More Than A Distraction Chapter One
The air was stifling; Clodagh’s uniform was uncomfortably hot. She ran her finger between her neck and the manmade fibres, impractical in the current heatwave. Still, she thought, at least she didn’t need to iron the trousers and tunic of her physiotherapy get-up.
The sun poured through the hospital skylight while she waited for the lift to take her to her seventh-floor clinic. It pinged, and she gratefully stepped into the window-less large metal box. It was still stuffy, but not as hot as the corridor.
“Hold the lift!” came a voice. An androgynous figure in floral shirt and baggy jeans leapt into the space. They were holding an iced coffee, which immediately made Clodagh jealous.
“Which floor?” asked Clodagh.
“Six, please,” said the person, whose short curly modern mullet piqued Clodagh’s interest. And there was something familiar about them. “I’m visiting the stroke rehab ward,” they said.
She pressed the button and smiled at the person she was still trying to place.
The person paused before speaking. “Clodagh? Right?”
“Um, yes,” replied Clodagh, desperately trying to place the not unappealing face before her. Was she a former patient?
“I’m Rae, although I think you might remember me from uni as Rachel.” Rae’s smile was easy.
“Ah,” said Clodagh, “I knew I knew you from somewhere.” She felt relief, no need to guess anymore.
“Yep, you were a couple of years above me, I think, but we were briefly on the hockey team together,” said Rae. “I use they and them pronouns now.”
Clodagh gave Rae a warm smile and again coveted their iced coffee. She had a vision of a very quiet, slightly sad-looking person with long curly hair in a pony tail who never spoke. “That’s quite the glow-up you’ve had,” said Clodagh, “if you don’t mind me saying.”
Rae smiled ruefully. “I don’t mind at all. Uni wasn’t a happy time for me.” She looked up at the ceiling of the lift. “Are we even moving?” With that, the lift began its ascent. “There we go,” said Rae. A few seconds later, the lift seemed to be slowing down.
A hot finger of fear crept down Clodagh’s sweaty back. She wasn’t a fan of confined spaces and had always feared getting stuck in a lift. Clodagh frowned. “Er, I don’t think we are moving very fast though. This doesn’t feel right.”
Suddenly, there was the sound of metal scraping against metal. The lift shuddered to a halt. Clodagh bit back an urge to scream. It wasn’t lost on her that Rae was exactly her type, and their bum looked pretty exquisite in those jeans. Screaming with fear was not sexy. Or at least, not to Clodagh.
Clodagh pressed the button that should open the doors. Nothing happened. She pressed each of the other buttons in turn. Still nothing.
Rae sighed and rested their back on the side of the lift. Clodagh did the same opposite them, desperately trying to emit a devil-may-care attitude. “Well,” she said, “it doesn’t look as though we’re going anywhere in a hurry.”
“Nope,” said Rae. “I think there’s an emergency button here. I’ll press it.” The button flashed orange on and off. But nothing else happened. Rae sighed again. “So, how long have you worked here for?”
“Ages,” said Clodagh, her brain fogging slightly with the impending panic. Was the alarm even attached to anything? Would they be stuck in here forever? She felt her breathing speed up. “I mean, about seven years. Before all this holistic claptrap.”
“Oh?” Rae eyes were questioning.
“Well, you know, all this hippy nonsense, getting old people to listen to gongs and do yoga.” Clodagh rolled her eyes. “It’s all a bit extra, and not a great way to spend NHS funds. They’re all over it in the stroke ward. I hope the person you’re visiting doesn’t mind it.”
“Mmm,” said Rae, thoughtfully. “I guess there must be a reason for it though?”
“Oh yes,” added Clodagh. “I’m pretty sure it will be some kind of inside job – you know, one of the directors bringing in a mate’s business to deliver fluff.” She put a hand on her hip, warming to her theme. “Meanwhile we are running around like headless chickens here trying to treat as many patients as humanly possible. I’m a physio,” she clarified.
“Sounds challenging,” said Rae. “But you enjoy your job?”
Clodagh nodded, noticing the extraordinary length of Rae’s eyelashes and deciding to focus on that rather than the confined space. “How about you?” asked Clodagh. “What do you do?”
“Oh me?” said Rae with a half-smile. “I’m part of a hippy dippy company providing yoga and gongs to old people, syphoning NHS funds from hardworking people like you.”
Clodagh could feel the blush flood her already red face. If ever there was a time that she wanted to be able to disappear, now was it. But of course she couldn’t. She was stuck. In a lift. With sexy Rae. Who she had now managed to be spectacularly rude to.
Clodagh took a breath. “Oh my god, I am so sorry,” she said. She held up her hands in front of her. “I had no idea.”
“I got that,” said Rae with a laugh.
“No, really,” said Clodagh, “it’s so hot today I think it’s addled my brain, and if I’m completely honest with you, getting stuck in a lift is my idea of a nightmare. I’m not normally so rude.”
“Oh I don’t know,” said Rae, their head on one side, “I seem to recall you always had a big mouth at uni.”
Clodagh gasped in mock horror, but knew she had that coming.
“Anyway,” said Rae, “I think it’s quite endearing.” They paused. “But are you really feeling anxious right now?”