Chris was never more conscious of his thinning hair than moments like then, when he was sitting, hatless and exposed, in the afternoon sun. He gazed across the table at his old friend and smiled genially. Of course Mart, the lucky bastard, still had all his hair even if it was cut as brutally short as he had always worn it. He laughed to himself as he recalled the first time he'd met the impossibly tall and thin young man in the pinstriped suit, his intense frown and cold stare at odds with his smooth, childlike complexion and full lips that were permanently set in a supermodel pout. Ever genial, Chris remembered his early, failed attempts at initiating conversation, persevering in the face of Mart's stony countenance until he, too, made the same negative assumptions as everyone else about the brilliant but difficult wunderkind that was Martin Ellingham.
As he'd come to understand, Mart simply didn't care what other people thought of him so he had never sought the approval of his peers. Plus, he had always been an arrogant sod; even at the tender age of eighteen he'd been self-assured and full of certainty, confident of his own ability and single-minded in the pursuit of his goals. The most annoying thing about him though, Chris recalled, hadn't been his imperious manner, it had been the ease at which he had backed up his arrogance and ambition with sheer ability. Many of their fellow students in that first year of college were obviously used to being the smartest and highest achieving among their peers, and it was frankly galling to be bested at every turn by this detached and aloof young man with the intimidating intellect and the awe-inspiring ability to focus on his studies to the exclusion of everything else. And, so, like every other first year med student, Chris had simply loathed the sight of Martin, even if deep down he had felt a grudging respect for the fellow.
In fact, it had been an accident that they'd ever engaged in conversation again. He'd arrived late for a lecture and the only spare seats, as usual, had been within the highly intimidating and well defended personal space of the flinty-eyed, supercilious Martin Ellingham. Unsurprisingly, his response hadn't been welcoming; Chris' friendly nod of the head was met with a glacial stare and a reproachful curl of his lip, but the cheerful young man sat down anyway. He'd had an exceptionally enjoyable evening the night before and was feeling buoyant, and not even the tacit disapproval of the rude tosser seated to his left was going to spoil that.
How had the conversation started? He struggled to recall the topic but he remembered, somewhat apologetically, seeking clarification on a lecturers statement, after the details had been rendered inaudible by a coughing fit emanating from the seat directly in front of him. Chris had been taken aback by the ease with which Mart had explained the concept to him and so, tentatively he asked a couple of further questions. From that point, they had spoken a few occasional words inside the lecture theatres and progressed to nodded greetings in the hallways. The watershed moment had been when they had been forced to team up into pairs and Chris had sought him out, initially viewing the difficult young man's value as potentially a boost for his faltering marks. However, to his gratification, he'd noticed an expression of relief on Mart's face when he had sat down beside him again and offered to be his partner in the project, and that had made kind-hearted Chris thoughtfully reevaluate him.
From then on, especially after receiving the highest possible score for their joint endeavours, Chris decided that he both liked Mart, and was just a little bit fascinated by him; being amiable, easy-going and not particularly ambitious meant that he was neither upset nor threatened by his new friend's fierce intellect and lack of diplomacy. Over time, he came to rely on Mart's honesty and value his sound judgement; in fact it had been to him that Chris had turned first when he first decided that maybe General Practice, rather than a surgical specialty, should be his future. As someone whose every waking thought and deed was intended to propel him forward into a life of vascular surgery, Mart had initially looked at him askance. But then, to his credit, he had then asked a lot of challenging questions that had helped Chris organise his thoughts and enabled him to feel comfortable with his choice when he had finally concluded that a career as a GP was in fact his best course of action.
Hearing Mart's belief that to be a truly great surgeon meant a life of self-sacrifice had saddened and shocked Chris at the time. That he was prepared to eschew most generally accepted life goals in order to follow ones calling, never seeing himself as a husband or father, had indicated that there was almost a monastic element to his life that Chris found troubling. It was made all the more disturbing by the fact that when his friend did finally seem to succumb to the needs of the flesh, it had been with one of the most cold-hearted and ruthless young women Chris had ever had the misfortune to encounter. As difficult as it is when you don't approve of a friend's partner, Chris had mostly kept his counsel but watched on, in horror, from a distance, waiting for the moment that he would have to step in and pick up the pieces. Surprisingly enough, that moment never came. Shortly after graduation, the awful woman disappeared and the rumour, one of many that always floated around about her, was that she had been offered a plum role in Quebec. After then, in the thick of general training, he and Mart had not seen as much of each other but, even after he had moved away, Chris had made an effort to keep in touch with his reclusive friend, scheduling dinner whenever he came up to London and continuing to invite him for Christmas lunch, even though he never accepted.
And, so, it was because of his faith in Mart's ability to provide him with honest, unbiased advice that they were both seated there today. Once again, when life had become suddenly turbulent and he needed an unemotional sounding board, it was to Mart he turned. He looked back at his friend's unwavering, steely gaze and smiled agreeably.
"So, I take it there's no one special in your life? No one you want to tell me about?" Chris said, with a twinkling smile.
"I thought we were here to talk about you." Martin growled.
"Yes, yes, we are...but I know what a stickler you are for pleasantries, Mart." Chris said with a low cackle before adding, somewhat hopefully. "You never know, one day you may surprise me."
"No, I won't." Martin replied with equanimity.
Chris stared at him doubtfully. Was he made of rock? Or was he simply the most discrete man on the planet? But he knew better than to probe. Mart's ability to shut down would put a limpet to shame and so he left it alone, for now, and began, somewhat hesitatingly, to outline a role he had been offered by the Southwestern RHA in a GP liaison role.
"You feel, do you, that you would be satisfied with an administrative role?" Martin said quietly after he'd listened intently to Chris explain the position, hands clasped on the table in front of him, brow furrowed by a thoughtful frown. "You could give practicing medicine away, just like that?"
"Let's face it, I never was brilliant at it anyway. As a lifestyle choice, General Practice suited me well enough but I'm not sure I have the devotion to continue for the rest of my life."
"I've often heard it said that Primary Care doctors are undervalued. Have you experienced this now first hand? The life of a GP not glamorous or exciting enough for you?" Martin said slowly, fixing him with his penetrating stare. "Because I can't imagine that administration isn't going to be a lot more restrictive and tedious. If I recall correctly, we had a similar conversation when you decided to walk away from a career in surgery."
"Come on Mart, you know as well as I do that I was never cut out to be a surgeon, not in the way you are. And now I'm coming around to the fact that perhaps practicing at all isn't my forte. Perhaps my skills could be used in better in other areas?"
Martin cocked an eyebrow at him but said nothing.
"I have to admit, being shoulder-tapped was quite gratifying." Chris said quietly. "Not something that has happened to me a lot in my life, really and it did make me feel as if they saw some skill in me that was perceived as valuable. Perhaps they can see that liaison and people management might be right up my alley."
Martin remained silent. Chris was well aware of his opinion of most hospital administrators and that he had consistently fallen foul of most of them. Fulsome, sanctimonious and slimy was the last description he had heard his friend utter in a particularly scathing tone after yet another set-to with yet another punctilious NHS bureaucrat. In hindsight, he realised that it was highly unlikely that Martin would give him unequivocal support.
Martin calmly raised his tiny espresso cup to his mouth and finished his coffee. As he did so, Chris noted the pristine whiteness of his cuffs and collar. In a million years he would never be able achieve that level of crisp elegance and he marvelled at his friend's ability to maintain such immaculate presentation within a hospital environment and a big, dirty city like London. Fastidious didn't even begin to describe him.
"Well Chris, ummm, if you feel such little interest in General Practice then I unreservedly give you my support, if that means anything. "
God knows, Martin thought crossly, the NHS could use a few administrators who actually understand what it's like to face life and death, in its many and varied forms, every day. People who understand why obtaining a Capex form for paper clips wasn't at the forefront of a surgeon's mind as he tackled the third emergency AAA of the day.
He looked down at his watch thoughtfully.
"You do seem to have an adequate skill in dealing with, ummm, people." He said carefully. "What does Hannah think of your change of career?"
Chris looked up, surprised.
"Aaah, it's, ummm, it's Helen...and, well, she's still in that phase of thinking everything I do is marvellous." He replied with a chuckle. "You know, newly engaged and all that."
Martin stared back at him blankly and it dawned on Chris that the poor chap hadn't a clue what he was talking about. Relationships, and the many and complicated stages within them, would be a complete mystery to him. God knows, it wasn't his fault, far from it in fact. From what he understood of Mart's parents, and from what he'd seen of the dreadful Edith, his friend had either been bullied and micro-managed or completely abandoned. How could he know about the comfort that could exist in between those extremes? So often in years gone by, he'd tried to carefully broach the subject. Even, once or twice, he'd offered to set him with friends of whoever he'd been seeing at the time but Martin's response had always been total disdain and so he'd given up.
"Do you have time in your busy schedule to meet us for dinner?" Chris said hopefully. "Helen came down with me and I'd really love you to meet her again."
Martin hesitated. He knew that he should be interested in his friends future wife. The fact that they had met before surprised him but not the fact he didn't obviously recall her. He had observed that Chris had always made the most of what he had informed Martin were the undoubted perks of Medical School. Hot and cold running girls, he'd said with a triumphant smile that Martin didn't even pretend to understand. But, seemingly, Chris had chosen Helen over all the others and now he understood that, in recognition of this, he was expected to go out for dinner with them. Worryingly, he would have no say over either the food quality or the hygiene standards, and, invariably, Chris would leave it for his girlfriend to select the restaurant. Didn't women always seem to choose based on the variety and portion sizes displayed on the pudding trolley? No, he simply couldn't face that.
"How about supper at my flat?" He said quickly. "I have an early start so it won't be a late night but it would therefore, umm, suit me better."
Chris beamed at him. "So you've added cooking to your extensive list of talents? Bravo Mart!"
Martin ducked his chin and looked at him in discomfort. "Mmm, I can prepare food adequately enough for my own needs and, ummm, hopefully you will find it acceptable."
"Lovely!" Chris replied, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Helen will be delighted. Seven?"
"Umm, can we make it half past six? I, ummm...it would just suit me better, that's all." Martin replied, slightly awkwardly, and stood up.
"No, fine, great! See you then!"
Chris stood up and watched his friend walk purposefully toward the High Street. He really did cut an imposing figure these days, no longer thin and underdeveloped, Mart really had entirely adopted the mantle of the arrogant, confident surgeon. Chris also observed that the fact hadn't gone unnoticed by two fashionably clad women who also watched Martin walk away. That Mart would be completely oblivious to their attentions made Chris smile and, slipping a fiver under his empty cup, he wandered off in the other direction, now relishing the delightful prospect of an afternoon nap.
The evening was pleasant enough. Chris was, as always, convivial and his skill at negotiation, and of managing people made him ideally qualified to navigate an evening in the company of Martin, and his slightly overwhelmed fiancée, Helen. They had met before, and she recalled him quite well, remarking to Chris later that Martin's appearance had definitely improved with age; that he had grown into his features and his physique had filled out rather nicely. Chris listened with a smile, despite experiencing an odd twinge of discomfort at her slightly admiring tone. He was long used to being Martin's intellectual inferior and he now was forced to accept that his friend was an accomplished cook and has an amazing flat as well. However, upon hearing her observation that Martin had broad shoulders and a nice arse, it became just a little too much for his ego to take; the smile slipped from his face and he rapidly changed the subject.
Martin, for his part, stared at her blankly when they were introduced. There didn't seem to be anything remarkable about her but she seemed healthy enough, appeared clean and well groomed, and was apparently fond of Chris, as he clearly was of her. She had a modicum of intelligence, good table manners and didn't talk too much so, all in all, she and Chris seemed a reasonable match. Beyond that, he gave it no further thought. The evening had been painless, he even might go so far as to say it had been pleasant and the only awkward moment, if he could call it that, was when they had retired to the living room. Chris and Helen had made themselves comfortable on his huge old Chesterfield while he'd returned to the kitchen to fetch the cheeseboard, and a spot of Glenlivet for Chris. As Martin had returned to the room, he'd interrupted them in an embrace and he'd coughed awkwardly and looked away.
Chris had laughed, pulling Helen across to him with his arm around her shoulder and they'd eaten all the cheese rather quickly and enthusiastically, feeding it to each other with exuberance, and remarking on Martin's excellent selection. He'd watched on in discomfort as Chris had slipped a grape into her mouth and they'd both laughed suggestively, while maintaining an intense eye contact that made Martin wonder whether he should leave the room, or clap his hands to distract them, or both. His home had always felt so calm and serene and he was having difficulty processing the sight of an affectionate couple, oblivious to him, embracing on his sofa. He watched as she ran her hands through what was left of Chris' hair and he beamed at her. He could see what was happening. Chris would say something and, if she approved she would offer some sort of physical reward. It all looked...he struggled for the word...affectionate. He supposed it was what people did when they loved each other and he realised that he had absolutely no point of reference with which to judge the behaviour of his friend. It just seemed to him that whatever Chris said, Helen was delighted, and vice versa.
Eventually, Martin had reached his limits. He had stood up and announced that he had rounds in the morning at 7 o'clock and needed to go bed. Chris was instantly apologetic and understanding, carrying the dishes to the kitchen where they said their goodbyes. Both Chris and Helen gave him an awkward hug and they left; cheerful, well fed and in love. After they'd gone, Martin cleaned up the kitchen in his usual efficient manner and poured himself a glass of water, sitting down, contemplatively, while he drank it. Summarising the evening, he realised he was pleased that his friend was happy. Indeed, he had no misgivings about Chris' choice of partner, so why was it he felt unnerved? Why did he feel so uncomfortable about seeing an engaged couple display their obvious affection toward each other. Chris was a decent man and wasn't it a good thing that he got to bask in the adoration of his fiancée? Wasn't it fitting that she reassured him when he needed it and clearly supported him in his career? And if, as he was well aware, the answer was yes, then why did he, Martin, feel quite so rattled?
After a quick shower, he collapsed into bed and quickly fell into a fitful, restless sleep. Star-fished across the huge bed, he had tossed and turned as a succession of disturbing dreams had caused him to twitch and cry out. Eventually, after an antacid and another glass of water, he had settled and, much to his relief, a deep, exhausted sleep had claimed him. But, just before his alarm, one final desperate hallucination of his subconscious mind had torn him to shreds and left him curled in a ball, half awake, breathing heavily and trembling with shock.
He had felt her arms around him and they were soothing and protective. They were floating, and he was aware of an extraordinary lightness of spirit. It was both as if they had known each other a long time and yet they have just met. Her touch is gentle, and the feeling of her fingers, as she strokes his hair and murmurs his name, makes him experience emotions that he can't even put a name to. He has the notion that she is taking him somewhere important and he is filled with an exquisite sensation of peace and serenity, of comfort and safety. They are on a path and he is convinced that this is the way to go because he has such a divine and indescribable feeling of completeness. He so desperately needs to see her face and he clutches at her hand, to pull her back towards him but, like a ghost, in that instant she is gone. And now he is searching for her, and it's as if his entire consciousness knows that, for a moment, he was complete. He must find her, he's never been so sure of anything in his life but then he is at a rundown hospital, and there are queues of people who need to be seen; people are weeping and howling, and they clutch at his arms as he passes. His mother is there and she is bleeding profusely. He tries to tear himself away, desperate to explain that he needs to look for someone but Bernard Newton shakes his head at him, ordering him to theatre. No one understands the desperation he feels, no one will help him search and he experiences a hot searing anger which only abates when he wakes; breathless, shaken and heartbroken, and full of an inexplicable pain that takes hours to dissipate.
