Okay. This is about my pride and dignity, now. I can’t give up. I yank myself up onto the branch and, to the right of me, I spot a foothold, which helps me push my weight up. One more push, and I wrap my hands around the branch above my head. Just when it feels like my lungs can’t take anymore, I find myself outside her window.
“You did it,” she smiles.
“Did you ever doubt me?”
She holds her hand out, and I accept it, leaning towards the windowsill and sitting down. I slip into her bedroom, and she closes the window behind me.
“Welcome tomyhumble abode,” she says. “And this really is humble – unlike yours.”
“I’d like a full tour,” I say, stepping closer to her and grabbing her waist.
“It won’t take long.”
“Lead the way.”
“Okay,” she says, pulling slowly out of my grasp and taking me by the hand. “This is my room. It’s basically exactly the same as when I was a kid,” she says, leading me outside and into the living room. “Dad split the two floors in half, and I took the upstairs. This is the living room, the kitchenette is over there, and then that’s the bathroom. End of tour,” she says, smiling.
I look around me, taking a few steps into the living room. I head over to a bookcase, overflowing with dozens of books. I study their titles, not understanding a thing, but I’m sure it’s something to do with medicine. Then I turn back towards her, as she stands back, embarrassed. She’s wearing a pair of shorts and a shirt that saysFuture doctoracross the chest. The word ‘future’ is underlined.
“Casey?” I ask. “How come you never became a doctor?”
“Do you really want to talk about that now?”
“I want to talk about everything with you,” I respond, feeling the pressure rise in my chest.
“There isn’t much to tell,” she says, heading towards the fridge and producing two beers. She opens them both, hands me one, then sits down on the sofa. I sit next to her, and she rests her legs over mine, so natural and spontaneous that it makes me smile.
“Life, choices…you know how it goes.”
“But you really wanted it.”
“Didn’t you want to play rugby? But then you found yourself modelling,” she says, sipping at her beer.
“Right now, we’re talking about you. I want to know what happened in those eight years. I want to know everything.”
Casey sighs and puts her beer down on the table in front of us.
“I really wanted to be a doctor,” she begins hesitantly. “I worked so hard, I got good grades, and I started to specialise. Paediatrics was my first choice.”
I breathe slowly, trying to dull the pain spreading through me.
“When I was in my second year, Dad got ill.”
She doesn’t look at me, her empty gaze avoiding mine.
“The treatment was expensive, and took a really long time,” she continues, still uncertain. “I took a year out to look after him. Thankfully, the insurance money kept us going, but after a while, that started to run out.”
I reach across and squeeze her hand, which is resting on her leg, as if I needed something to grip onto.
“Once he started to get better, they told him to go into early retirement.”
“What?” I ask, my voice raising in disbelief.
“He wasn’t the same anymore. He’d got old.”
“There are coaches out there who are a lot older than your dad.”
“They replaced him. They didn’t expect him to come back.”
