While I was busy trying to race through international departures, my sister Frankie had been in the throes of a minor meltdown. If she couldn’t come with me, she reasoned, we must be in constant contact. Social media or email was Satisfactory, text was rated Very Good, and a phone call was classed as Excellent with bonus gold stars for effort. A week into my trip, she was already winning on the contact stakes.
‘Hey, you,’ she said as I fumbled with getting my phone to my ear.
‘Frankie? What are you doing? Isn’t it early?’
‘It is exactly five o’clock in the morning. On a Saturday.’
‘Why are you up so early?’ I shuffled from the table and excused myself, giving Craig a smile and whispering, it’s Frankie. When I got outside, I realised I’d missed her last rambled sentence. ‘You’re what?’
I listened for the crackle on the other end of the line to stop, and then realised it was just an overly patriotic sidewalk salesman shoving a flag in my ear. Piccadilly Circus was so hectic it felt like elbow room only, yet it seemed salesmen outnumbered tourists. With bus tours, cheap merchandise, theatre tickets, if there was something to sell, it could be bought at any of the numerous stalls dotted around a fountain that turned tourists into human pigeons.
‘I said I’m pregnant!’
‘Get out!’ I shouted, jumping, laughing, waving my hands about, much to the amusement of the people around me ‘No! Yes! I mean, amazing, but what?’
‘Crazy, right?’
‘I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone!’ I squeaked. ‘How did I not know this?’
‘Well, it’s kind of not serious, and we’ve barely spoken since.’
‘Ah!’ I struck a hand out to stop me falling completely as I sat on the steps around the fountain. ‘You naughty thing. What are you going to do? Do Mum and Dad know? What about Ezra? What did he say?’
‘Mum and Dad are being super chill about it. Ezra says he’s surprised you weren’t first. In the words of Madonna, I’m gonna keep my baby. I’m not getting any younger, Em, I’m thirty-six. I might be a bit of a hot mess and all but, if I get rid of it…’ Her voice drifted off. ‘I mean, what if I never get another chance?’
‘You don’t owe me an explanation,’ I soothed. ‘I promise, if you’re excited, so am I.’
‘There is one more thing though.’
‘You’ve moved back home, haven’t you?’ I asked. ‘And you’ve stolen my bedroom.’
‘I think commandeered is the right word.’ She snorted her little giggle. ‘Caretaking? Mum and Dad are going to help until we get into a routine, and we’ll go from there.’
‘And the father?’
‘He’s not so keen to be involved, and I’m okay with that.’ She stopped. ‘I think.’
‘Okay, well, that’s only my business in that I will help you as much as I can from here. I can’t judge any of that.’ Already, I was mentally preparing a list of things to buy and deciding I was going to be the coolest aunty ever. ‘Can I do anything for you? Do you need anything?’
‘I’d really like you there at the birth.’
‘Me?’ Well, that would certainly mean getting to know my sister in a whole new light.
‘Yes, you, dummy. Is that possible? I’m not sure if that works with your dates or anything, but I’d love it if you could be. You can watch all the fun stuff, catch the baby as it flies out.’
I didn’t quite have the heart to tell her that wasn’t exactly how it worked, but I was sure she was aware. ‘You know what. You text me all your dates, and I will see how the stars align. I’m not going to promise you anything though.’
‘And now that I’ve bombarded you with my news, please tell me you’re settling in and not at all homesick? Because I am so jealous of you right now.’
There was only so much I was ready to impart on anyone, at least until I got my head around everything that was happening. Even so, Frankie listened intently, asked her usual thoughtful questions, peppered her sentences with advice, and then excused herself to be sick again. The last thing she left me with was my James Bond mission: to find the most hideous baby clothes I could. It would earn me some serious aunty credibility. Challenge accepted.
I raced back into the café, my breakfast now a limp reminder of what it used to be. It didn’t matter. I was beyond thrilled, and my mind raced ahead of me, trying to calculate if and when I could get time off. Would I be lucky enough to manage a week around the birth? Oh, my heart. This was better than anything that had happened during the week. When I told Craig, his nose wrinkled like someone had farted on him.
‘You don’t want kids?’ I asked. ‘I thought you did? You love your nieces.’
Craig snorted. ‘In ten years, maybe.’
‘Oh.’ My shoulders dropped. It wasn’t like I was ready for kids either, but I couldn’t help but be disappointed in Craig’s reaction.
‘Eat your breakfast, Em.’ He poked at one of my strawberries. ‘It’ll go cold.’
Chapter 11
‘So, Emmy. Your first weekend in town. What delights did it bring to thee?’ Pam leant back in her chair, fingers madly trying to untangle her headset from her hair. ‘Rest? Relaxation? A trip to the local Tesco? That’s always a joyous experience.’
I placed my coffee mug down in time for William to hand me a file. ‘This might sound a little odd, but I wrote a bit of a bucket list before we flew out.’
‘What?’ For the first time in a week, I had William’s undivided attention. Shirt sleeves rolled up and tie hanging limp, he’d barely been in the office fifteen minutes and was readying himself for his first patient. ‘What did you just say?’
‘I started working through my bucket list?’
‘A what?’ William’s face fell. ‘No … Em.’
‘You’re not planning on dying on us, are you? I just got your bloody login sorted.’ Pam steadied William as he half-sat, half-fell between us onto the desk. ‘At least give it a month or two.’
‘What?’ I baulked. ‘No. Nothing like that. Stop being so bloody morbid. It’s just that if this job doesn’t pan out, and I really do hope it does, I want to be able to say that I’ve seen everything I want to before I go home. It’s just the usual kind of touristy things, nothing unusual.’
‘Like what?’ Pam asked. ‘What did you do this weekend?’
‘Breakfast near Piccadilly Circus followed by shopping on Regent Street. My sister called, I’m going to be an aunty, which I’m thrilled about. Oh, and I now own an incredibly chintzy Big Ben pencil sharpener from Hamley’s.’
‘That sounds bloody awful. Not the baby thing, but the pencil sharpener.’ Pam replaced her headset. ‘I want to join you. Show me the list.’
William leant across me and stole another pen. ‘Send it to me, too.’
‘Really?’ I asked.
‘Oh, yeah. I love that kind of thing.’
Pam’s finger hovered over the flashing orange light of her phone. ‘Hey, what’s the worst souvenir you’ve ever got, William?’
‘Urgh,’ he groaned. ‘You don’t want to know. Is this mine? This is mine.’ He snatched a file up, called his patient, and disappeared into his office.
‘Mine was crabs,’ Pam mumbled. ‘Could’ve have just bought a magnet from the shitty shops, but no, I had to find a fella who taught salsa dancing and clearly thought saltwater … anyway.’
My email pinged.
I want that list.
It was the first of five emails he sent me about sending the list over. In between everything else I needed to do today, I managed to reply to William somewhere near closing time. Why he wanted the list after the debacle of Friday night was beyond me. Pam snatched a copy up from the printer and shoved it into her handbag.
‘I’m going to take this home and make sure you’ve got the full London experience happening. Add some of my favourite places.’ The screen of her computer flickered black. ‘Now, are you sure you’ll be okay for the next hour?’
‘It’s just Trevor an
d Red,’ I said. ‘I should be okay. It’s a quiet afternoon.’
She bent over and scribbled her number on my desk pad. ‘That’s me. Call if you need help closing up. Even if you don’t, text me and let me you survived.’
‘Thanks.’
When the last patient walked out, I let out a deep breath and raced for the bathroom. I’d reached the end of my first solo afternoon without incident. Everyone was still alive, the computers hadn’t melted, and patients had left happy. I started working through the end of day procedure, which had been stepped out in Pam’s heavily aggravated scrawl, and high-fived myself when that went off without a hitch. Trevor dropped the last of his files by my computer and disappeared, leaving just William in the building.
My stomach jumbled with nerves. I both did and didn’t want to be left alone with him. He’d only occupied the loudest corner of my brain all weekend. By Sunday night, I’d decided I wanted to wipe the slate clean and start fresh. Whatever had happened, had happened. It did nobody any good to dwell on it. I didn’t want to end up like Frankie, still moaning about someone who’d stolen her favourite cassette in high school. This morning had given me a small taste of that. I just had to work up the gumption to speak to him.
Dozens of different scenarios had played out in my head. In all of them, I’d been tough and strong, said my piece and got an apology. The second he appeared in the doorway of his office, I felt all those plans pack up and float away like butterflies out the nearest window.
‘Emmy, you got a minute?’
‘Me?’ I pointed back at myself.
He looked up at me, bewildered. ‘You are the only Emmy here, aren’t you?’
Jelly legs carried me down the hallway and into his office. I slipped past him nervously, hearing the door close softly behind him.
‘Take a seat, please.’ Busy studying a file, he didn’t look up as he crossed the room and sat by his desk.
I didn’t dare look around. I don’t think I wanted to. Peripheral vision gave me shelves full of trinkets and framed certificates – standard doctor’s office fare. An examination bed and light were shoved against the wall behind him, along with anatomical posters that must be sold on special commission to doctors. I’d never seen anyone ever use them, but I’d also never seen a surgery without them. I rubbed sweating palms against my pants and waited.
‘You look confused?’ I asked.
Without looking up, he flicked through the last few pages, a frown slowly forming. ‘For the life of me, I cannot work out what’s going on with this guy. His test results have come back clean, but I feel like I’m missing something.’ He closed the file and offered an apologetic smile. ‘How was your day?’
‘It was okay.’ My chest tightened, unsure where this was all going. ‘Yours?’
‘Um, not great.’ He scratched at his forehead. ‘I just … I keep going over last week and there are about a thousand things I could have done differently.’
I rested my elbow on the edge of his desk and chewed a hangnail. ‘What do you want me to say?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. For me, personally, sorry doesn’t feel like enough. But, I am sorry. I am so sorry, Emmy.’
I took a shaky breath. ‘In fairness, we’ve both been shits.’
‘Maybe, but it was my job to make you feel welcome. Judging by the look on your face right now, I didn’t do that very well.’ He leant forward, elbows on his knees, hands clutched in front of him. ‘I’m not going to footnote any of it with an excuse, because I have none.’
Scared I was going to cry if I looked at him directly, I picked at my fingernails and concentrated on my lap instead. ‘Thank you.’
‘If it’s okay with you, I’d like to score a line under last week and start afresh.’
I blubbed about for a moment, the words I was looking for not quite ready to show themselves, though I’m sure my mouth bobbed about like I was holding silent conversation.
‘Emmy?’ He reached across and flicked at my pinkie finger. ‘Please? Friday especially was inexcusable and, like you said … not us.’
I nodded and, finally, lifted my eyes to meet his. God, how I’d missed how they looked at me. ‘I’d like that too.’
As I stood, William leapt to his feet. After watching each other for a few stilted moments, he moved. An arm around my shoulder drew me into a hug. He was warm, solid and, best of all, real. My breathing slowed, and that awful, back of the brain tension I’d been carrying all week unknotted itself and slunk out through the window. I wanted to stay there in his embrace, my mind tripping over memories as I did so.
We pulled apart slowly, rubbed arms, and with gentle smiles and quiet thank yous, I made for the door.
‘Hey, Emmy.’
‘Yeah.’ I turned back to him.
‘Remember, once upon a time, I said you should work under me?’
I smiled at the memory. ‘Something like that.’
‘I need to make up some hours. I was thinking of opening Saturday morning. Brian tells me I can do it if you or Pam agree to work. What do you think?’ he asked.
I furrowed my brow, trying to think. Craig was working, and so was Heather. So far, my plans consisted of sleeping. ‘Sure, why not?’’
* * *
I slid the bolt through the front door lock and looked out onto the street. It was all a little wistful, a warm breeze blowing detritus around the street, summer dresses getting their first outing of the season. For some reason, that also meant every second guy over the age of fifty was walking around in little more than shorts.
‘What are you doing this afternoon?’ William appeared from his office, carrying his usual bevy of paperwork and referral requests. After our discussion earlier in the week, he had been a breeze to work with. He was charming, funny, and he easily reminded me of the man I met on that fateful night. It had been a complete about-face, one that I was glad for.
‘Not a lot,’ I said, not wanting to admit that I’d been thinking about a sun-drenched river cruise all morning. That, plus a few cocktails and a decent meal would be perfect today.
He cocked his head to the side, eyes squinted. ‘Really? Nothing?’
‘Really.’
‘What is it?’ He handed files to me one at a time. I got annoyed and grabbed the pile from his hand. ‘Your second Saturday here and you have zero plans?’
‘Well, everyone else is at work, so…’ My voice drifted.
‘Right.’ He stood a little straighter. ‘Give me your death list.’
‘My what?’
‘That death list you made.’ He waved a hurried hand. ‘Come on.’
‘It’s not a death list, William.’
‘Whatever it is. Are you printing it? You’d better be printing it.’ He walked towards his office. ‘Do you own a hat?’
‘Yes. No.’ I reached back to the printer, a fresh list falling softly into the tray. ‘Why?’
‘Because we’re going out.’
A tickle of uncertain excitement bloomed. Whether this was a good idea or not remained to be seen, but I thought I was willing to take the chance. If anything, it would be a good opportunity to properly clear the air and kickstart our friendship. William returned with a wide-brimmed hat that was far too big for me, resting heavily on the tips of my ears.
‘We are?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you have plans?’
‘Only with you.’
One look at my clothes – thick pants and shirt – told me I was not prepared to spend an afternoon in this heat. ‘I’m going to need to change first.’
* * *
Ninety minutes and three outfit changes later, we took the steps up and out of Tower Hill station, where a medieval scene unfolded in front of me. A high-walled Tower of London set inside a moat, complete with drawbridge and…
‘Beefeaters.’ I grinned.
‘Yeoman Warders is their correct name’ William skipped along backwards. ‘Same thing though.’
I scrunched up my nose. ‘Hey?’
‘It’
s a history thing.’ He stopped and waved his hands like a gameshow host at the masses in an exhausted, sweaty queue. ‘Now, we can join the line ride or, if you’ll follow me down past the Royal Menagerie, I can show you something else.’
And he was gone, a local who’d seen the sights a thousand times before and was intent on getting to his destination. I passed the wire-framed animals of a long-gone zoo, skipped the tower’s entrance, and found myself tugged along by a tight hand. I was sure I looked like an old cartoon where the character gets yanked offstage by a walking stick around the neck.
‘Come on.’
It almost took a slow jog to keep up with William, before we came to a crashing halt along the river barrier. A water taxi bobbed up and down like a cork, ready to ferry passengers up and down the Thames.
‘Are we getting on the boat?’ It was on my list, in the form of water taxi, sightseeing, or dinner cruise. I wasn’t fussy. I’d be happy with the three o’clock to Millennium Pier.
‘Nope.’ He pointed to the imposing structure further down the river. Tower Bridge, its steel structure painted blue, red, and white sat waiting. ‘We’re going to climb the bridge.’
‘Climb?’ I looked down at my favourite blue dress, and ballet flats that were barely suitable for walking anymore, let alone scaling heights.
We’d stopped by home on the way to the train station. Silly me had figured a sunny afternoon deserved an equally sunny dress. I’d done a quick sniff test and found one still smelling of fabric softener. When I called Craig to touch base and let him know I wouldn’t be home this afternoon, he said he was just glad I was making friends, and that he’d see me sometime that night. Apparently, I’d seemed stressed lately.
‘Well, you don’t physically climb it with a harness like a rock face. It’s just an elevator. You go to the top, take a stroll along the walkways, enjoy the scenic views of London.’
‘I have to ask. Have you ever been a tour guide?’ I said. ‘Because you really should consider it if the medicine thing ever dries up.’
An Impossible Thing Called Love Page 9