had a huge belly that strained the cotton shirt he was wearing and sat over the waistband of the brown corduroys. Despite his girth he seemed peculiarly light-footed, and was happy leaping up from the sofa to go and select some more CDs from Stuart’s collection when we’d looked through the first handful.
“Stuart, dear boy, you don’t have any carols.”
“See if there are any on TV,” Stuart called back.
“I must admit I don’t have any carols either,” I said.
“Oh, that’s such a shame. I don’t feel at all Christmassy if I haven’t any carols.” He flicked through the channels until he found some choirboys warbling away, their mouths angelic circles, their eyebrows somewhere up in their hairlines.
My cheeks were starting to feel flushed. I’d only had half a glass of wine.
“How’s the shoulder?” Alistair called.
“Better. On the mend.”
He leaned over me conspiratorially. “Did he tell you what happened?”
“Just that he got kicked in the shoulder by a patient.”
“Ah, you didn’t get the full story, then. I might have known. He’s a bit of a hero, our Dr. Richardson. He got himself between a patient who was getting aggressive, and a nurse. He wrestled the man to the floor—”
“He’s exaggerating,” Stuart said, suddenly appearing with the wine bottle and topping up our glasses.
“—and subdued him single-handedly until help arrived.”
I looked at Stuart.
“It’s not usually that bad,” he said. “Most of the patients I see are just too miserable to move. I don’t often get violent ones.”
Alistair raised his eyebrows. I looked from one of them to the other.
“Anyway, Al, that’s enough about work. I don’t think Cathy wants to hear all the horrible details, do you?”
“Did he tell you about his award?”
“No,” I said.
Stuart made a noise of disgust and went back to the kitchen.
“He’s been awarded the Wiley Prize for the research he’s done into treating depression in young people. He’s the first UK-based psychologist to get it. We’re ever so proud of him in the department. All right, all right. I’ll shut up about it now. I knew you wouldn’t have told her, though, Stuart, that’s why I had to say something.”
“Do you work together, on the same ward?” I asked.
“Oh, no, not anymore. I work at the Center for Anxiety Disorders and Trauma. I’m in a different building. Stuart does the depression and mood-disorder clinics, as well as working on the crisis ward. He started off with me though. Absolutely brilliant guy.”
“I can hear you,” Stuart said from the kitchen.
“I know you can, dear boy, that’s why I’m saying such nice things.”
Alistair went back to looking at the glorious interior of the chapel of King’s College, Cambridge, and I went to check if Stuart needed any help with the dinner.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Nope, it’s all under control.”
Eventually he put me in charge of laying the table, although it was a small table for two, never mind three. I opened another bottle of wine, since the first one seemed to be empty. Alistair had brought some crackers, so I put one on each of the place mats, then I went to sit with Alistair again.
Finally, when I was about fainting with hunger and the tempting smells had nearly got the better of me, Stuart said, “It’s ready.”
Dinner was amazing. Stuart had cooked a haunch of venison in a rich plum gravy, with vegetables and roast potatoes, roast parsnips and Yorkshire puddings. The meat was meltingly velvety-delicious. The wine we were drinking was making me feel warm, and more than a little drunk.
We pulled our crackers and laughed at the appalling jokes, we drank more wine and finally had our dessert at about six in the evening, by which time we were all completely stuffed full of food. Alistair had seconds of everything, eating and chewing while Stuart and I looked at each other and smiled as though we had some private joke.
I made Stuart sit on the sofa while Alistair and I did the dishes, although he didn’t stay there. A few minutes later he came and sat at the kitchen table and watched us, joining in the conversation while I told Alistair all about the happy world of pharmaceuticals and how I was busy recruiting warehouse staff for the new year. It all sounded hopelessly dull compared to the frightening world of mental health wards, but they still listened. Stuart carved some more of the venison and wrapped it into a tinfoil parcel for Alistair to take home.
When everything was tidied away I made a pot