Fallon was our leader, in a way. She was decisive and strong-willed, academically brilliant at the same time as dying her hair jet black and leading a heavy metal band – something she’d only given up when she’d left university and only because she didn’t have enough time to make all the rehearsals.
She loved with all her mended heart.
Out of all of us, Fallon’s heart condition had been the most serious. She’d had the most time spent in hospital, under the care of Carter’s father; she’d clocked up the most operations, the most check-ups. She’d also clocked up the most qualifications and the highest grades, a feature in newspapers about how well she’d done despite the odds and missing so much school.
She was also wild, skydiving, cliff jumping, riding a motorbike and racing cars. Toying with death because she said she jived with the Grim Reaper; he was always on her dance card.
“Please leave a calling card so we don’t think we have some weird stalker in future. If Harriet thought someone had been in without us knowing, she’d freak out.” This was true. Harriet was Fallon’s opposite in terms of risk taking.
“Noted. How’s Doctor Suave? You’re dodging talking about Harriet moving, so I thought we’d go onto another subject you want to avoid.” She sipped her wine. “How are you feeling about him being back? You’ve barely said anything about him.”
I looked at the menu even though I already knew what I was going to have. It was always the same here – cottage pie with veggies, home-made and comforting and predictable, perfect for a grim January night when I hadn’t seen daylight for at least three days.
“I don’t know how I feel. I haven’t worked it out yet.” It had taken me years to understand that I process emotions slowly. I wouldn’t always be able to name how I felt immediately, and sometimes I had to think through an event and work out based on my patterns of behaviour what I wanted my response to be, often versus what it should be. Fallon knew this. She specialised in trauma and emergency surgery and read situations like a first responder. She’d been talking to one of my dad’s cousins aboutjoining Doctors Without Borders, frontline work, but something was holding her back.
“Fair enough. Have you seen much of him?”
“I saw him about an hour ago.” I recounted the encounter, working out whether Carter had been much different than before he left to go back to America. “He seemed like him just - ” I paused, trying to work out what it was.
“Just what?” Fallon had never been the most patient.
“Like I was missing a big chunk of his narrative.” I pushed the menu away. “We need to order before the kitchen closes.”
Fallon shook her head and left her seat, not needing to ask what I was going to have.
Carter was making me nervous. I could identify that. He hadn’t given me any notice that he was coming back to London, which he knew would throw me. He hadn’t given me any chance to ask him questions and his reasons for coming back here were sketchy. There was no depth to them and information was missing. Deliberately.
That would make me nervous on its own, because I liked to have all the facts. Then I felt secure.
Fallon sat back down, putting a numbered flag on the table that’d seen better days.
“So? What conclusion have you come to?”
“He’s not telling me everything, but he doesn’t have to. I think he’s deliberately not gotten in touch before coming back.” It wasn’t that I didn’t like that – it was up to him what he told me – but it wasn’t like Carter. He wore his heart on his sleeve, was straightforward and usually easy to read. Which was possibly why I’d always liked him so much.
Fallon didn’t say anything. She’d have made a good cop, partly because she would let the other person fill a silence and somehow they’d spill their secrets, but also because she was fierce.
No one messed with her. Maybe a couple of men had tried but I doubted they’d come away unscathed.
“It feels weird seeing him again.” The words felt like a hole had been drilled in a dam.
“What does weird mean in this context?”
I rubbed at my thumb nail feeling the rough surface of it. “Nervous. Jittery.”
“Reverse it back, Rosie. If one of your teenage patients said that when they were describing how they felt about a boy, what would you think?”
“Either red flags or a crush, depending on the context – shit.” I felt heat start to burn my cheeks.
“Just for my amusement, is this how you used to feel when you saw Carter when you were fourteen? I remember something like that.”
“I remember you teasing me about fancying him.” I’d denied all of that because Carter was a friend, and should’ve beenlike a big brother, only he wasn’t related to me, and I’d never really thought about him as a brother. That would’ve been weird and wrong.
“Have you ever thought about you and Carter together? As intogethertogether?” Fallon, to her credit, wasn’t gloating.
“No. Not really, because he was my friend. He is gorgeous though.” More so now he was older. There was a peppering of grey at his temples, barely noticeable but different. He was broader, still obviously lifting weights, and his smile was still the same, reaching his eyes and making them crinkle.
“He is gorgeous. Smart. Kind.” Fallon smiled at the waiter who delivered our cutlery. “He always got you too.”
