looked at me for a long time. “You know most of it,” he said. “I work in the security industry.”
“That could mean anything,” I said. “I’m worried.”
“You don’t need to worry,” he said, his voice gentle. “Look, I just have to be careful, that’s all. It’s just better for you if you don’t know about it.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
His eyes clouded. “I could ask you the same thing.”
I gave up, then. “Look, we don’t have to go. To Maggie’s, I mean. Honestly. If you’d rather not—”
“It’s fine,” he said. “We’ll go.”
“Lee, it’s just dinner. It’s not a test.”
He chewed, then put his knife and fork down. “Dessert?”
Dessert turned out to be hothouse strawberries and muscat, which we ate and drank in bed. He didn’t say anything else about dinner at Maggie’s, or his job, and I didn’t either. I lost myself in the taste of him, in the sensation of his warm hands on my bare skin, knowing that tomorrow morning he’d be gone and I’d be back to being on my own again.
Tuesday 11 December 2007
I did it. I finally did it. Tonight I got off the Tube at a different stop, a two-mile walk home, but one that took me down Willow Road. I was half hoping that the doctor’s office wouldn’t still be open at this time of the evening, but it was.
Willow Road led off one of the main routes, but it was surprisingly quiet, mews-like; the office had a small parking lot and several buildings grouped around it, including a dental office and a pharmacy. Everything was brightly lit up and the lot was full. Inside, everything was new and clean. Despite its being busy, the waiting area half-full, it all seemed calm and quiet and peaceful. In the corner was a small Christmas tree, twinkling lights and multicolored tinsel draped randomly around it.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist said as I got close to the desk. She actually smiled at me. I hadn’t been expecting that. She was young, petite, with a shiny bob of red hair.
“I was wondering if I could register as a patient,” I said.
“Of course,” she answered. “Hold on a moment, I’ll just get you the forms.”
I looked around at the waiting room. There was a corner set aside for children, with a bookshelf, and a big crate full of wooden toys. Three toddlers were steadily and purposefully removing everything from the box. An old man in a huge coat was asleep in the corner, his head resting back against the wall, mouth open to reveal a single tooth.
“Is he all right?” I said, when she came back.
“George? Oh, yeah, he’s fine. I’ll wake him up in a bit. He comes in here for a kip sometimes when it’s cold outside. Don’t worry, he’s not been waiting hours for an appointment or anything.”
She handed me a big brown envelope. “It’s not all forms. There’s a load of leaflets in there about all the clinics we run. Do you need to make an appointment now?”
“Oh. Should I?”
“Not if you’re okay. Often people only get around to registering when they’ve got something that they need to see the doctor for.”
I thought about it and wondered whether I would actually make it back here for an appointment unless I booked it now. “I think I do—need an appointment, I mean. Is it possible to see Dr. Malhotra?”
“Let’s see. Would you prefer to come after work?”
“Yes, if that’s possible.”
“Thursday at a quarter to seven? Would that do?”
“Yes, that would be fine. Thank you.”
“What name is it?”
“Cathy Bailey. Cathy with a C.”
She wrote out a card for me. “If you can bring the forms back before your appointment that would be great. If not, you can bring them with you on Thursday.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I could fill them in now, couldn’t I?”
I sat in the waiting room with a pen and the envelope on my knee as a makeshift support and filled it in. It was hard going. I didn’t want to think about my medical history, never mind write about it. But at least here, in this place, I could do it without falling apart. I sat next to George while he snored, and wrote about depression and anxiety and panic attacks.
I finished the forms and handed them back to the receptionist, made my way out into the dark street and headed back up to the noise and traffic. I fished in my pocket for my phone and sent a text.
S, I did