Chapter 2 #2
‘Oh, my goodness. Why didn’t you say so right away?’ Carol tutted, typing away. ‘Just one moment. I’m sure we can squeeze an urgent appointment in somewhere.’
‘Thank you.’ I dabbed at my eyes with the tissue. ‘You think it’s urgent, then?’
The apologetic look on her face said it all.
‘The NHS website said there was only a small chance of it being anything to worry about.’
‘Yes, it does say that, doesn’t it?’ She wrinkled her nose as if to say, ‘ah, bless her cotton socks for trusting that website.’
I had to keep blotting my face while providing my name and other details, the tissue disintegrating under the barrage of tears.
‘Excuse me, but did I hear you say you’re Alex Nixon?’ As if this couldn’t get any worse, one of the other people waiting had slunk up and tapped me on the shoulder. ‘From Winning at Life?’
‘Um…’
‘I love your dress. I mean, that’s really winning, isn’t it? Why not look spectacular when visiting the doctors?’
‘I’m on my way somewhere else,’ I mumbled. ‘Couldn’t get through on the phone, so…’
‘Right.’ The woman screwed up her face in sympathy. ‘And you wouldn’t want to hang about all weekend with a lumpy breast.’
I had no reply to that.
‘You don’t mind if I take a selfie?’
Still no words.
‘It might be best to take a seat for a couple of minutes, Ms Nixon. I’m going to try asking one of the doctors about squeezing you in to get that lump looked at,’ advised Carol.
This was an actual, living nightmare.
I collapsed onto the nearest bench, my stupid dress scrunching and rustling and sticking up everywhere. My hands shook, with fear and a vulnerability I hadn’t experienced in decades. Perhaps being dumped had hit harder than I’d realised.
Cheers for that, great time to decide you’re breakable after all, I berated my fluttering heart.
‘What are you doing?’ the man who had been standing behind me barked as the selfie-seeker came to sit beside me, holding her phone ready. He stuck his hand up, blocking her camera. ‘This is hardly the time. Show some respect.’
‘Thank you,’ I whispered as the woman narrowed her eyes for a moment before deciding it wasn’t worth it and moving to a different seat.
The man took her place on the bench, angling his body so that I was largely shielded from the rest of the waiting room.
‘Is there someone you can call?’ he asked, offering another tissue.
That idea seemed so absurd right then, the answer such a categorical ‘no’, that I started laughing. The sort of semi-hysterical cackle most unbefitting of a life-coaching-expert.
‘No,’ I wheezed. ‘There is absolutely no one.’
‘Okay.’ He nodded a few times, clearly reluctant to leave me sitting there crying and laughing simultaneously. ‘Can I give you a lift home?’
I peered at him. Why would he offer me a lift? Was he being a creep? Hoping to get a story he could sell to the papers or post online for attention?
Surely he wasn’t simply being kind to this disturbing apparition in fancy dress.
‘Don’t you have an appointment or something?’ I asked, glancing at the reception desk.
He shook his head, realisation dawning in his worried eyes.
‘No. I was picking up a prescription. What I mean to say is, I’m so sorry.
Obviously, you don’t want a lift from a random man at the doctors.
That was stupid and I genuinely wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.
I get the whole man versus bear in the woods thing. I just…’
The strangest thing was, despite the number of kooks and creeps who felt they had a right to be overfamiliar these days, this man made me feel more comfortable than anyone had in a long time.
Abandoning the awards evening felt so tempting, I almost accepted his offer.
‘Are you all right, Ms Nixon?’
Here was Gregor, towering in the doorway in his peaked cap, because I wasn’t enough of a spectacle.
‘Oh. Of course. You have a driver.’ The man nodded, as if being one of a team of five presenters on a reality show meant I had a personal chauffeur.
‘I don’t, not usually. I’m on my way to the British TV Awards,’ I said, after thanking Gregor and telling him I needed a couple more minutes.
And then, call it temporary insanity caused by nerves, loneliness and rampant fear, I decided to add to my humiliation.
‘You could come with me, if you like.’
‘What?’ His eyes grew round.
‘I mean, my date just cancelled. So there’s a plus-one going spare.
Free food, drinks, a lot of famous people.
’ I faltered, watching his forehead furrow.
‘Sorry. Of course you don’t want to come with me.
It’s a ridiculous thing to ask. Nobody would want to spend an evening with this human wreck.
Even people who know and love me, apparently!
It’s only… nobody else will know about… this.
I wouldn’t go on about it or anything. Compartmentalising is one of my top strengths.
It just would have been nice to have someone there who knows.
Plus, I can be quite fun. When I’m not, you know, making an appointment about a breast lump. ’
‘Ms Nixon. We really need to be going,’ Gregor said. The golden rule of chauffeuring was not to get involved with the clients, but from his resigned demeanour I suspected this wasn’t the first time Gregor had felt the need to extricate a celebrity from an ill-advised encounter with a stranger.
‘Dr Bashak will see you at eight-fifteen on Tuesday,’ Carol called from behind the screen. ‘She says she’ll come in early, given there’s not a moment to waste.’
‘Thank you very much,’ I said, my relief at the doctor going out of her way for me at odds with the anxiety produced from knowing she considered it necessary.
I turned back to the man. ‘Right. I’d better go then.
And sorry again. I’m honestly not some narcissistic celebrity who assumes everyone wants to be my friend.
I’m just freaking out a bit. This whole night is way out of my comfort zone, and you made me feel…
comfortable. Anyway, you’ve got a great story to tell at parties.
Thanks for the tissues and the being so nice. Bye.’
As I stood up to go, to my surprise the man stood with me.
‘For the record, I might have considered saying yes,’ he said, eyes creasing up in a smile. ‘I mean, if circumstances were different. But my daughter has an ear infection, hence the antibiotics.’ He held up a paper bag. ‘I really need to get back.’
‘Right!’ Of course he had a family. I glanced at his empty ring finger, but that meant nothing, did it?
I hoped he didn’t have a partner waiting at home.
If I was his wife I wouldn’t want him even considering accepting an invitation from a random woman, or imagining what he’d do if ‘circumstances were different’.
Still, I wasn’t about to judge a stranger who’d been kind to me.
‘Well, how about this.’ I lifted my phone, hanging up as it informed me I was now number one in the queue, and snapped a photo of us both. ‘Might cheer your daughter up if you tell her you’ve met Alex Nixon dressed like a Christmas tree.’
‘Yeah, she’s six, and completely disinterested in anything that doesn’t have a trunk, but my other kids will be impressed.’
He gave me his number – and his name, Will – so I could send him the photo. I was in such a state that it was only once I’d got back into the car that I realised this meant he had my number, too.