Broken Heart Syndrome, page 11
Lou looked up at me innocently. ‘Well you didn’t get any more complaints did you?’
‘I guess not,’ I mumbled, although I wasn’t altogether sure that Tom had approved of my transformation. The first time he saw me after Lou had dressed me up he looked almost angry. At least these days I didn’t have to worry about coming up to his ridiculous standards. Work was a lot more relaxed now. I was happy just beavering away on the wards, biding my time until I could start as a part-time registrar in palliative care and get my cake business off the ground, finally.
Dr Williams was happy as long as all the ward work was done and I could sketch to my heart’s content in meetings with no fear of being picked on.
I avoided Tom at all costs. The lengths I went to were slightly ridiculous. I’d hidden under a drugs trolley, spent lunchtimes watching Neighbours with Mrs Jones, and I even ducked into the morgue on one occasion when I saw his team coming.
Rosie was happy as a clam and thought that Tom was the bees’ knees. Apart from the obvious benefits of working with some male eye candy, she waxed lyrical on what a wonderful, patient teacher he was, and how much time she was getting to spend in the cath lab.
‘I know,’ said Lizzy a little too brightly. ‘Let’s crack open a bottle and start with hair and makeup instead.’ I saw her give Lou a significant look and she swept out of the bedroom to track down the wine and some glasses.
Lou smiled, grabbed the scrap of material out of my hands, and sat me down firmly on the stool in front of my dressing table.
‘Okay,’ she chirped. ‘I’m on makeup. Rosie, you’re on hair.’
Ugh! Torture.
‘Ow!’ I squeaked as Rosie tore the brush through my hair. ‘Why have you guys decided tonight is Frankie abuse night?’
‘Just humour us okay?’ Lou cajoled, as Lizzy came back into the room and deposited a large glass of white wine in front of me. I took a healthy gulp, thinking that I needed it for its anesthetic properties alone.
‘Soooo,’ Lizzy drew out. ‘What’s the deal with you and Mr Hotty Hoterson Frankie?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Oh, you know. A certain heart doctor, carrying you in his arms, then holding onto your hand for dear life.’
I snorted. ‘As if anything would ever go on between me and him.’
‘Why not?’ asked Rosie. ‘Don’t you fancy him?’
I turned my head to look at her, trying to gauge if she was serious.
‘Um…I think I would have to be blind not to fancy him Rosie.’
‘Or a lesbian,’ Lizzy put in. ‘Although if anyone could make me swap sides it would be that man.’
I rolled my eyes.
‘Then what do you mean Frankie?’ Rosie continued. She seemed genuinely confused.
‘Well, firstly, he hates me. Secondly, he’s so out of my league it’s not even funny, and thirdly, did I mention he hates me?’ I snapped, tired of this pointless conversation.
‘I don’t think he hates you Frankie,’ Rosie replied, ‘and what do you mean out of your league?’
I stared at her blankly.
‘I think we both know what I mean Rosie,’ I said. Why did everyone feel the need to pretend?
‘What?’ she asked. Honestly why was she pushing this? I decided not to answer verbally and just shrugged.
‘Frankie doesn’t think she’s anything special,’ Lou announced and I wanted to melt into the seat. I knew the drill here, out would come the false assurances, words of encouragement. It was all so predictable. I sometimes wished that I could give people a truth serum and get some sense out of them. Instead of ‘he dumped you because he’s a dick’ it would be ‘you were probably boring him’ and instead of ‘of course those jeans look great on you’ it would be ‘eeek! Watch out for your muffin-top.’
I was used to these false compliments but I had to admit that Rosie’s acting skills were better than the average.
‘B-but you’re beautiful,’ she said in a shocked voice. I shrugged again and made a dismissive noise.
‘You won’t convince her, there’s no point trying,’ said Lou, sighing as she brushed on what seemed an alarming amount of eye shadow over my lids.
The conversation thankfully moved on after that to where Lizzy and her partner Harriet were going to buy sperm from. Apparently you could get some from Norway where you were allowed to see a picture of the guy. You could just buy it over the Internet and then turkey-baste yourself. I listened with rapt attention thinking that this might be essential information for me. If I did ever wanted to breed at least it could be with an attractive Scandinavian.
‘He watches you,’ Rosie suddenly blurted out, interrupting the conversation. She was looking straight at me. ‘Tom I mean,’ she continued, ‘he’s always watching you. I noticed it before I was on his team. At the meetings, his eyes are always on you.’
‘I-’ I tried to interrupt.
‘And he asks about you,’ she told me. ‘He asks Ash and I about you all the time. He tries to make light of it, like he’s just making conversation, but he always looks really intense when we answer, like he’s trying to absorb every tiny detail he can.’ Okay well I would admit that was weird but still.
‘Probably hoping I don’t complain about him, watching his back or feeling guilty for how he treated me whilst I worked for him,’ I explained, shrugging again and taking another huge slug of wine. Somehow, despite the goodly amounts of alcohol I was consuming my glass always seemed to be full. Odd.
*****
‘I can’t believe that I’m tearing this wop,’ I muttered in Lou’s ear. My body was feeling uncoordinated as I teetered in the heels that the girls had demanded I wear.
I felt great.
A curious warmth was suffusing my body and making me feel invincible.
Lou giggled, ‘S’not tearing wop it’s wearing top you ganker,’ she slurred.
It was the cardiology night out. The girls had finished with my hair and makeup and I had been forced into the barely-there top. It was a shimmery grey and seemed to be held up by only by a tiny thin string behind my neck, leaving my back practically bare. Black trousers and sky-high silver heels completed the look. I always found heels tricky to negotiate but tonight they seemed to be harder to manage than usual.
Thank God I wasn’t drunk.
The entire cardiology department had gone out to dinner at a local tapas restaurant. I’d managed to outmaneuver Tom yet again, making sure that Rosie and I were ensconced firmly in amongst the nurses and cardiac physiologists at the opposite end of the table from most of the consultants. As there was a mess night out that night, we had all decanted to a cocktail bar to join the rest of the hospital after dinner, and it was there that I was leaning up against the bar with Lou.
‘Sperm or ferrets,’ I asked as I grabbed Lou’s arm on the bar.
‘Whatsat?’ she slurred.
‘I could either buy some sperm from Norway or start buying ferrets to keep me company in my old age,’ I replied, attempting a serious expression, slightly spoilt when I missed my mouth with my cocktail glass. Lou looked intently at me for a moment, almost like she was having trouble focusing on my face.
‘Ferrets’ smell,’ she said sagely. ‘I once went on a home visit to a lady’s house with ferrets and believe me they stink.’
‘A con.’
‘But they do kill rabbits.’
‘Sorry Lou, but I think that’s another con.’
‘What the hell are you two on about?’ Dylan had drawn up next to us at the bar and to my annoyance I noticed that he was served immediately by the female bar staff. He studied us closely after taking a swig of his beer. ‘Oh shit,’ I heard him mutter under his breath.
‘Finally!’ Lou cried as she put in our order. Five shots of tequila were slammed down in front of us. Lou screeched and frantically signaled Lizzy and Rosie over.
‘Got you one too Dildo,’ she informed him with a sweet smile. Dylan looked exasperated.
‘Lou, you’re off your face. Got to be honest with you, I don’t think downing shots at this point is the best idea,’ he told her.
‘Pah!’ she replied lifting her shot and indicating for me to do the same. One of our favourite films was ‘The Long Kiss Goodnight’. Anyone who’s seen that film knows that it features the absolute, hands down, coolest way in history to drink a shot. Lou and I had spent many a wasted hour learning this unbelievably useless skill, but it did mean that we looked awesome drinking shots (in our humble opinion).
In unison we both put the shot to one cheek, rolled it across to our mouth, downed it and rolled it to the other cheek, dropping the glass into the other hand. Unfortunately the coolness factor of this was always limited owing to our inability not to collapse in fits of giggles after we had completed the maneuver.
I caught sight of Dylan and saw he was shaking his head at us but still throwing back the shot, and then my eyes were drawn over his shoulder. Tom was standing with Cassie, his arm was draped casually around her shoulders, but his eyes were fastened on me. He wasn’t looking at us with amused exasperation like Dylan. There was no smile on his face and he seemed weirdly intense. Maybe Cassie and him were arguing?
No, seemed she was still smiling up at him.
Lucky cow.
Anyhoo.
‘More tequila,’ I cried, slamming my hand down on the bar, ‘and ferrets!’ I added.
Lucky for us we had managed to attract the attention of the one male bartender, who was more than happy to refill our shot glasses. After a brief tussle with Dylan who had decreed our drunkenness out of hand (which I thought was rich coming from him), the two of us managed to down a couple more shots and moved to the dance floor.
In general I didn’t dance in public when sober. In the shower? Yes. Whilst cooking alone? Yes. In front of other people? Not so much. I was finding that after some tequila though it was a different story especially if some cheesy music was playing.
The four of us moved into our own little zone on the dance floor. Even when steaming (a rare occurrence in itself), I could never completely lose my inhibitions. My preferred mode of dance was a standard stationary shuffle/hip sway. Lou on the other hand is well known for pulling some serious shapes.
I was busy laughing at her, so I didn’t notice a large figure approaching me from behind until big meaty hands landed on my hips. Turning sharply I found myself face to face with an extremely worse for wear Mr Fletcher.
‘Hey princess,’ he breathed into my face. His breath smelt of beer and curry. Yuck. One of his hands snaked up my back and secured me to him. The other went into my hair and I could see he was zeroing in on my mouth. His eyes were bloodshot, and I could tell that he was pretty far-gone.
I strained back against his hands and turned my head, frantically avoiding his mouth and looking for Lou. Unfortunately Lou and the others were zoned out with the music, and Mr Fletcher had pulled me away from them, so no help there. I pushed at his shoulders and struggled in his arms some more, which I think in his drunken state he took as encouragement. His hand was now inside my top and pushing up to my chest. My struggles turned frantic and he tightened his grip, making it difficult for me to breath.
‘Get off!’ I wheezed as he dragged me further away from the others.
‘Come on princess, you’ve been teasing me for weeks,’ he said in my ear. His hand was about to touch my breast and I had just decided to knee him in the balls, when suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. I staggered back and looked up to see Tom holding both Mr Fletcher’s arms from behind.
‘What the-’ Mr Fletcher cried, struggling against Toms hands, only to be whipped around to face him.
‘Don’t you ever touch her again,’ Tom roared, his face a mask of fury.
‘You’re such a goddamn hypocrite Longley,’ Mr Fletcher sneered, twisting violently out of Tom’s grip and giving him a small shove on the shoulder. ‘You want in there as much as me,’ harder shove, ‘maybe more.’ Even harder shove. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at her. She probably already spreads for you anyway. You just don’t want me having your sloppy seconds.’ With that Mr Fletcher used both hands to shove Tom, sending him back on one foot. Despite all the provocation Tom didn’t resort to physical violence, which was impressive. That was until Mr Fletcher realized that he wasn’t going to get round Tom to me and muttered, ‘stupid slut’ under his breath.
Crack. Tom punched him in the face. He teetered, and then fell to the ground, taking a couple of people in the crowd down with him. Tom stood over him in what looked like frozen horror. On the floor Mr Fletcher shook his head as if to clear it, and his eyes seemed to lose their drunken haze. He took Tom’s extended hand and got up onto his feet, rubbing his jaw. They considered each other for a moment, then, weirdly Mr Fletcher grinned.
‘One of you cardiology pussies finally punched me,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘About fucking time. I’ve been yanking your chain for years, glad to see one of you has some balls.’ He slapped Tom on the shoulder, ‘Good for you lad.’ Then he jerked his chin at me.
‘Later princess,’ he muttered jovially, and melted back into the crowd.
Tom turned to me, and before I could read the expression on his face someone grabbed my hand. Feeling a bit skittish after the Mr Fletcher incident, I prepared to jerk it away, but stopped when Lou slurred in my ear.
‘Wassgoinon?’ she was leaning heavily against me and I teetered on my heels. She looked up at Tom and smiled her drunken wonky smile. ‘Thomas Gankface Longley!’ she shouted at him, then collapsed into a fit of giggles. This unfortunately unbalanced me even further, but before I could go crashing down to the floor one of Tom’s strong hands grabbed my elbow. As he was attempting to lead us both through the crowd, Dylan drew up next to us. Things were starting to seem a little fuzzy round the edges, and my feet were suddenly killing me.
‘I’m tired,’ I announced, leaning heavily into the mountain of warmth conveniently holding me up. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Dylan had led Lou away. She was making wild hand gestures and poking him in the chest but he kept his grip on her, wearing an expression of extreme patience.
‘Ferrets I think, not sperm,’ I decided as things started to feel more and more hazy.
‘Ferrets?’ I heard my warm mountain ask.
‘They kill rabbits,’ I explained. ‘And you don’t have to go to Norway to get ‘em.’
‘Norway?’ I thought my warm mountain was shaking slightly with laughter at this point. Strange.
‘Yes, Norwegian sperm,’ I explained. ‘They send you pictures.’
‘Of sperm?’
I snorted, ‘Course not.’ Jeepers, this mountain was odd, who wanted pictures of sperm? Suddenly cold hit my face and I realized that the warm mountain had brought me outside. There was an arm around my waist semi-supporting and semi-carrying me.
I turned my head and looked up. My vision was filled with Tom’s gorgeous face. I’d completely forgotten that he was the one who extricated me from the crowd in the bar. Luckily, I was in the glorious land of warm fuzziness, so instead of being mortified I burst out laughing.
‘Thomas G. Longley!’ I declared through my laughter.
‘Um…okay,’ he replied slowly as we came to a stop by his van.
Everything felt unreal and blurry. I leaned heavily against the side of the van as he got the passenger door open.
‘I can’t feel my feet,’ I told him as he turned to me. I started to feel a bit panicky. ‘Oh crumbs, why can’t I feel my feet?’ I lifted one then the other and tried to reach them but this only resulted in me staggering to the side. I heard Tom chuckle again and narrowed my eyes at him. ‘This is serious. I need my feet. Everyone needs feet,’ I screwed up my face, ‘No, no, that’s not true. Some people don’t have feet and they manage. That blade runner guy doesn’t have feet, but then he did kill his girlfriend. Although that probably didn’t have anything to do with his feet.’
Chapter 14
Viking marauder
Tom looked over at his passenger seat. Frankie had taken approximately two seconds to pass out once he got the van going, but not before she had postulated wildly about Oscar Pistorius’ homicidal tendencies and lack of feet. He’d thought the ferrets and sperm conversation was bizarre but it had nothing on her feet theories.
Her head was turned towards him and her dark hair was partially covering her face. Thick lashes cast shadows over her cheeks, and she was so still that only the slight movement of her chest with her breathing gave any indication that she was still alive. She looked peaceful. Perfect. So beautiful it almost hurt to look at her and not be able to touch her.
He was shocked when he first saw her tonight. He’d never seen her wear anything close to as revealing as that scrap of silver parading as a top. No doubt Lou had been at work again. Seeing Frankie with smoky eyes and her back almost completely exposed was startling.
One of the registrars had muttered, ‘There’s one for the wank bank boys,’ as she weaved through the tables in the restaurant, giggling with Rosie, her eyes over-bright. He’d glared at the guy, silencing him, but the ridiculous thing was, that although he wanted to rip that guy’s head off, he knew he was being a hypocrite.
Mental pictures of Frankie in various states of undress and positions had been floating through his mind, torturing him for years now. After working with her this had intensified, and he had discovered that he had a wildly active imagination.
Even though he barely knew her at Uni, what he did see of her he had liked. A lot. So much that her face and body had been stored in his memory banks, festering, and gradually taking over his subconscious fantasy life. This had the unfortunate effect of causing him to compare every woman he was with to her impossible ideal.
Cassie, unfortunately, was just one in a long line of women he had used to try and erase her image. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Cassie, he did. She was gorgeous in a tall, blond and curvy kind of way. Not to mention fun to be with. But she didn’t have deep brown, soulful eyes. She wasn’t petite with only subtle curves. Her hair didn’t fall down her back in glorious shining, dark sheets. She didn’t have a soft musical laugh, a dry wit, or the ability to light up a room when she smiled. In short she wasn’t Frankie.
