Chapter Twelve #2
I slipped beneath my covers and mirrored his position.
It felt like when Ebony and I were kids in our twin beds and would stay up talking, her little face lit by the moonlight.
I remember the sense of relief I’d get when she finally fell asleep, mixed with jealousy as I tried in vain to fall asleep too.
‘Did you have fun?’ Abel asked.
‘Not as much as you,’ I chuckled. ‘But yes, I did have fun. A lot more than I expected.
‘Great.’ His smile was warm.
‘They did pretty well, didn’t they?’
‘Yeah,’ he mused. ‘They’ll tighten things up. Hopefully by day four they’ll remember to check the temperature of their patients. Fuck, I was wishing someone would bring me a nice warm blanket.’
‘Were you cold?’
‘Freezing.’
‘Well, judging from Jimmy’s level of realism, he probably would have suggested checking your temperature with a rectal probe. So, maybe you were better off without the blanket.’
Abel winced. ‘Yeah. Probably better off without the blanket.’
We were quiet for a moment.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘you’re much nicer than I thought you were.’ Huh. My brain-to-voice filter was more porous than usual.
He laughed. ‘You didn’t think I was nice?’
‘Not really. You seemed kind of grumpy and scary. Now I’m trying to work out if you really are grumpy and scary or if maybe you’re actually nice.
Maybe you’re just really good at covering your grouchiness sometimes?
Or maybe your kink is pretending to be a drunk dude covered in tomato sauce and you’ve just been looking forward to it so much that you’ve seemed nicer than usual in the lead up. ’
‘Wow, Mary,’ he deadpanned, ‘how did you work me out?’
‘Am I right?’
‘Yeah. I’m a big bully and I hate people. But I come alive when I get out the tomato sauce. You just wait till day four and I get to pretend I’ve got an abdominal wound crawling with worms made out of pasta.’
‘You’re disgusting.’ I couldn’t work this guy out at all, but I realised I liked being around him. I looked at his features, soft and warm, and struggled to reconcile them with the man I’d first met in the emergency department. ‘But you always seem so … grumpy at work.’
‘That’s because people are always stealing the last of the cheese.’
‘I did not know it was the last of the cheese.’
‘And leaving empty boxes in the fridge. Is there anything more anger inducing than leaving empty boxes in the fridge?’ He was smiling and I wanted to throw a pillow at him.
‘I did not know the box was empty!’ My voice rose petulantly. ‘But granted, there is nothing more annoying than people leaving empty boxes in the fridge. Almost as annoying as people taking home the forks from the tea room so we have to eat dinner with a spoon and a knife.’
‘What the fuck is with that?’ he said with genuine exasperation.
‘Or that there are fifteen half-started bottles of orange juice and no one wants to actually finish one and put the empty bottle in the recycling.’
‘Sinful.’
‘Or when people don’t replace the empty toilet roll.’
‘Or people who leave two crusts in the bottom of a bread bag.’
‘People who don’t take the rubbish out.’
‘People who don’t bring the bins back.’
‘Can you imagine if we lived together?’ I laughed. ‘Our level of organisation and courtesy would be almost orgasm-worthy.’
He pressed his lips together and his eyes flashed. ‘Now I know what your kink is.’
‘Don’t even get me started.’
‘Please keep going. I like it.’
‘People who use the toastie maker so it looks like someone sneezed cheese and tuna over the whole thing and then vomited on it before leaving in hurry. And the tea room is left to smell like a dead fish for the rest of the day.’
‘You see? I think you do understand why I’m always grumpy at work. Humans are so painfully sloppy.’
‘Does it really make you angry or is your resting face just frowny?’
He snorted. ‘You’ve got such a lovely opinion of me. I’m glad I’ve come across so well.’
‘I’ve just … never seen you smile before this trip.’
‘Wow. That’s pretty awful, isn’t it?’
‘Seriously, though. Do you hate people? Your job?’
‘No. I definitely don’t hate people. Or my job.’
I watched his features in the glow of the lamp as he looked for the words. The light was so soft and warm, it was like a celebration of his face, even when his expression was earnest. He was shockingly beautiful.
‘I think I just get … disappointed by people. There is a lot of thoughtless, selfish behaviour. And sometimes I feel sad that this is my species.’
‘Like my cheese-box episode.’
‘Yeah, like that.’ He smiled.
‘I didn’t realise.’
‘I know that, Mary. And that’s not why I was frowning at you.’
‘Why were you frowning at me then?’
He didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘Because you were distracting me.’
‘I was distracting you? By being in the tea room, eating cheese?’
‘By being in the department. You’d been distracting me all day.’
I scoffed. I had no idea what that was supposed to mean. ‘Go on.’
It was a moment before he spoke. ‘I just don’t know if I feel proud of the sort of people we’re becoming.
And I feel like it’s getting worse with each generation.
Like manners and work ethic and strength of character are dying.
That there’s no accountability anymore. We’re just turning into this soft, sloppy society of people whose life is no more gritty than surfing Facebook and posting self-absorbed pictures on Instagram.
I think it makes me feel sad. And disappointed. In all of us.’
I nodded. I knew what he meant.
‘That probably makes me sound ancient. Or arrogant. And I don’t mean it in an arrogant way, because I’m part of it. But I think sometimes it all makes me feel hollow. And worried about where we’re headed.’
‘You don’t strike me as a weak character, Abel.’
‘Neither do you.’
We looked at one another and something in me ached; a warmth, a gratitude for this moment and his company. Of talking quietly in a wooden cabin in the small hours of the morning.
‘My dad is really old-fashioned,’ he went on with a slightly pained expression.
‘When I was a kid, he was overbearing and had these big, impossible standards. I hated it. And sometimes I think it’s turned me into a person who’s a bit the same.
Impossible standards.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh.
‘Basically a setup for chronic disappointment.’
‘I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have standards.
’ My mind turned to my own family. How very different my upbringing had been.
And how comforting the idea was of having a father around who cared enough to want me to be a certain kind of person, a strong person.
My bar had only ever been set by my own expectations, which were unyielding, exhausting, inescapable and lonely.
‘Maybe not.’ He was looking as if he couldn’t quite make sense of it all. ‘I don’t know. But I also don’t want to be someone who’s always frowning.’
‘You’re not. That’s why I said you were nicer than I thought in the first place. You actually smile a lot.’
‘I smile a lot when I’m around you.’
‘Why?’ He must be joking. I caused people boredom at best, and awkwardness or downright discomfort most of the time.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, staring at me like I was something he was still working out. ‘You don’t disappoint me.’
‘Excellent. I’ll keep trying not to disappoint you,’ I said with a dry laugh.
He didn’t laugh back, just kept studying me. ‘Maybe I already know the strength of your character. I already trust your integrity, so I can just enjoy your softer parts when I see them.’
I looked at him incredulously. ‘I don’t think I have softer parts. Everyone I’ve known, including Felix, has at some point referred to me as the Ice Queen. Even I refer to myself as the Ice Queen.’
Abel did smile then – indulgently. ‘Well. I’m sorry for them. Because they’ve obviously all missed the secret completely.’ He cleared his throat and rolled onto his back. ‘I should stop keeping you awake.’
‘It’s fine. I’m a terrible sleeper. I probably won’t fall asleep for ages.’ As if he would be the thing that kept me awake. ‘You’re frowning again,’ I said.
‘That’s because I don’t believe you. You fell asleep before I even got to page two of the book last night.’
‘Well … that was … unusual.’
‘You hated it. I’m offended. I take it back. You’ve disappointed me.’
‘Ugh! How could you say that? I’m a perfectionist. I hate disappointing people. And in my defence, I don’t remember much about it. I might have liked it – if I hadn’t fallen asleep.’
‘Fine. Prove me wrong. I’ll read it and you can tell me how enthralled you are, okay?’
He pulled the book from under his bed and positioned himself on his pillow to read.
I tucked the blanket under my chin and smiled. I didn’t know about the book or if I liked it. But the idea of being read to was almost too lovely to protest against. Yet I had to, because no one did things like that for me.
‘It’s so late. Surely you’d rather just go to sleep.’
He looked at me sternly then put a finger across his lips. They were full and warm and beautiful. Just like my heart at that moment.
‘Now, where were we? Oh yes. Page two …’