Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
LAUREL
‘I feel like the fat, speccy short-arse at a speed-dating event,’ complained Harry, my colleague and closest work friend. ‘There’s no way any of these kids will come and talk to us.’
‘Come on, chin up,’ I said. ‘There must be two hundred kids here. Surely at least a couple of them are interested in a career in nursing.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’ Harry ran his hands through his glossy blond quiff and adjusted the NHS lanyard that hung round his neck. ‘Have you scoped out the competition?’
I had. ‘True. There’s an investment bank over there, an AI software development outfit over the other side…’
‘A luxury hotel chain two stalls away.’
‘And just in case any of these little darlings do fancy working in a caring profession…’
‘We’ve got the Royal Veterinary College right next to us.’
We laughed.
‘See?’ Harry rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘No chance. We’re like Cinderella if she went to the ball pre the fairy godmother’s intervention.’
For the hundredth time, I rearranged the stack of blue-and-white ‘Choose Nursing’ leaflets on the shelf behind me and fixed the bright, encouraging expression back on my face.
‘Still,’ I said, ‘at least it’s got us off the wards for the day.’
Harry brightened. ‘And at least we get to knock off early. I’ve a hot date tonight. A man I met in the actual flesh, can you believe it? And not even off Grindr. He’s a barista. Our eyes met over my long black and the rest is history – or I hope so, at any rate.’
‘You can serve caramel lattes at your wedding,’ I suggested.
‘And bacon baps,’ Harry said. ‘He gave me one on the house. That’s when I got the bottle to ask him out. His name’s Moussa and he’s from the Ivory Coast. He’s ever so fanciable.’
As Harry continued to describe Moussa’s hotness, I felt my thoughts drifting into melancholy.
The world he was in – one of hope and excitement, of blind faith that the One was out there somewhere, just waiting for you to find them – felt impossibly remote to me, like it had been in a different lifetime when I was last there.
Harry lowered his voice. ‘How’s your fellow doing, anyway, Laurel?’
I sighed. ‘He has good days and bad days. You know how it goes. But I try and tell myself that every day’s a gift. All the guff we tell our patients’ families. But it’s kind of different when it’s you.’
‘You’re not buying your own hype,’ Harry chided, but his voice was kind. ‘Tell me again about your first date. I love that story.’
‘It wasn’t a date,’ I objected. ‘Come on, give me some credit. I knew he had a wife and I’m—’
‘Not that kind of girl.’ Harry raised his eyebrows cynically.
‘Exactly. Well, I wasn’t. But we’d been messaging, because I put his blanket in my bag by mistake when we went to the pub, and I needed to give it back.’
‘Because it was Missoni. Although you didn’t know that until you sent me a picture of the thing and I was like, Laurel, that would have cost the thick end of five hundred smackers.’
‘Exactly. But it took ages for my splint to come off and then he was busy at work. But by then he’d told me he was into cycling too, and I said I was really missing it but the fall had knocked my confidence.’
‘And he said, “Let me help you get back on the horse.”’
I sighed, remembering. Of course I should have said no, and returned Gray’s blanket to him some other way.
But when he told me he was planning a fifty-kilometre cycle in Epping Forest on a Sunday, and it was my day off and near my home, and the weather forecast promised glorious sunshine, I found I couldn’t resist his invitation to join him.
Besides, he had my bike and it just made sense. Didn’t it?
So I met him at the appointed spot, handed over the blanket and watched as he unloaded our bikes from his car.
We set off, the trees and tracks and sparkling sky unfurling around us; I was conscious of only the pleasure of being out there on this gorgeous spring day, the cool air stinging my lungs, my body working again like it was supposed to, my confidence returning with every thrust of my legs.
He hadn’t lied – the route was tough, with one challenging ascent after another. I’d kept up my fitness as best I could while I was signed off with my broken wrist, but I could feel myself labouring to keep up with him.
‘You okay there, Laurel?’ he’d asked.
Damn it. I wasn’t going to be patronised by some man on a ten grand trophy bike. I put my head down and forced my legs into overdrive, slowly gaining on him, then drawing level, and then, just as we crested the hill, shooting past him.
Gasping for breath, we stopped, the breeze suddenly cool against my sweating face.
‘And then he kissed you,’ Harry said.
‘That’s right.’
‘And you realised you were that kind of girl after all.’ He sighed. ‘Naughty Laurel. Not that I blame you. So romantic.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought too.’
Romantic. That’s exactly what it was. In that moment, all thoughts of Gray’s wife, his children, even my own morals, had fled my mind as if they’d been blown away by the wind.
Nothing existed except Gray and me, his body and mine, our lips and tongues and his hands moving over my sweating back, sliding under my windproof jacket and over my skin so I gasped with desire.
‘We can’t,’ I said. ‘Not here.’
‘There’s no one to see except birds and rabbits,’ he pointed out.
‘I know. But still.’
He smiled. ‘I’ll ring you.’
And he had – the next day. We’d met up the following Sunday for drinks in a pub he’d suggested and I’d agreed to, neither of us acknowledging that he’d chosen it because it was on the opposite side of London from his home.
At first, the meeting had been awkward as hell.
We were both driving, so neither of us could drink.
We ordered Diet Cokes and then – as much to give us something to talk about as anything – some food.
When it came, the steak was overcooked and leathery, the chips soggy and each plate adorned with a wrinkled grilled tomato.
‘I’m sorry, Laurel,’ he said. ‘This is awful.’
I laughed. ‘I’ve had far worse in the hospital canteen. Besides, it reminds me of going out to the Berni Inn when I was little. Massive treat.’
‘Oh God, me too.’ He grinned. ‘Only ever on my birthday, because it was too dear.’
‘The desserts! Lemon cheesecake with sultanas.’
‘Are you mad? Ice cream sundae all the way.’
Suddenly we were laughing, united in our shared memories.
It surprised me – from what I’d seen of Gray’s house, his car and his bicycle, I’d expected him to have come from a background of wealth and privilege.
But soon we were comparing notes about Findus crispy pancakes, chocolate concrete after school dinners and bags of scraps from the chippie.
‘I was sixteen before I tasted garlic,’ I told him.
His smile faded. ‘Oh, things were a bit different for me by then. I went to a posh school.’
But before I could ask him more about that, he said, ‘Shall we get the bill?’
So we did. As we were leaving the pub, he took my hand and led me to his car, opening the passenger door for me. I got in without a word; he drove away, and we found a lay-by and had sex in the back seat.
Maybe not so romantic after all.
I managed a half-laugh and Harry looked at me sympathetically. I could imagine the thought going through his mind: Shit. She’s not going to cry, is she?
Then he said, ‘Hold up. Looks like we’ve got a customer.’
A girl was approaching our stall. She was in her school uniform, like all the others, and, like almost all the girls, her tie was hanging loose round her neck, her skirt was rolled up to just below her bum cheeks and her hair fell in loose waves down her back.
She was wearing the expression I’d always seen in teenage girls when they approached me in uniform: half deferential, half embarrassed, with a sprinkling of bravado as she tried to pretend the other two feelings weren’t there.
‘Good morning,’ Harry said chirpily. ‘How are you today?’
‘Are you interested in finding out more about a career in nursing?’ I asked.
The girl nodded. ‘I mean, kind of. My mum says I’d be signing up for a life of drudgery, low pay and cleaning up other people’s sick.’
There was something familiar about her – her dark eyes, her hesitant smile. I could have sworn I’d seen her before somewhere, but I couldn’t think where.
I laughed. ‘Well, there’s a bit of that.
But the nurses’ union – the Royal College – has fought hard recently for better pay and conditions.
You might have seen that on the news. And once your career starts to progress it becomes a bit different from what you might think.
There are so many different specialisms.’
‘This QR code right here will take you to a link that tells you more about them,’ Harry said, handing her a leaflet.
‘What’s led you to think of going down this route?’ I asked.
‘I…’ she began hesitantly, ‘I’ve always liked helping people. And recently… I dunno. I suppose I’ve seen what it’s like when people really need to be helped.’
I smiled and she smiled back. The smile transformed her face – lighting it up in a way that made me smile even more.
‘That’s just the best start,’ I said. ‘The health service is crying out for people with your kind of mindset.’
‘We’re holding an open day at Princess Margaret’s Hospital over the summer,’ Harry said. ‘You should come along to that. Laurel and I will be there with loads of our colleagues, and you’ll be able to see more of what clinical work is like from the inside.’
‘I’d like that,’ she said.
‘And we have opportunities for work experience too,’ I added. ‘I know it’s not always easy, depending on your family background. But you need to remember that nursing is actually highly competitive, and like any degree course you’d need to put in the strongest application you can.’
The girl nodded. I could see something change in her face – almost an awakening.
‘I’m doing science, maths and biology at GCSE,’ she said. ‘And English too, obviously. I like studying. I’ll talk to my mum and’ – there was the slightest hesitation – ‘my dad, and come to the open day if I can.’
‘It would be lovely to see you there,’ I said. ‘My name’s Laurel Norton, by the way. Laurel with two Ls.’
I pointed to the badge on my chest and smiled again.
‘Nice to meet you, Laurel and’ – she peered at Harry’s name badge – ‘Harry. I’m Lulu Graham.’
Lulu Graham.
Oh my God. Of course. It was with Gray that I’d seen her face, on the wallpaper of his phone in a smiling photo with her brother and mother.
There’d probably been photos of her up in the house as well, framed portraits on the wall or snapshots attached to the fridge, but I hadn’t noticed those – I was too wary of Anna to risk being caught noticing anything.
Gray had told me his children’s names and ages, and occasionally shared his pride in them and his worries about them – feisty Lulu, growing up too quickly for comfort; awkward Barney, who still hadn’t quite found his tribe.
It had never crossed my mind that I would meet either of them – certainly not now, not here.
Harry pressed an assortment of leaflets on her, and she thanked us before turning to walk away, already studying them closely and scanning the QR code on her phone.
I heard Anna’s voice – her mother’s voice – as clearly as if she was speaking over my shoulder.
Stay the hell away from my children.