TWELVE
OLIVIA COATES-CLARK STRAIGHTENED up and indicated to a nurse to wipe her forehead in an attempt to get rid of an annoying tickle that had been irritating her for some minutes. ‘Is it me, or is Theatre hotter than usual this morning?’
‘I haven’t noticed,’ Kay, the anaesthetist, answered as she kept an eye on the monitors in front of her. ‘Sure you’re not stressing about tonight, Olivia?’
‘Me? Stress?’ Olivia grimaced behind her mask. She was a control freak; of course she stressed. ‘Okay, let’s get this second implant inserted so we can bring our girl round.’
‘So everything’s good to go for the gala fundraiser?’ Kay persisted.
‘Fingers crossed,’ Olivia muttered, refusing to think about what could go wrong. Her list of requirements and tasks was complete, neat little ticks beside every job and supplier and by the name of every attendee, including the seeing eye dog coming.
‘I bumped into Zac yesterday. He’s looking forward to catching up with everyone.’ Kay’s forced nonchalance didn’t fool her.
‘I’m sure everyone feels the same.’ The anaesthetist had hit on the reason for Olivia feeling unnaturally hot. Zachary Wright. Just knowing he’d be at the function she’d spent weeks organising made her toes curl with unwanted anticipation. Not to mention the alien nervousness. ‘Zac,’ she sighed into her mask. The one man she’d never been able to delete from her mind. And, boy, had she tried.
‘You need more mopping?’ the nurse asked.
‘No, thanks.’ That particular irritation had gone, and she’d ignore the other—Zac—by concentrating on supervising the plastic surgery registrar opposite her as he placed the tissue expander beneath the pocket under Anna Seddon’s pectoralis major muscle on the left side of her chest wall.
The registrar had supported Olivia as she’d done the first insertion of an expander on the right side, watching every move she made, listening to every word she said, as though his life depended on it. Which it did. One mistake and she’d be on him like a ton of bricks. So far he was doing an excellent job of the second breast implant. ‘Remember to make sure this one’s placed exactly the same as the first one. No woman is going to thank you for lopsided breasts.’ This might only be the first stage in a series of surgeries to reconstruct Anna’s breasts but it had to be done well. There was no other way.
The guy didn’t look up as he said, ‘I get it. This is as much about appearances and confidence as preventing cancer.’
‘Making a person feel better about themselves is our job description.’ Her career had evolved along a path of repairing people who’d had misadventures or deforming surgeries. But she didn’t knock those specialists working to make people happier in less traumatic circumstances. Everyone was entitled to feel good about themselves, for whatever reasons; to hide behind a perfect facade if they needed to.
For Olivia, looking her absolute best was imperative: a confident shield that hid the messy, messed-up teenager from the critical world waiting to pounce. Making the most of her appearance hadn’t been about attracting males and friends since she was twelve and the night her father had left home for the last time, taking his clothes and car, and her heart. Leaving her to deal with her mother’s problems alone.
Kay glanced down at the table. ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a perfectly healthy woman deliberately have her breasts removed, but I still can’t get my head round it. I don’t know if I’d have the guts to have the procedure done if I didn’t already have cancer.’
Olivia understood all too well, but … ‘If you’d lost your grandmother and one sister to the disease, and your mother had had breast cancer you might think differently.’ Bad luck came in all forms.
‘I’d do whatever it took to be around to watch my kids grow up,’ one of the nurses said.
‘You’re right, and so would I.’ Kay shivered. ‘Still, it’s a huge decision. You’d want your man on side, for sure.’
‘Anna’s husband’s been brilliant. I’d go so far as to call him a hero. He’s backing her all the way.’ A hero? If she wasn’t in Theatre she’d have to ask herself what she was on. Heroes were found in romance stories, not real life—not often anyhow, and not in her real life. Not that she’d ever let one in if one was on offer.
As Olivia swabbed the incision a clear picture of Zac spilled into her mind, sent a tremor down her arm, had her imagining his scent. Oh, get over yourself. Zac wasn’t her hero. Wasn’t her anything. Hadn’t been since she’d walked away from their affair eighteen months ago. But—she sighed again—what would’ve happened if she’d found the courage to push the affair beyond the sex and into a relationship where they talked and shared and had been there for each other? Eventually Zac would’ve left her. At least by getting in first she’d saved herself from being hurt. Tonight she’d see quite a bit of him, which didn’t sit easily with her. The day his registration for the gala had arrived in her inbox she’d rung him for a donation for the fundraising auction. Since then she hadn’t been able to erase him from her mind. Come on. He’s always been lurking in the back of your head, reminding you how good you were together.
‘So there are good guys out there.’ Kay’s tone was acerbic.
Zac might be one of the good guys. She hadn’t hung round long enough to find out. She’d got too intense about him too quickly and pulling the plug on their fling had been all about staying in control and not setting herself up to be abandoned. Going through that at twelve had been bad enough; to happen again when she was an adult would be ridiculous. So she’d run. Cowardly for sure, but the only way to look out for herself. And now she had an op to finish and a gala to start. ‘Let’s get this tidied up and the saline started.’ She had places to be and hopefully not many things to do.
An hour later she was beginning to wish she’d stayed in Theatre for the rest of the day. The number of texts on her phone gave the first warning that not everything was going to plan at the hotel where the gala evening would be held; that her list was in serious disarray.
As she ran for her car, the deluge that all but drowned her and destroyed her carefully styled hair, which she’d spent the evening before having coloured and tidied, was the second warning. At least her thick woollen coat had saved her silk blouse from ruin. But rain had not been on her schedule, which put her further out of sorts. Everything about tonight had to be perfect.
Slamming the car door, she glared out at the black sky through the wet windscreen. ‘Get a move on. I want you gone before my show starts tonight.’
The third suggestion that things were turning belly up was immediate and infuriating. One turn of the ignition key and the flat clicking sound told a story of its own. The battery was kaput. Because? Olivia slapped the dashboard with her palm. The lights had been left on. There was
