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  The smell of chips was wafting from the vent of the pub kitchen, and I breathed in hungrily, my tummy rumbling. A small sailboat was heading peacefully towards the mouth of the Exe and as it drifted past, I wondered if sailing might be something Alex would like to try. I pictured his reedy body swamped by a lifejacket, helming carefully while staring at the horizon through his thick, bottle-end glasses, and as ever when I thought of Alex bravely stepping out of his comfort zone, I got a lump in my throat. He’d had such a shit time of it recently. Maybe it could be something we would learn to do together, as a family.

  Glancing across the river to the crumbling, rust-red sandstone banks on the other side, a fresh, welcome breeze lifted my hair. I was so glad that last interview was over and it seemed I was no longer damaged goods. Closing my eyes, I replayed the performance of my barrister, Charles, for the hundredth time; summing up to the jury, validating me:

  ‘Those who run the Royal Grace hospital would have you believe my client was an unstable, spurned woman, hell-bent on destroying a fellow male surgeon who’d the audacity to rebuff her affections. The truth of the matter was Ms Julia Blythe was illegally forced from her job amid a campaign of smears and intimidation. Why? Because she highlighted the unsafe practise of said male colleague… and he didn’t like that one little bit. He sank into the ranks of his ‘fraternity’ when Ms Blythe blew the whistle, whereupon they all opened fire.

  ‘She should have been praised, thanked and congratulated for her bravery. Instead, she was treated in the most heinous of ways: dead animals sent to her home, bloodied sanitary materials left in her office, suspended on the most spurious of grounds, excluded from theatre, which is known to be disastrous for a surgeon who relies on the constant practise of their skill-set to stay at the top of their game, as Ms Julia Blythe undoubtedly was.’

  He’d furiously removed his glasses at that point, as if it was all too ludicrous for words. I don’t know if it was a staged gesture or genuine.

  ‘All while her accusers continued to spread their lies in an attempt to discredit her, because they knew she was right. Julia Blythe did everything expected of her, yet this was her reward?’

  My skin started to hurt, and I opened my eyes again. Looking down, I saw blood under my fingernails. I’d been absently scratching the delicately scabbed eczema on my arm and wrist, which had flared up. Mentally revisiting what had happened ahead of today’s meeting; planning how I’d explain about the devastating time I’d had – if asked by my prospective new colleagues – had proven unsettling.

  But it was done now. Hamish and Tan understood. They’d been kind. It was time to leave my painful experiences behind, if this relocation was going to be a success. I didn’t want what had happened to play any further part in my life. I didn’t want it to have any more power over me.

  ‘Mum?’

  I turned and Alex was standing uncertainly behind me. ‘I’m done.’

  ‘Me too.’ I held out my arm to shepherd him back to the car.

  We paused outside the new house once we’d driven round, cut the engine and listened to the sleepy sound of buzzing lawnmowers and seagulls calling overhead. Ewan sighed happily and took my hand as we looked up at the last of the afternoon sun catching the upstairs windows, firing them golden and lighting the foiled estate agent’s logo on the ‘Sale Agreed’ sign.

  ‘That’s my bedroom there, the one on the right, isn’t it?’ Alex leant through the gap between us and pointed up at it.

  ‘Yes.’ I winked at him.

  ‘And mine is the middle one?’ Cass asked.

  ‘Certainly is,’ Ewan agreed, and she smiled suddenly.

  ‘I like it.’

  That was it. Decision made. I was taking the job.

  We were ready to be happy again.

  Two

  Nathan

  I took the stairs rather than the lift – two at a time, my footsteps echoing pleasingly – and passed a husband and wife on their way down, looking lost and clutching a bulging plastic bag full of food: visitors. Sure enough, they asked me where Hampton ward was. They were at completely the wrong end of the hospital and two floors higher than they needed to be, so I set them right. The wife blushed and shot me a furtive last look over her shoulder as, whistling, I carried on up to the office and they descended into the bowels of the building.

  I could pretend I’m not aware of the effect my looks have on women, but that would be ludicrous when I’ve spent most of my adult life taking full advantage of it. I’m not of Spanish or Italian descent, contrary to popular assumption. My mother is American, my father English and there’s a touch of Scots in the background. I only appear swarthy when I’ve got a tan… at which point I will gleefully ham it up. Not so much now as when I was a bored junior doctor, when for my own amusement, I used to put on a heavy accent in the manner of Antonio Banderas. I got caught out eventually, of course, when I simply forgot to do it one day and was rightly told to pack it in.

  It would also be disingenuous to moan that looking this pretty means I’m never taken seriously; I couldn’t give a fuck. I’ve heard patients call me Dr Fit – or suggest I’m giving them all sorts of fever – on the phone to family when they think I can’t hear. I don’t care; it means I get away with a lot more than most colleagues because people are too busy staring at me. I stopped bothering with full explanations of patients’ surgery years ago; they weren’t listening. I realised all I had to do was sweep into the room, smile, flirt a bit, tell them they looked amazing and that I really enjoyed doing their op – because who doesn’t like to feel special? No hassle, no tedious questions… just in, out, on to the next.

  ‘Afternoon!’ I smiled at the new breast care nurse – whose name I couldn’t quite remember: Maeve? Maura? better not risk it – as she approached down the other side of the corridor, clutching an oversized envelope. ‘Hot enough for you?’

  She stared at me like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

  ‘Outside.’ I nodded at the window as I passed her. ‘It’s warm out there today.’

  ‘Oh! Yes – very!’

  ‘Have a nice weekend.’ I laughed, knowing she was checking out my arse.

  ‘You too, Mr Sloan!’

  I was still smirking as I breezed into the office to find Hamish sitting inches from his whirring desk fan, eyes closed, forehead shiny and cheeks like blanched tomatoes. Tan was busily sorting through some papers, the sleeves on his otherwise spotless white shirt rolled up.

  ‘Hello children!’ I flopped down into my chair and put my feet up on the desk. ‘Hamish, you look as hot as a dog. Busy day?’

  ‘Very.’ He eyed me. ‘You, on the other hand, look fresh as a daisy.’

  ‘I’ve been on the RIB this afternoon,’ I confessed. ‘I only had a couple of ops at the Goldtree this morning, so I thought I’d pop down to the marina and bounce around the bay for a bit. Beautiful day for it. You should come next time.’

  ‘You’re not getting me in that hairdresser’s motorboat, thanks.’

  ‘Too fast for you?’ I teased. ‘You stick to your sails then, yacht-boy. Anyway, how did you get on earlier? That’s really why I’m here. That and to see if you want to grab a quick beer on the way home?’

  ‘Can’t, unfortunately. Cecily’s mother is coming to stay for the weekend. It’s her ninetieth on Sunday.’ Hamish sighed. ‘So, I’ll be rushing home to listen to the television at ear-splitting levels and making endless cups of weak tea. By earlier, I assume you mean how was our chat with Julia Blythe, while you were busy tending to your privates?’

  I laughed as I settled back into my chair. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. So what’s she like?’ I waited, my eyes gleaming. When Hamish frowned and scratched his head, but said nothing, I turned to Tan instead. ‘Well?’

  ‘She’s one of those women you couldn’t describe as pretty…’ Hamish appeared to have collected his thoughts after all. ‘She’s got dark, straight hair. Very direct blue eyes, thin face. No tits or hips. Wouldn’t be surpris
ed if she’s a gym bunny; she looks the type. Not had any work done on herself at all, I don’t think. Shorter than I expected. Power suit. She’s attractive, I suppose, if you like that sort of thing.’

  I stared at him. ‘I know what she looks like, you fool. Although that was an alarmingly comprehensive precis. I mean, how did she play it?’

  ‘Oh. I see. Sorry.’ He hesitated again. ‘She was… polite, direct – but she told us she’d enjoy working here. It was obvious she really wants the job, which Tan practically offered her on the spot.’ He raised an eyebrow at Tan, who looked embarrassed and shrugged. ‘She’s very comfortable in her own skin. I spilt my coffee and she looked a little pained – just watched me clean it up while I slopped about under her nose. I imagine she makes a lot of people feel flustered. If I had to choose one word it’d be – crisp… or smug.’

  ‘I didn’t get that feeling at all,’ Tan cut in. ‘I thought—’

  ‘Aloof, brisk: there are two more,’ Hamish continued. ‘If she’s got a sense of humour, I’ve no doubt it will be very dry and terribly sophisticated.’ He rolled his eyes.

  I sat back, delighted. During her trial, I’d imagined Julia’s barrister telling her to look unapologetic, focused and driven at all times. When I’d watched her walk from court to a waiting car on TV, I’d wondered if the way she’d so confidently held herself might just be part of the performance, so to hear that she was the real deal and everything I’d hoped she be was intoxicating news. Well, well, well…

  ‘So you didn’t like her then?’ I asked Hamish, who began to fumble around in his pocket.

  ‘I didn’t warm to her, put it that way.’

  I considered that with interest. I’d read in more than one newspaper that Julia Blythe was ‘difficult’ – although that’s often a criticism levelled at women who don’t automatically smile. ‘Arrogant’ was another popular description of her; but might that not just be a professional woman simply too busy to indulge the worn-out anecdotes of her extremely dull and – evidentially in the case of the Royal Grace hospital – inept colleagues? Most men know when a woman isn’t ever going to be taken in by their ‘charm’, at which point they dismiss her as having a certain froideur – a la poor Hamish, forever the fat kid who never gets the girl – but I find that kind of woman’s refusal to accommodate mediocrity both refreshing and intriguing. So what if she wasn’t big on small talk? Personally, I loathe it; unless it’s entertaining – rare – or about me.

  Real life Julia Blythe sounded like a delicious amalgamation of Kristin Scott Thomas, Cate Blanchett, Tilda Swinton and Gillian Andersen. A grown-up, experienced woman with a cool and collected sexual allure. A proper challenge.

  ‘What’s her voice like?’ I asked. It would be unbearable to have perfection ruined by a pedestrian accent.

  ‘Her voice?’ Hamish looked up from his mobile phone. ‘Borderline posh. Why?’

  Lovely. I sat up, decided. ‘OK, so do we think we can make this work? The powers that be are going to plonk someone new in the team with us – we have no choice over that – but we can at least influence who we get lumbered with and Julia Blythe ticks the boxes for me; she can’t afford to rock any more boats. Tan,’ I pointed at him, ‘she gets your vote too?’

  ‘Of course she does. He thought she was very nice,’ Hamish cut in. ‘As I said, he got positively animated at one point.’

  Tan glanced at Hamish, then down at his desk. ‘Yes, I liked her.’

  ‘For the record, she wasn’t a horror.’ Hamish chucked his phone down and crossed his arms. ‘But I’m not sure you’re right, Nate. I don’t think she’s anyone’s fool, and I don’t think she’ll obediently keep her head down for one second.’ He looked at me pointedly. ‘You’re assuming her now-screwed CV means she’ll be meek, mild and choose to look away if she sees something she ought not to once she comes here. I worry she’ll do the exact opposite. There’s a real danger we might be biting off more than we can chew. It’ll be a bloody nightmare if we saddle ourselves with some trigger-happy rabid #metoo-er. What if she’s only too happy to snap on the surgical gloves and give the department a painful examination? Who knows what she might find?’

  ‘As usual you’re completely missing the point.’ I swung my legs round and got up, walking to the window to look out at the car park below, watching several cars searching fruitlessly for a space. ‘It’s precisely because she’s got that trigger-happy reputation that I want her here. The whole Royal Grace debacle was ridiculous. They all came out of it looking batshit, if you want my honest opinion, but the fact remains, she blew the whistle. You cannot blow it again in a completely different location without it looking like it might be you that’s the problem. She’s got form now – and that’s what makes her so useful to us.’ I turned to face them again. ‘I’m not suggesting we sit her down on the first day and tell her everything we like to do here; I’m simply saying should she open a cupboard, something a bit grubby tumbles out and she trots faithfully off to the management… we’ve got a compelling defence. We gently suggest making up bullshit about male colleagues is exactly what Julia Blythe likes to do; precisely why she had to leave her last job.’ I shrugged.

  ‘So to recap, given we have no choice that someone is going to be foisted on us, having her coming into the department – ready gift-wrapped in scandal – is far less of a threat than some unknown quantity. If she’s a bit up herself, so much the better. No one likes a know-it-all. However, I’m sure we can think of something to do to her once she’s here that will guarantee she holds her silence, if you’re really worried?’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Hamish was still sceptical. ‘You’re sure she hasn’t piqued your interest for some other reason?’

  ‘Well naturally, I’m also going to fuck her.’ I deadpanned and Hamish laughed. Tan winced miserably.

  ‘Oh Tanny!’ I sighed, heading back to my seat. ‘Come on, don’t look like that.’ I waited until he met my eye. ‘You’re right – I’m an insufferable arsehole, I’m sorry. Don’t be cross with me.’ I stuck my bottom lip out then winked at him before grinning.

  ‘She’s had a very difficult time.’ He spoke so quietly I struggled to hear him.

  ‘Well, I’m sure she has, but I still think it would be wise for me to at least check how big her balls really are?’

  Tan closed his eyes, and Hamish snorted.

  ‘Nathan, please,’ Tan began. ‘She—’

  ‘No one gives a toss what you think, Tan,’ Hamish interrupted. ‘Although, you’re not actually going to get involved with her, are you?’ He turned to me. ‘I don’t think it would be wise to muddy the waters. Better that you give this one a wide berth.’

  I gave him a bland smile. ‘If you say so.’

  He looked relieved. I saw no reason to break it to him that I had every intention of pursuing Julia Blythe, finding the crack in her armour and prising it open. ‘Honestly, you just need to think of her as an insurance policy. If it’s there, you don’t have to use it. That’s all this is about, I swear,’ I lied easily. ‘We need someone we can manoeuvre, nothing more.’

  ‘I’m not saying I don’t like the concept.’ Hamish looked at me and shook his head slowly. ‘You’re a clever old sausage, aren’t you?’

  ‘Stop it. You know I like a lot of praise. Am I better than you?’

  ‘You’re the best.’

  ‘And you’re not just saying that?’

  ‘Oh, shut up… go on then,’ he conceded. ‘Let’s give her our thumbs up.’

  ‘Excellent!’ I said cheerfully. ‘Because I think she’s perfect.’

  Back in the sultry, airlessness of my car, I undid the front windows but it barely made any difference at all, it was so hot. I searched on line for Julia Blythe, surgeon, pulling up some stills of her walking from court. In one, she had her hand outstretched in irritation, as if pushing the reporter away.

  I was going to relish conquering a woman who had brought a whole Trust to its knees. There was no sport to be had in picking off little
brown sparrows, fluttering around my head. Real seduction lay in something altogether more exotic than that. I sighed, leaning my head back, taking pleasure in the pleasingly lush green of the beech copse at the back of the car park against the very bright, deep blue of the almost-Mediterranean sky. Nothing was moving; there was no wind at all. It would be a long couple of months until the leaves started to fall, signalling Ms Blythe’s arrival at the hospital, but I was more than prepared to lie in wait at the foot of the tree for someone as special as her.

  *

  September

  Three

  Julia

  It was sod’s law that on my first on-call weekend at the new hospital, I was summoned halfway through dishing up Sunday lunch. I wiped my hands free of lamb fat, passed the carving knife to Ewan and hurried in to work, crossing the car park with a shiver. I’d misjudged the bright sunshine and blue skies from the warmth of my steamy kitchen. It was much colder outside than it looked. Driving in with bare arms meant my skin was unattractively mottled with goosebumps and my fingers almost stiff by the time I joined the rest of the trauma team; but it was nothing a little heat wouldn’t fix, unlike our poor casualty.

  The twenty-five-year-old girl we were assessing had accidentally severed her hand while trying to hack the stone from an avocado she was holding. She’d brought the large blade down towards it with force, missed and cut right through her palm. It was at least a clean cut, but also a surprisingly deep wound with tendons, nerves and the blood supply all affected.

  I quite enjoy the rare emergency surgery I get to do. The adrenaline is addictive – things can change very, very quickly – but there is also a pleasing simplicity and clarity to danger. You don’t have time to think about anything else. If you panic that’s it – someone loses their hand function forever.