was the first one here,’ she said.
There was no sign of either of the nurses who were supposed to be working with them today. Mark sighed. It was going to be one of those days.
He apologised to the bemused patients sitting in the waiting room, answered the phone to Lorna's (nurse number one's) mum, whose defiant explanation that ‘Lorna had a stomach ache, innit’ didn't fool him for a second, and called in the first of his patients.
By the time he'd seen the second, Kerry had swanned in breezily. ‘Sorry I'm late, the trains were bad.’
‘But you drive,’ replied Mark.
‘Oh, not today, I was out last night.’ She leered lasciviously and bent down over the desk to reveal a rather lacy thong peeping out of a somewhat less than sexy behind. It was more than a man could take first thing in the morning.
‘I think that's what you call a whale tail,’ whispered Maya, who had come out to get her next patient.
Mark snorted, before insisting that Kerry went and nursed for Maya, who needed the help more than he did. While he was phoning Diana, who unfortunately today was working at another surgery, in order to get her to find some cover for them, Sasha (nurse number two) walked in. Sasha, their latest recruit, seemed to be the only Eastern European in the country who didn't understand the value of hard work. Mark considered admonishing her, but, mindful that there were still patients in the waiting room, and aware that she probably wouldn't understand him anyway, he decided that, like much of his life, there really was No Point.
He looked down at his day roster to see what else lay in store for him, and groaned out loud. Jasmine Symonds – a so-called celebrity who was famous for shagging on some god-awful reality TV show, and, if the rumours were true, was the new face of Smile, Please! – was coming in. It was one more indication that someone somewhere didn't like him. Not only had Jasmine and her ghastly mother Kayla been his patients for years, but despite her newfound fame she wouldn't go to any other dentist. Trust him to have the misfortune to have Jasmine as his most loyal patient …
Katie Caldwell was standing at the school gates and watching her ten-year-old son, George, walk mournfully away from her. It cut her heart to the quick to watch his misery and be unable to help. But what could she do when any questions about what was upsetting him were just met with a shrug? George had been in a foul mood this morning, still sore about the fact that he'd spent the previous day on the subs bench – again. He and Charlie had both been peculiarly reticent about why George, the team's best striker, seemed to spend more time off the pitch than on it, but Katie had the deepest suspicion that there was something Charlie wasn't telling her.
It was probably nothing, but Katie knew if she did ask Charlie about it, he would just do that annoying trick of touching his nose and saying ‘A Caldwell never blabs’ – a phrase no doubt passed on to him by his mother. Was it rather pathetic, she won dered, to have been married for ten years and still be frightened of your mother-in-law?
She sighed, and kissed her younger son, Aidan, goodbye. At least she had no worries on that score. Aidan was a happy-go-lucky child who rarely cried and seemed to shrug off life's slings and arrows with an insouciance she envied, and which she longed for her older, more sensitive son to have too.
‘Charlie been winding them up at football again?’ Katie turned away from waving Aidan goodbye to see the tall shadow of Mandy Allwick, school gossip extraordinaire, framed in the early-morning sunshine. That was all she needed.
‘What do you mean?’ Katie squinted up at Mandy, who, as usual, looked perfectly (if a little tartily) manicured and well turned out for first thing in the morning. With her tight leather miniskirt and crop top (revealing as it did a ridiculously well-toned stomach for someone with three children), her high heels, painted nails and even more painted face, a casual observer might have fancied she was on the pull. Though the choice among the stay-at-home dads was hardly wonderful. Still, tarty or not, Mandy always had the knack of making Katie feel wrong-footed.
‘Oh, you know Charlie,’ Mandy laughed heartily. ‘He's always giving that poncy coach a mouthful. And quite right too. That guy goes on and on about being fair to all the kids when it's obvious that your George is one of the best players. And your Charlie is only sticking up for George.’
‘How exactly is Charlie sticking up for George?’ Katie had a sinking feeling in her stomach. What had Charlie done now? Katie had given up going to football when Molly arrived, using the excuse that it was too cold to be out with a baby, but really it was because she couldn't stand the embarrassment anymore of listening to Charlie's roars of disappointment from the touchline when George missed a shot at goal, or succumbed to a tackle. George always looked embarrassed at this, and Katie felt for him, but being unwilling to undermine his father's authority in front of him, she never said anything. And, in the end, she just stopped going.
Still, in all other aspects of their life, she couldn't complain. If it was inevitable that their early feelings of lustful desire had settled down into something more sensible and solid, she knew Charlie loved her, and she loved him. They were comfortable together. Despite the stress of being dragged over to his parents' once a month and having to endure Marilyn's withering scorn as to why Charlie still hadn't made it to the top of his firm of accountants: ‘His father was at the top in his thirties, though, of course, not everyone can be as talented as him.’ But other than that, she was happy enough.
Of late, though, Katie had been getting the feeling that Charlie perhaps wasn't so happy. He hadn't said anything, but she wondered if he was getting twitchy about his fortieth birthday later in the year. He seemed a bit down about it. Or maybe it was that combined with the vasectomy he'd insisted on having after Molly was born. He'd certainly changed lately. He could be moody and difficult. Making a spectacle of himself on the touchline was probably just a symptom of a wider malaise.
‘Only doing what any dad should,’ said Mandy. ‘Shouting for George, yelling at the opposition. It's what I always do.’
I bet you do, thought Katie silently.
‘It's that arse Bill who's at fault,’ Mandy continued as they made their way out of the school grounds.
‘How so?’ asked Katie, thinking, poor bloody Bill, someone has to stand up to the hecklers.
‘Oh, you know what he's like,’ said Mandy, tossing her long fair mane back. ‘He goes on and on about not being too com petitive and not putting pressure on our kids. But the way we all see it, it's a competitive world, innit? They‘ve got to learn sometime.’
Have they? thought Katie. Do they have to learn this way?
‘So why was George put on the subs bench?’ Katie asked, but deep down she knew what the answer would be.
‘Bill said your Charlie was putting the other players off, and George was taken off as a punishment.’
Katie frowned. It didn't seem at all fair to George to make him suffer for Charlie's bad behaviour. But then it wasn't the first time Bill had warned Charlie off.
Charlie would be bound to shrug it off if she raised the subject. Maybe it was time she started going to football again to see for herself.
A squawk from the buggy indicated that Molly was getting tetchy, so Katie made her excuses and was slowly pushing her way home when she had a better idea. Sod going to football. Who wanted to get their feet cold? What Charlie needed was cheering up. And that was her job. So that's what she'd do. She'd start tonight
