by Betty Balaba
Walking by the two changing-room assistants, I gave them one of Sophie’s ‘dagger’ looks. I say walked but I was almost certainly flouncing, hardly stopping to dump the unwanted items: the small-sized ones. Of course, I was really only angry at myself. But it was good to have someone to let it out on.
Moving on – as ever – to the hospital, I was forced to confront the fact that the situation with work was becoming impossible. Even if Emma’s patience would hold out, my exhaustion couldn’t. I told myself things would be easier when she moved hospital to start undergoing physio: if only I could last until then. The best way of doing that was to take three weeks straight holiday. I hadn’t used up any of my holiday yet, so in theory I could take five weeks. But I should leave two for the end of the year. Boy, I’d need it by then. For now I wouldn’t be contenting myself with anywhere exotic: just Ward Eight. I promised myself I would speak to Emma next week.
Back by my mother’s bed in a maxi dress, we both heard a muffle bang from the bathroom. We both stared at the door, jumping when a siren suddenly wailed. Before we had time to say anything two nurses were rushing towards it. Someone had collapsed in there! I realised it must be the new patient who had arrived the night before. I hadn’t seen her yet because the curtain was always drawn but now one side was open, signalling her escape. I had wondered why she was always hidden. Someone shouted “crash team” and my mother’s hand instinctively found mine. Her fingers were shaking. More commotion as further staff rushed into the bathroom, then a burble of urgent medical jargon. “Clear the airways! Move her head! 1, 2, 3… shift! I can feel a pulse now.”
My mother was by now chewing nervously on her bottom lip. We were both unnerved and I wasn’t even a patient, but hated seeing people in distress. It wasn’t long before everyone who had gone into the bathroom started filtering out, looking relieved. The mystery patient was being helped back to her bed by two nurses. As she was getting into bed I could see something small and black drop from her leg. I squinted. Did it move? Surely not a slug, in the middle of a hospital! Oh god, it was a leech. A leech! I glanced at my mother to see if she had seen, and found her studying me. What a picture my face must have been! She burst into laughter and triggered my giggles immediately. She knew I wasn’t good with creepy crawlies at the best of times. The nurse explained it wasn’t anything to worry about being near, they were using the leeches to clean her wound! Never mind modern medicine, apparently a leech still did the trick. With the curtain drawn around Leech Lady’s bed, the ward’s usual sense of relative order was restored.
“What happened?” said a passing nurse.
“The lady fainted – but not to worry – she’s okay now.” I added reassuringly.
My mother and I both nodded in sync, silently relieved that it was nothing serious. The nurse poured my mother some water.
“It’s so hot in the bathroom,” she whispered. “I’m not surprised she fainted.”
“Why don’t they turn the heating down? It’s so hot outside…” I didn’t mean to sound critical but it was such an obvious question.
“Now there’s a question,” said the nurse with a smile. “That would be logical, wouldn’t it?” I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to get anyone into trouble.
While they served my mother lunch, I popped out to get something to eat. She was eating a little more now, so I felt able to leave her while she had her lunch at the weekend – providing I was there at the beginning to get her going and make sure she could reach everything. And if she really didn’t eat, there was always the dreaded Ensure drink waiting in the wings.
Even I had finally got used to eating in the hospital. I was practically part of the furniture by then. All the staff on all the shifts knew me. We had been there that long.
The area around the hospital was full of patisseries: Paul, Gail’s and Le Pain Quotidien. You name it, they had it. And so of course I kept finding excuses to treat myself. Let alone the hospital staff, everyone who worked in Le Pain Quotidien knew me by now. We had even started chatting like old neighbours. The weather, the menu, the state of the Tube. I should have realised that was a bad sign.
I walked in and saw rows upon rows of beautiful cakes as usual. Although I always had a good look, I knew I would always end up with the same thing: flourless chocolate cake. And a strawberry tart. And a chocolate tart. If that sounds like too much for one person, remember: I was treating myself. I told myself it was okay as we were three months in and who didn’t need treats, and it was Saturday! I definitely wasn’t going to get stressed about it.
I made the order.
“Would you like them in separate boxes?” asked one of my serving friends.
“No, one box is fine.” There was no point in pretending now that they were for three different people. I hoped they thought one box was just easier to carry.
“Do you work at the hospital?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No…”
“If you did I could give you a staff discount, you see…”
“Ah well, I’m just visiting…” A lot, I thought.
“Well,” she said. “You’re such a regular, I’d better give you the discount anyway.”
“Thanks!” I said instinctively. Heavens, I thought. The world of baked goods is conspiring against me. Or for me. It was hard to tell. I was already telling myself I should lay off the cakes, but actually trying was still months away. I picked up a toasted sandwich from Gail’s, and went back to the hospital.
There I found them preparing to change the dressing on my mother’s leg. I sat down next to her bed as I always did. Halfway through my sandwich, the nurse came in with her small metal dressing trolley. The previous dressing came off while I ate. She even motioned for me to come over. I put down the sandwich and leaned over the bed so I could see the wound: it was a pink-y colour rather than the reddish brown when we came in. I knew that meant it was healing.
“It’s healing nicely,” said the nurse, reading my mind.
“Yes it is,” I replied, fascinated. Then I thought of my toasted sandwich getting cold. Who would have thought I could eat lunch in the presence of a flesh wound. Not me. But not a flinch these days! I wolfed down the rest of my lunch as the new dressing went on.
As my new routine dictated, I left after my mother had eaten her dinner. It was time for food shopping and preparations for the week. Still, I only managed to pick up a pizza on the way back. Thinking of the heat, I diverted to the newsagent for some ice cream. Not for me but for the heat, you understand.
“I haven’t seen you here in a while,” said the owner. I told him about the hospital. “Sorry… to hear that.”
It was funny to think I’d been in there so often and always ignored the displays of chocolate which surrounded his till. And yet in a funny way chocolate seemed to go with pizza and ice-cream. I hovered at the counter, picking up a magazine; maybe to try to disguise what was coming next. And that was: a Kit Kat, pack of M&Ms and a Bounty. Yet somehow only the magazine appeared on the till. Were the chocolates free? I looked at him inquiringly, and he swept them aside.
“Forget about these! They are just going to make you fat.” Fatter, I thought. “I’ll put them back,” he offered.
A queue had started to form behind me and I could feel my face getting hot. Heavens! He’d seen me a few times but wasn’t this a bit presumptuous? But sure enough the chocolates had disappeared behind the counter. I could sense people waiting behind me, so I paid for the magazine and picked it up with a forced half-smile.
“Yeah, better to leave those,” said a voice over my shoulder. The man behind me in the queue had decided to pipe up! My jaw dropped. The nerve. What right did he have to say anything to me. What right did either of them have! Let alone the fact that he looked six months pregnant at least. The irony. But, of course, if I complained now they would brush it off as ‘banter’ and I would be painted as the sensitive one! That seemed to be the way of getting out of any piece of rudeness these days. I finally snapp
ed shut my gaping mouth and hurried out.
Out in the fresh air, all manner of witty responses I could have retorted came to me. ‘When’s the baby due?’ ‘You love a six-pack so much you protect it with a layer of fat.’ And the best one off all: ‘You’re not one to talk, don’t sugarcoat it, ’cos you’ll eat that too!’
I had a grin on my face as I went home. Neither of those two would win a Mr Universe competition. And I wasn’t going to let them ruin my night in.
Soon I was tucking into the mushroom pizza in front of the TV, then zombie-munching my way through the tub of ice-cream. Mining the hidden dough chunks was turning into a real talent of mine. I went back into the kitchen and flopped into the nearest chair. I was full to the brim. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten the full tub? There is a reason why gluttony is a sin. But it was too late now. I remember sitting there listening to the hum of the fridge and the ticking of the boiler for at least twenty minutes, just digesting. Or trying to. God knows how much sugar and additive was bouncing around inside me. The moral dilemma over the tub of ice cream just wouldn’t go away. Especially when I had already eaten three portions of cake from Le Pain Quotidien only hours before. Now Sophie’s voice rang in my head: “Once on the lips, forever on the hips.” There was more truth in the joke than I cared to admit. I felt like I was under a curse, with everything fleeing from shop to mouth to hips before I could stop it.
Chapter 7
Duncan, James Duncan
Another morning, another early start. The new flared dress from Zara was making its first outing, with a red cardigan to cover my recent sins. And some black ballet flats, because I still hadn’t quite recovered from my fear of heels. I was doing my best to dress myself into a good mood, which meant sensible shoes and no waistbands. Sometimes, it even worked.
I was alone in the office, first thing as usual. More and more often a second coffee from the office kitchen was turning into four pieces of white toast laden with melted butter. They tasted as good as they smelt. Washing my plate – I was always very conscientious about that – helped with the food guilt somewhat. And I knew I was going to obliterate the to-do list before asking for the big chunk of holiday I needed. Or time-off, at any rate: holiday was hardly the word.
Sophie and a few others began creeping in around 8:45 a.m. She pranced over to my desk carrying a tray of hot croissants. I think she might have brought them in just to cheer me up. What was it with me and baked goods? The smell got to me straight away, and I told myself I couldn’t be ungrateful to her. So I took one, thanking her with extra chirpiness. A stack of toast and a croissant: was it overkill? Nah, it was Tuesday. I wasn’t necessarily celebrating Tuesday but any excuse would do. So let’s call it treat Tuesday.
Emma came in looking harassed, on her way back from some meeting. I waited for her to settle in before stealing my nerves and heading over to her office.
“Hi Emma, how was your weekend?” I sounded nervous and thought it was the last thing she probably wanted to be asked.
“Good,” she mumbled, putting her hand over a mouthful of croissants. “How’s your mother doing?” She could obviously sense the real purpose of the visit.
“Better,” I said with relief that she had raised the subject. “Her wound is now clear of infection.”
“That’s good.” She finished chewing. “What can I do for you?”
“I have a holiday booked in September but I would like to bring it forward. You know, as things are quiet at the moment.”
“That’s not a problem,” she said, and I felt the relief flood in. “Most of the directors will be away in August, so it will be quieter. It will give us all a chance to catch our breath!” She even smiled. “When do you want to go?” She looked at her computer diary. “You had three weeks booked.”
I hesitated a bit, really hoping she would agree.
“I… could go on Friday? Then I’ll have the rest of August off.”
She checked another screen.
“Becca, that’s fine,” came the magic words. “It will be better in fact, because there are meetings in September which I’d like you to attend.”
“Great, thanks.” I turned to leave but her voice stopped me.
“Are you going somewhere nice?” I swung around in surprise.
“No! I’ll be with my mum in hospital.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you poor thing,” she said, with a rare wide-eyed look of empathy. Or was it pity? Still, this wasn’t a ‘woe is me’ pity party. I had to just get on with it. And I’d got the leave I needed. We smiled awkwardly as I stepped out of the office.
At lunchtime I passed Sophie picking up her bag in corridor.
“Where are you heading?” she asked.
“Not sure, I’m just going to pick up something and eat it at my desk.”
We walked out together and ended up getting baked potatoes – me with beans and cheese, and hers with tuna. I know they’re calorie bombs but they taste great. Nothing’s as indulgent as a bit of melted cheddar. Sophie leaned towards me.
“Finally fed up with rabbit food, then?” joked Sophie.
I threw my head back and laughed.
“Sometimes, all that will do is stodge. Comfort food to the rescue!”
“Yeah, that’s what I say too,” she said. “But then nothing rescues my hips!”
“How are things with your mum?”
“She’s getting there, slowly but surely.”
“I’m glad. I had thought she was getting better when Emma told me you were going on holiday next week.”
Goodness, Emma didn’t waste time in telling people about my business!
“Did she say where I was going?” I asked.
“No, just that you would be away for three weeks, and that I should make sure your messages and emails went to her. I know you can’t make her out, Becca. But she likes you. And I know for a fact that she thinks you’re an amazing daughter too.”
I didn’t say anything, which Sophie took as a cue to continue. “I think she’s just a bit socially insecure. That’s why she seems a bit prickly at times.”
“Maybe…” I said, not so sure. But I wasn’t going to ruin my delicious cheesy baked potato debating it.
“By the way, where are you going?” said Sophie.
“When?”
“On holiday!” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Keep up girl!”
“I’m going to spend time with my mum. Well, that and get to know the, er, stunning doctor in the next ward.” A welcome change to the conversation, although poor Sophie almost tripped on her heels.
“Please don’t tease! Especially when I’m stuck at work,” she spluttered.
“Want to swap places?” I joked. She gave me an exaggerated sigh as she thought about it.
“Well,” she concluded. “Sounds like time at the hospital can have its benefits…”
“Trust me,” I said. “The place is not swarming with good-looking doctors ready to propose to the nearest female.”
“More’s the pity,” she scoffed. Shaking my head at her, it was my turn to sigh.
“It’s full of sick people,” I said. “And if their hearts skip a beat, they could die then and there.” I snapped my fingers with comic effect. Sophie smiled but rolled her eyes again. “And all the relatives in there are outwardly smiling but inwardly cursing how slow things move. And trust me, you don’t want to have something go wrong at the weekend, because although patience may be the best medicine, it’s in short supply there!” I stopped for dramatic effect. I could see Sophie was enjoying my tangent. “Aaaaand I don’t ever, under any circumstance, want to look up on the internet what could be wrong with the numb leg I get from sitting at my desk too long. What if it turns out to be a deadly disease?”
Sophie burst out laughing.
“Becca, my darling, you have missed your calling. You better get yourself off to an Open Mic session. Pronto!”
“Well,” I said wisely. “As long as we can laugh at ourselves, we don’t
have to take all the nonsense too seriously.” Grabbing her arm, I quickened our pace. “Come on, we don’t want to look like we’ve been enjoying a six-course tasting menu and can’t find our way back to the office!”
Back in professional mode, I peeled off my cardigan as we reached the lift. It was hot outside and we’d rushed back slightly. Now I wanted the air conditioning to cool me down before I reached my desk. Suddenly I could feel Sophie’s eyes on me.
“What?” I said, secretly knowing exactly what.
“I didn’t say anything,” she said primly.
“You didn’t have to, I could feel your eyes boring into me. Look, its fine. I know I looked bigger than normal. I’m just not skinny anymore.” I shrugged helplessly, which was just how I felt right then. I had never spoken with someone about it until now.
“It’ll come off,” she reassured me. “You’re just going through a stressful time.” She was being nice yet I couldn’t help but probe, now that it was out in the open.
“Do I look like I ate all the pies?”
“Not all of them,” she said, trying to be playful. I hit her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re still smaller than me!”
“That’s not a concern,” I said. “As you well know.”
She leant on my shoulder for a moment.
“I know,” she said quietly.
Once we were in the office, it wasn’t long before Sophie came to my desk to see me again.
“Well if you’re going on holiday, I should give you my new mobile number,” said Sophie
“Not another one!” I sighed. “How often do you change your number?”
“Well, I have to avoid people that bother me,” she cooed.
“By people you mean men!”
Sophie led an exciting life. Well, let’s just say it was more exciting than mine! She was always off to some party, usually an opening or premiere. I never knew how she got the tickets. All she said was that she had a sister who worked in PR. She’d invited me a few times and I had even gone once or twice. They were pretty glamorous: lights, camera, action, and all that. I didn’t exactly feel like a duck at a party of swans. But they still weren’t parties I would go to that often; too much glamour and air-kissing for me. Yet not everyone in the office knew what a glamorous life she led out of work. As they say, you should never judge a book by its cover. On paper our friendship shouldn’t even have worked. We were more different than our humour suggested. I was quieter than her and felt like I was looking in on life from the edges. But she liked to be at the epicentre of all that was exciting. Somehow it worked. Drawn together by our sense of humour, I suppose; and our incredulity of the characters in our office; and our indecision if it was us or them that were really the odd ones.