Chapter Three
I was so tired I was starting to feel delirious.
They say sleep deprivation is a form of torture. Well, sleep deprivation by dog barking and wind chimes was a cruel variation on the theme. I felt that I might actually be starting to go insane.
It had been five days since the G-String Incident and I’d managed to ignore all Felix’s calls and messages.
I was congratulating myself on my restraint, but in all honesty, my resolve was weakening.
I missed my flat, my bed and – fuck it – I even missed Felix.
I wished it could all disappear and we could go back to how things were before.
Over the last five days, I’d berated myself for the fact I’d gone back to him in the past, but as the sleep deprivation and loneliness wore on, I was reminded why going back felt like the path of least resistance and was starting to wonder who I was even doing this for.
In running away from him, I was making myself miserable.
For what? My own pride? Some deeply held belief that I wasn’t worth cheating on?
The sad truth was that I didn’t have that belief.
I was a difficult person to be in a relationship with; I couldn’t blame Felix for getting distracted.
Today I knew we would be on shift together. I could see it in the roster. And I was terrified that seeing him would finally break me, pull me right back into it, and I was no longer so sure that wasn’t the right thing to do.
Felix and I started seeing each other in my second year out of med school.
I was a resident on an emergency rotation and he was a junior registrar.
Felix was someone everybody liked. He was charming, confident and fun with a skill for making you feel like the most interesting person in room.
I’m usually way too level-headed for people like that to fool me, but Felix got under my skin.
We were on a run of nights together in the hospital I’d trained in.
I’d known him from afar for a couple of years, and he’d always been his friendly, flirtatious self, which I’d never taken particular notice of.
On our first night of four, it was hectic.
I was frantically trying to sort out my patients as independently as possible without bothering the extremely stressed senior registrar in charge.
Felix kept checking in on me and I found myself asking his advice on a lot of patients.
He was sweet and had felt like a life raft on a totally out-of-control shift.
I was still so fresh out of med school and had very little confidence, but he radiated competence and encouragement and his praise felt like being warmed by the sun on a winter’s day.
I had always been someone who didn’t let many people in.
Growing up, my life had felt like riding down a river rapid I’d never wanted to go on: unplanned and unsettling.
As a result, every part of my adult life strived for the opposite.
I was efficient and disciplined, studious and practical and on the whole, I found people flaky and unpredictable; I felt the safest way not to be hurt was to keep the world at arm’s length.
It was as though Felix found his way through the side door, sneaking through the cracks in my defences. And without me even noticing, he earned my affection.
The second night of four wasn’t as hectic as the first, but we’d established the dynamic and when I needed advice, he guided me well.
My most memorable moment of those early days was when an older man with a hip fracture needed a femoral nerve block.
I’d never done one before and Felix talked me through it.
When I was struggling with the ultrasound to find the right anatomy, he stepped in behind me and with his sterile gloved hand over mine, showed me how to locate the neurovascular bundle and watch the space fill as I injected the anaesthetic.
It’s hard to imagine that could feel even remotely intimate, with a seventy-year-old man’s exposed groin and me being entirely gowned up in something akin to a yellow duck outfit, but it did.
On the third night it was quiet and Felix and I chatted for hours in between the few jobs and patients who needed seeing.
And after the fourth night, we went out for breakfast and then we went to bed.
Neither of us slept much that day.
Sex with Felix was good. He was hot, spontaneous and playful.
I’d always placed significant value on good sex.
Despite not having had any long-term boyfriends prior to Felix, I had been no Virgin Mary.
Sex was scientifically proven to be good for mental health and wellbeing, and I believed in science, so I’d always made sure that I got a fix regularly one way or another.
When Felix came into my life it seemed like an obvious solution to having regular sex and appeasing my sister’s concerns that I had no love life.
And before I knew it, we were exclusive. We moved in together and he wriggled his way right into my heart.
All that was six years ago now and the journey since then had been a rollercoaster I just couldn’t seem to get off.
I didn’t think Felix was deliberately unkind.
He just had very little foresight and his focus could become entirely consumed by what was directly in front of him.
When you were the centre of Felix’s attention, he made you feel like you were a New York cheesecake – there was nothing better than you.
Trouble was, he liked lots of different cheesecakes. And he wanted to eat them all.
When I was growing up, I’d never had any romantic fantasies.
I couldn’t ever imagine being dependent on someone else; putting myself in a position where my happiness relied on anyone other than me felt terrifying and stupid.
And on top of that, I’d always pegged myself as someone cold and devoid of softness, who nobody would choose anyway.
I guess this started the dynamic between Felix and me straight up – I had this sense of being indebted to him. I was in a relationship I never thought I’d be worthy of, so who was I to set the ground rules?
He used to tease me about being an Ice Queen and I was grateful he could take my weaknesses with humour.
I guess, on some level, I felt I owed it to him to accept his weaknesses in return.
I wasn’t stupid. In my head I knew cheating wasn’t what people in loving relationships should do.
But in my heart, I had no compass – in a deep, visceral way, I didn’t really know what my romantic life was supposed to look like.
All this to say, there had been no surprise with the G-String Incident, just a disappointment that left me once again confused about who to blame: Felix and his behaviour or my own poor judgement?
I was six hours into my shift and a meal break was not looking promising so I ducked into the tea room for a cracker and cheese.
The floor was chaos: six category-two patients waiting to be seen and at least fifteen category threes and fours, some of whom had been waiting up to eight hours already.
But my belly was grumbling and my concentration was waning – I needed a few calories to charge my brain.
I was standing by the sink, unwrapping my plastic-coated cheese square when the door swung open and in walked Abel Sutherland. Scowling, of course.
We’d passed each other three times in the corridor that day already.
Each time more awkward than the last. I assumed it was my pathological social ineptitude at play, but I could never work out if I was supposed to make eye contact with him or just focus on something in the distance and ignore him.
I wouldn’t have given it any thought had his presence not been so weirdly intense.
The most recent time we’d intercepted one another at the doors near the psych patients, I’d gone as far as saying, ‘Hellooo,’ with some weirdly drawn out ‘ooo’ sound as though I was trying on a Scottish accent in a way I’d never before in my life felt the need to do.
He’d positively glowered in response and I’d concluded the best path forward with Abel Sutherland was never to look or speak to him.
I studied my cheese and tried not to make eye contact with this oddly grumpy and intimidating man.
In my peripheral vision, I could see him walk to the fridge with purpose and yank open the door.
He reached for the cheese box and gave a frustrated grunt before pulling the whole box out and tossing it pointedly in the bin.
I couldn’t help it – my eyes lifted to meet his, the cheese now in my mouth.
His scowl turned into a death stare. I’d eaten the last of the cheese and, not realising the box was empty, I had failed to remove it from the fridge and put it in the bin.
My heart sank. This was the sort of behaviour from other people that irritated me immensely.
Leaving empty bottles of milk and juice in the fridge.
Empty cracker wrappers in the biscuit tin.
Lazy displays usually made me glower, and now I’d gone and done it to the most grumpy man in the department.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise it was empty …’ I muttered, swallowing my very, very dry mouthful of cheese and cracker. It was like trying to swallow plain flour.
Abel Sutherland didn’t say anything, just carried on scowling and proceeded to eat a cracker on its own. The crunch was unbearable.
I walked out of the tea room without bothering about a drink of water and walked straight into Felix.
This was the first time I’d seen him since the G-String Incident and I had so many mixed up emotions, I didn’t know what would happen when they surfaced.
Work was the absolute last place I wanted to find out, so I walked past him down the corridor. He followed and grabbed my arm.
‘Mary.’
‘I really don’t want to talk to you right now.’ I tried to pull away but his hand was firm.
‘Just give me a minute.’
I paused and stared at him. It hurt. As much as I didn’t want to feel hurt, I did.
‘Can we at least meet up sometime?’
‘Felix. Please don’t do this right now.’ I wished my voice was firmer. Angrier. Powerful and resolute. It was none of these things.
‘Can I call you later?’
‘It’ll be midnight before I’m home.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Mary, this is ridiculous. It’s so much less of a deal than you think. I really want to work it out.’
‘This is not a discussion I want to be having right now.’
This was starting to get embarrassing. We were standing in the corridor of the emergency department. And I was a very, very private person. I glanced either side of us, hoping no one was taking notice.
‘Please, Mary. Say you’ll come over tonight.’
My stomach heaved. I had so little strength in that moment and I hated myself for it.
My arm was still in his grasp and, with a surge of frustration, I yanked it away, just as a tall figure walked out of the tea room.
My already low spirits dropped further. The idea of Abel Sutherland witnessing the latest instalment of my pathetic life story was just the fucking icing on the cake.
‘Mary, can you come to my office for a moment when you’re available.’
I felt a shot of revulsion pass through me, before I realised that this was a way out of the interaction with Felix.
‘I’m available.’ I turned and followed Abel down the corridor.
We didn’t say anything as we walked towards the consultant offices.
I was so relieved to have an escape from Felix I didn’t consider why Abel wanted to talk to me in his office.
Then I remembered the vibrator incident. Suddenly, I was almost certain I was going to get a reprimand for inappropriate phone calls in the workplace. Added now to inappropriate relationship conversations in the workplace. And the cheese offence: leaver of the empty cheese box.
This was a disaster.
It was quiet in the back offices. Or maybe it just felt quiet because Abel was a man of so few words.
He gestured to a seat beside his and navigated through something on the computer.
I didn’t feel it was polite to watch so I studied the brown stain on the carpet and wondered where the hell this was going.
Most people get uncomfortable in silence and fill it with inane pleasantries. Usually, I find small talk tedious, but sitting awkwardly in silence with Abel Sutherland was decidedly worse. I wondered if maybe comments on the weather did have their place after all.
He cleared his throat and carried on driving his mouse, in no apparent rush. I brushed a bit of fluff from my scrub pants. A scintillating moment all around.
‘The other night,’ he began and my insides squirmed. I knew he’d seen through me. I was disgusted with myself for letting my personal life leak into my professional life. ‘Your night shift mix-up seemed … unusual for you.’
‘Uh.’ I searched for words but nothing useful came to mind. ‘Bit scattered.’
He frowned at me. I was not a scattered person and I sensed he knew it. The moment seemed to stretch and he carried on frowning at me, his gaze searing and intense.
Finally, he said, ‘You don’t strike me as a scattered person.’
I felt myself colouring. ‘Sorry. I won’t make the mistake again.’
He was still looking at me with that intensity, studying me like I was a puzzle, and I wondered if there’d be a time when he’d say we were done or if I’d just have to pick up on the entirely non-existent social cues.
Then he went back to typing and clicking.
‘Is that … all?’ I asked.
‘That’s all.’