her armful of candy bars and the cans of pop and came to give me a much needed hug. She said she didn’t do emotional bonding “crap,” but she was in denial. Under that cool self-defence mechanism was a woman with a huge and caring heart. ‘I’ll wait until I know where they’re taking you and I can go back to your place and pack a bag. Tell me what you’d like me to bring back for you?’
‘You’re going to drive my car? Alone? I’d rather he come and do another rectal exam than give you my car keys!’
‘Hey, I did ok. I got you here, didn’t I?’ she huffed.
‘You did, but I’m ringing Andy to drive you back and forth, my car can stay in the car park until I’m ready to go home,’ I said firmly, pulling out my phone.
‘Happy bloody Valentine’s night, eh?’ she said, rolling her eyes.
‘Valentine’s sucks.’
‘High five to that. But on the plus side, my diagnosis is McFitty is interested.’<
br />
‘Shut up,’ I laughed, shoving her shoulder.
‘I got the interested vibe off him, but do you want my honest opinion?’
‘Quinn, you’re as blunt as a crappy chef’s knife. I think stopping you from stating an honest opinion is the real problem.’
‘Thanks, I guess.’
‘Go on then.’
‘He’s hot, seriously hot,’ she said.
‘Well, duh.’ I eye-rolled her obvious conclusion.
‘But there’s something about him that’s shady. He was flirting with that nurse in the corridor. I don’t think I like him.’
‘You don’t know him. You’ve met him once,’ I retorted as I sat back down on the bed to wait to be transferred. So what if Quinn and Daphne didn’t like him. I did, and it seemed like he was finally starting to thaw.
Chapter Twelve
Diagnosis
The Next Day - Sunday
‘YOU’RE NOT PREGNANT?’ THE man asked as he ran through a long list of questions.
‘No.’
‘Any recent tattoos?’
‘No.’
‘Any metal anywhere in your body?’
‘No.’
‘Head into the cubicle and get undressed. Put your clothes in this, then put on the gown with the opening at the back. When you’re ready, come and wait on one of the chairs in the corridor,’ he said as he handed me a black plastic shopping basket.
I did as I was told, cursing to find that I couldn’t reach behind me to do up the ties in the small of my back. My curvy backside was hanging out of the patterned hospital gown. As Quinn had packed my favourite fleecy pyjamas, I didn’t even have a dressing gown to cover up with. I edged out of the cubicle and looked around to see if anyone was around to offer me a spare gown to slip on, but the area was empty.
I ventured to the open doorway and stuck my head out to look up and down the corridor where I was supposed to take a seat. No one was about, so I quickly scuttled out, back to the wall, and dumped the basket as I tried to pull the gown over each cheek before I made a move to sit on the leather chair. I gave it a quick once over, not wanting to sit on someone else’s raw butt print, then perched on the edge, my knees together to protect the remains of my modesty.
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