St Matthew's Passion - By Sam Archer Page 0,33

Melissa taking one case individually each and then collaborating on the third, which needed two surgeons of their seniority. The atmosphere between them was relaxed, even companionable. There were no stolen looks over the tops of their surgical masks, no lingering silences pregnant with awkward meaning.

Melissa wasn’t on duty that night and, the theatre list over and a last visit to Accident & Emergency having yielded no new patients, she decided in view of her tiredness to leave work at five, a time most people in other lines of work would consider not early but standard. It was Christmas Eve, she had a few last-minute Christmas presents to buy, and hoped to catch the shops while they were still open. Melissa’s Christmas plans were to visit her parents on Boxing Day and stay for a few days. She had nothing planned for Christmas Day itself. At one point she’d wondered if something might come up, someone might be inclined to spend Christmas with her… but she mustn’t think about that. She’d decided to push all of that out of her mind, and she had to stick to her guns. The best thing to do, to keep herself from moping and brooding in her flat, was to come in to work tomorrow. There were bound to be trauma cases even on this of all days, and she’d welcome the distraction.

As she stepped out through the hospital doors into the icy street, Melissa saw a passing bus with an advertisement down the side. The advert was for an exclusive jewellery shop. She found herself wondering what Fin was going to do with the necklace she’d seen him buy, for her, he’d said. She supposed he’d return it for a refund.

The cold wind batted at her face as she walked quickly towards the Underground station, making her eyes tear up and stream. By the time she reached the Tube entrance and prepared to descend the escalator into the depths, the sobs were threatening to burst free from her chest.

Chapter Eight

‘Merry Christmas!’ yelled a man across the road, walking arm-in-arm with his wife or girlfriend. Fin glanced around, saw nobody about and concluded that the man was hailing him. He waved back.

‘You too!’

Fin felt momentarily touched that this complete stranger had decided to wish him well, without prompting. But there was something undeniably magical about the season, something that brought out simple kindness in people.

Or perhaps the man simply felt sorry for him, a solitary figure walking the streets on Christmas Day.

Fin tightened his coat about him against the chill and strode up the hill. It had been an easy drive across town to the north London suburb, with very little traffic on the roads. Feeling the urge to stretch his legs, he parked the Jaguar at the bottom of the hill and made his way up on foot.

He’d visited Catherine every Christmas Day for the last three years.

It was usually a melancholy time for him. This year, the melancholy was mixed with intense shame, and guilt, over what had transpired between him and Melissa. What he’d allowed to happen, and how he’d handled it. But, as he’d decided during his midnight walk along the Thames, he was not going to let the feelings grow any stronger, still less dictate his actions for him.

Another reason he liked to walk up the hill, apart from the exercise it gave him, was that there was a flower seller halfway up. Even today, at Christmas, she was plying her trade. She beamed at him as he approached the stall, recognising him from countless visits before.

‘The usual, Mr Finmore-Gage?’

‘I think I’d like something a little different today, Mrs Patel, seeing as it’s Christmas. Something more elaborate.’

Fin was the first to admit he didn’t have much of an eye for which colour flowers went with which. Mrs Patel helped him put together a bouquet he found pleasing, one he thought Catherine might like.

Flowers in hand, he set off once more, and reached the wrought-iron gates.

The cemetery was largely deserted. Later on it would fill up, Fin knew, once people had enjoyed the rituals of gift-giving and dining with their existing loved ones and came to pay their respects to those who’d passed on. But for now, there was only the occasional visitor visible here and there amid the beautifully maintained lawns, mostly solitary people like Fin himself, though the majority were much older than him. Fellow widowers and widows.

Fin trod the familiar paths, as he’d done approximately once a