She cackled to herself while I waited anxiously to see if Christie would take offence. People quite often did with Shazz and she’d outdone herself this time.
But no.
Christie grinned. ‘I can see I’m going to have to educate you cis girls – that’s straight to you. And no, I wouldn’t have put it that way myself,’ she said, ‘no turkey baster involved. The girls were born with donor sperm.’
‘I might as well be a bloody lesbian,’ continued Shazz, ignoring any hint that she might not be the poster child for political correctness. Shazz doesn’t care who someone sleeps with or whether they’re gender fluid or celibate as long as they’re what she calls ‘good people’ and enjoy a bit of fun. ‘I mean, for all the action I’ve been getting, I could have turned gay and not even noticed. Not that I haven’t tried but the men out there – they run at the sight of a new baby. Since Raffie was born, I’m practically aborn-again virgin.’
One of Christie’s babies, Daisy, yawned a tiny baby yawn and we all sighed.
Sex means different things to different people. Shattering orgasms, babies or simply the comfort of another human being’s arms around you. Sex can but doesn’t always mean friendship. Once myself, Shazz and Christie joined forces, we had a friendship force field around us that gave the mostearth-shattering sex a run for its money.
We’re family, anall-woman village raising four children. I’d do anything for Shazz and Christie, because they’d do anything for me.
Finally, there’s a break in the traffic and I manage, with a sneakyfive-hundred-metre trip down a bus lane, to get to work on time. I work in a suburban dental and medical clinic, where there are three dentists and five doctors and a multitude of patients coming in and out all the time. I work in the medical section and our desks are in a hugeglassed-off area in reception. I spend a lot of time either on the phone or typing up doctors’ letters, arranging blood tests, keeping all thedoctor-patient communication running smoothly. It’s a nice place to work, and I get on really well with the other women who work in the reception area. The other benefit is that I can work part time; I do mornings and share my particular load with another staff member called Antoinette. Up to one o’clock everything is mine; after one o’clock, it’s hers. It might not be my true calling but it pays the bills. Ask any single mother and they’ll tell you job security is worth its weight in gold, and, most brilliantly, it means I can always be there to pick up Luke from school. Plus, working in such a big practice, you don’t necessarily get too close to the people who are coming in, in the same way as you would in a smaller surgery, which suits me just fine. Antoinette used to work for just one doctor and she says it was really difficult.
‘You get to know people and you see everything and you see their pain, and I just couldn’t do that anymore.’
‘Sounds terrible,’ I say. And I know I couldn’t do it.
I know my mother thinks thatJean-Luc’s death has made me hard: on the contrary, it’s made me soft, I merely manage to hide it because I can’t bear to go through anything like that again. So working here is perfect. I make appointments, type up letters, I’m kind to the people who come in and out, smile at their children. But above all, I do not have to get personally involved with their pain.
The morning’s busy and by one o’clock, I’m looking forward to belting out of here and racing home via the supermarket where I’ll get some stuff for dinner. The last patient is ared-haired woman who beams as she pays and tells me how lovely Dr Lee is, and how he must be so nice to work for.
‘He is,’ I assure her as I pass over the credit card machine. In my pocket, I feel my mobile phone vibrate with a text message. When my patient is gone, there’s nobody left in reception so I quickly check my phone.
And laugh out loud.
Shazz has sent me a WhatsApp with a selection of photos from her current favourite dating website, which is not quite Tinder but has certainly a hint of its cheeky,straight-to-the-point sexiness.
Yes?texts Shazz beside the picture of one man who obviously owns his own gym or else does not have a job, such is the beauty of his muscles, all on view as he is not wearing a shirt. He has definitely oiled himself up for the photo.
I call her. ‘Is he interested inkite-surfing and a girlfriend who’seasy-going and loves sexy clothes?’I ask.
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘I’m a medical secretary. I’m wearing sedate navy trousers, ballet pumps, a navy sweater and you think you can pimp me out to Mr Fun Lovin’ Leather Trousers...?’
We both laugh.
‘How do you know he’s wearing leather trousers?’ she asks.
‘Intuition.’ Just so I don’t sound like Ms Never Having Fun Ever, I add: ‘One day, if we can find me a clever, kind, wise man who happens to be handsome, then sure: I could date him but –’
‘Idris Elba’s taken,’ sighs Shazz. ‘There’s no hope for you now.’
‘Pity, that,’ I agree.
I finish tidying up, ready to leave, when Laoise, one of my colleagues, sidles over to my desk looking as if she’s about to faint. She’s pale at the best of times but now looks so blanched, it’s scary.
‘Laoise? Are you all right?’ I ask, leaping up and steering her to my seat.
‘No,’ she whispers. ‘Bea, I went in to drop some letters to Dr Lee, and he was on the phone. I don’t think he even noticed me. He can be very obtuse sometimes.’
I wait patiently for her to get to the point.
‘But whoever he was talking to, it was about the practice. They’re thinking of downsizing when Dr Ryan retires and breaking up the practice. Dr Lottie wants to work with a woman’s menopause clinic, so she’d go too. Dr Lee was talking about some premises they need to look at. A smaller one. I stayed for as long as I could – he was facing the window, you know the way he does when he’s on a call, so he honestly didn’t notice me. They won’t need so many staff, Bea – our jobs –’
I feel an instant clenching of my guts as both my frontal cortex and my intestinal brain do inner shrieks of horror. It’s not called thegut-brain axis for nothing.
