It's the middle of October, but with the air as bitterly cold as it is, you'd think it was nearer Christmas. As I sit in my car, still wearing the shirt and black trousers I wore to work, I begin to wish I'd brought a coat, or at least a pair of gloves. The barely warm air blasting through the heaters isn't making a difference to my goose-pimpled arms. I've been sat in this position for nearly half an hour now and my fingers are turning to ice. My teeth are chattering of their own accord and the tip of my nose looks as if it belongs to Rudolph. I take, yet another, deep breath. I let out a sigh. If only telling someone you have feelings for them was as easy as it sounds on paper.
I've pictured it in my head, over and over. I walk into her apartment, no beating about the bush, and I say how I feel. If she reacts badly, then I just leave. I wish it was as straight forward as that.
I can't stay in this car for much longer. I've been here so long that my legs have seized up, my bones ache and I can't even move my fingers they're so stiff with cold. My brain sends the signals to my feet, telling them to move, but my mind is refusing to allow it. Trying to reassure myself that opening my heart to a woman is a good idea is proving difficult. Especially when my heart is normally as cold as my body is now and the woman in question is Connie Beauchamp.
Biting the bullet, I open the car door and it takes a great deal of effort just to clamber out of the car, my limbs like lead as they adjust to moving again. I close the door and lock the car, struggling as my hands are still icicles. I look up at the tall building, at each of the individual homes. It's a strange perception but it's remarkable how much Connie's apartment represents her as a person. Stylish, classy, beautiful and high maintenance I'm sure.
I shouldn't even be here. She doesn't know that I know where she lives. I stumbled across her address once while in her office - it was on the top of a document on her desk. That was a while ago. Somehow, I still remember it like it was yesterday.
I'm standing in front of the buzzer system. A young, suited and booted man left the block a few minutes ago, holding the door open for me. I felt rude not taking it, but I wasn't quite ready to face Ms Beauchamp just then. I'm still not ready.
The number four on the keypad is staring back at me, willing me to press it. A bitter wind blows as I rub my arms, as if nature's nagging at me for choosing not to wear a coat in mid October. My index finger hovers over the numbers. A violent shiver takes hold of me; maybe my subconscious is shaking me, trying to force me into ringing the buzzer, for the sake of my health if nothing else as I'm certain I'm developing pneumonia.
The squeal of car brakes behind me shatters the quiet of the evening and I jump out of my skin. The shock throws me forward and the finger that had been poised over the keypad presses the button. I take a step back and squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I wait for Connie to answer. I curse under my breath as there's an incredibly long silence.
"Hello?" Connie's sultry voice floats through the intercom. I melt on the spot.
"Erm, hi. It's Jac. Naylor." I manage.
"Jac? Come in." I open the door as she presses the buzzer to let me in. The warmth hits me immediately, covering me like a blanket. I flick the light switch in the dark corridor and attempt to find my way around the block.
The number four on the apartment door gleams at me. I was hoping it would take me longer to find Connie's, to give me more time to order my thoughts. No such luck. With one more deep breath, I gently tap on the door.
She opens it. I can feel my eyebrows rise as I take in her appearance. She's wearing a simple red V neck with dark blue jeans. I must say she really suits the casual look. She takes a step back, wordlessly inviting me into her home. I take in my surroundings. The ornate fireplace in the living room is just like I imagined. I'm taken aback by the photo of Connie and Michael on their wedding day though. I would've thought she'd want no reminders of him, after their split and his behaviour. Maybe she still cares for him. Maybe I shouldn't be here.
"What can I do for you?" She asks, breaking me from my reverie as she takes a seat. She indicates I take the chair opposite her, so I do. What I'd like Connie to do is say that she's noticed the chemistry between us too and she feels the same about me as I feel for her. Like anything could ever be that damn easy.
"I've thoroughly enjoyed working alongside you this past week," I find myself saying. "I've learnt a lot from you." You could say that again.
"I'm glad. I believe we make a great team." She replies, in a tone that gives nothing away.
"I think so too. Holby won't be the same without you whilst you're away." I won't be the same without you whilst you're away.
"I'm sure the hospital will run just fine without me. I've left it in safe hands." I've been picking at a loose thread on my top since I sat down, which hasn't gone unnoticed by Mrs Beauchamp.
"Is everything alright?" I look into her eyes for the first time since my impromptu visit. She has unusually beautiful eyes. I can't find the words to reply.
"Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee, something stronger?" Her kindness surprises me.
"Coffee, please." I stutter a little.
"Milk? Sugar?" She walks to the kitchen.
"No, thanks." A strong cup of black coffee is exactly what I need right now.
There's a long silence as Connie makes the drinks. Coffee with milk and two sugars for her, just how she likes it. Maybe one day I'll be able to make her a coffee, and bring it to her with breakfast in our bed. Don't run before you can even walk, Jac.
She hands me the mug and I mutter a thank you.
"Don't take this the wrong way Jac but, why are you here?" I knew she was going to ask that question sooner or later but I'd prefer it was later.
"Like I said, I've enjoyed working with you." Not a lie, but not the reason I am here.
"And like I said, we make a good team." Make, she's using the present tense. I guess that's something.
"Good. I meant what I also said, I really have learnt a lot from you this week." More than she'd ever know.
"Well, I'm glad you've benefited from the experience." She's keeping a straight face as she always does. I wish she gave more away.
"I certainly have." Take the bull by the horns, Jac. "I've learnt a lot about myself, too."
"Right." She seems confused, understandably. I can feel my metaphorical feet getting colder by the second.
Taking a sip of the boiling coffee does nothing to warm those feet, but it gives me an extra few moments to think of how to word what I need to say.
"Holby will miss you while you're on holiday." I'll miss you while you're on holiday.
"That's very kind of you to say so. But my replacement is more than competent." I can sense her frustration – her eyes are practically screaming at me to just spit it out.
"It won't be the same as having you around though."
"Why?" It was inevitable that she was going to ask that at some point but I still wasn't prepared for it.
"You're a true professional, well respected by colleagues and patients alike. There's no one else at Holby with that status." I bluff. She sees through it.
"I'm honoured you think that but we're going round in circles here Ms Naylor, why are you here?" I think she's beginning to lose patience with me, I can't say I blame her.
Do I even know why I'm here? Sure, I'd love to tell her how I honestly feel. I'd love to tell Connie Beauchamp that she's the most beautiful woman I've ever set eyes on. I'd love to tell her that she's on my mind every second of every day. I'd love to tell her that I believe I'm falling madly in love with her, although I always thought I was heterosexual. It's so much to take in and even I can't comprehend it – so how can I expect Connie to understand it?
"Why are you here?" Her seductive voice is ringing in my ears.
How do I answer her question?
"Because I love you."
With the truth.