“Are you okay?” Zoe asked when she spotted Marcy at the sink in the staff quarters, wincing as she held her bleeding hand under running water.
Marcy looked up, startled to see her. “Ehm, yeah. I think I’m fine,” she stammered, turning off the tap with her uninjured hand. She was about to reach for the paper towels, but Zoe stopped her and did it for her.
“Come here, let me see that.” She took her hand and carefully dabbed at it. “That looks like a deep gash. What happened?”
“I missed a nail in one of the old beams in the laundry room and ran my hand along it.”
“That’s unfortunate on your last day here,” Zoe said. Even though it was bleeding quite badly, it didn’t look serious enough to require professional medical attention.
“Yeah. Guess I was rushing to get the job over with.” Marcy took in a quick breath when Zoe put more pressure on the wound. “We have a first aid kit on site, I’ll go and get a dressing.”
“No need, we have some here too.” Zoe opened the cupboard above the sink and pulled out a red box.
“Don’t worry about me, I can do it myself,” Marcy said when Zoe took out an antiseptic wipe and beckoned for her to sit down on the bench in front of the lockers.
“No, you can’t. You’ll need two hands for this job and trust me, as a chef, I know what I’m doing. Keep the paper towel against it and hold your arm up while I grab something.” Zoe opened her locker and pulled a small pot out of her handbag.
“Vaseline?” Marcy frowned. “What good is that going to do?”
“It’s not Vaseline, I just recycled the empty pot. This is shepherd’s purse paste. I made it myself.”
“What are you, a witch or something?” Marcy asked, staring at the green goo. “I’m not sure if I want that on my open wound. I’d like to keep my hand; I kind of need it in my line of work.”
“Just trust me.” Zoe sat next to her and pulled Marcy’s hand onto her lap. She held it down firmly, ignoring her murmurs of protest; something about infection, gangrene and amputation. “This will hurt, but only for a couple of seconds.” She dabbed the wound with the antiseptic wipe, then carefully applied the paste onto the gash.
“Fuck, that hurts.” Marcy bit her lip. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“Absolutely positive; I’ve been using it my whole life and so has my mum. We still have all our limbs,” Zoe joked in an attempt to take Marcy’s attention away from the open wound. “Now, let’s get this dressing on.”
“You look like you know what you’re doing.” Marcy watched her wrap it around her hand with the ease and skill of a nurse before securing it.
“I work in a kitchen. Do you have any idea how many times a month we burn or cut ourselves?” Zoe pulled up the sleeve of her chef whites to reveal the scars on her right arm.
“Wow, you’ve got some impressive war wounds there.” Marcy trailed a finger over the inside of Zoe’s arm and wrist, but she quickly retracted it when Zoe shivered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine.” Zoe grinned and held up her middle finger.
“Hey, what’s that for?” Marcy asked with a chuckle.
“I’m not giving you the finger, I’m just showing it to you,” she said, bringing it closer.
Marcy studied her hand and gasped. “Oh, my God. It’s got a flat top. Did you cut off the tip?”
“Yeah. A couple of years ago when I was cutting a cassava. They tried to put the tip back on in A&E, but it wouldn’t catch, so I just had to wait for it to heal itself. I was on non-active duty for a month.”
“Jesus, that must have hurt. Any more scars you’d like to show me?”
“I have one on the inside of my thigh but it’s probably best to leave that one out of the show and tell.” Zoe winked playfully, simultaneously cursing herself for doing so. Was she flirting now? That had to stop this very minute. Just because Marcy had apologised didn’t mean they were in that ‘friends’ space. They were nothing more than acquaintances, and they didn’t even like each other.
“Hey, I don’t mind,” Marcy said with a mischievous look. “Feel free to show me the inside of your thigh any time.”
“Nah. Not now, not ever,” Zoe shot back at her with an eyeroll. “So, what about you?” she asked. “You’re a builder. If anyone should be covered in scars, it’s you. I’m surprised your fingernails are still intact.”
“I do know how to use a hammer properly. That’s kind of the point of being a builder.” Marcy tilted her head and shot Zoe an amused look. “Anyway, according to you I just ‘paint walls’,” she continued referring to one of Zoe’s recent insults. “Nothing dangerous about that.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you don’t just paint walls and if you did, that would be a very respectable profession too. Honestly, I’m very impressed with what you do.” Zoe backed away, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting and the fact that they were actually having an engaging conversation.
“You are?”
