(I just wanted to thank everyone again who diligently and supportively takes the time to post a review. It is this valuable contact with the people who read my story that inspires me to keep going. I just wanted to have a bit of fun with this chapter so please take it with a grain of salt. In these trying times, I think we could all do with a bit of a giggle.)
Libby's reluctance to abandon her position had nothing to do with the nameless boy who now lay, several floors above them, after an ice bath immersion, recovering from the near-fatal side affects of combining alcohol and psychoactive drugs. In fact, she'd had zero interest in him from the start. But, if you could dither purposefully, then that's what she was doing; absently collecting her things and searching theatrically in her handbag, reluctant now to follow her friend and miss the slim chance of repeating the promising eye contact with the dishy, dark-haired doctor.
Louisa's sudden departure had not taken her very far. Already the sight of the elderly cleaning woman, pushing her heavily laden trolley and struggling to bend down to retrieve human detritus from beneath the long rows of seating, had filled her with guilt. Remorsefully, she recalled the hastily discarded newspaper, the empty drink cans, and the sweet wrappers that she'd failed to dispose of and, noticing that Libby hadn't followed her, she spun around with a groan of frustration and stomped back to where they'd sat. Libby watched her return with a sly smile, as she stood, speculatively, wondering if attractive Doctor Boy might frequent the cafeteria after he'd completed his morning rounds. Judging by the activity inside, they couldn't be far off opening, and Libby would murder for a cup of tea. A table by the door would give her an excellent vantage point and, for God's sake, they'd sat here all night, what harm would a few more minutes do?
Louisa grimaced at her, bending over to pick up the newspaper, folding it and placing it neatly on the seat, except for one sheet which she laid out flat on the floor. It was a useful repository for the shiny cellophane squares, and the discarded Rollo wrappers that she retrieved from around her seat, and she rolled it into a ball and tucked it under her arm. Feeling better, she stood up but only succeeded in knocking her half empty drink can onto the hard linoleum floor where it bounced, rolled at speed to the far corner of the seating row, shedding its contents in a thin sticky streak, and wedged itself in the far corner, against the wall. Louisa shot a glance in the direction of the cleaner and realised that the poor woman would never be able to reach it by herself, and she growled with annoyance.
"Don't worry about it." Libby suggested fruitlessly. "That's what they get paid for."
Barely able to see the errant can in its hiding place, Louisa was already bending over as far as she could without toppling, supporting her weight on one arm while attempting to reach underneath, and she frowned at her friend's comment. It remained frustratingly just out of reach but, if she could just stretch in a tiny bit further, she should be able to flick it out and reclaim it.
"It's just there." Libby said helpfully, with a grimace, her arms folded as she leaned back to get a better perspective. "You're almost touching it."
Louisa felt some of her hair escape from its clasp and she attempted, fruitlessly, to blow it away from her face as she wiggled her fingers along the floor in desperation. She realised with annoyance that her blasted skirt was just that bit too tight for her to bend over any further. Standing up straight, it was with some difficulty that she succeeded in adjusting it upwards by a few inches; the soft leather seemed to grip and cling against the bare skin of her upper thighs, but she managed well enough that, when she bent over again, she had considerably more freedom.
Suddenly, Libby snorted with laughter
"Oops! Louisa! Knicker alert! Knicker alert!" She cried before dissolving into a fit of the giggles.
Louisa started to giggle too, reaching back up behind her fruitlessly, unable to shift the small tight garment in any direction. It was then that the tension and upset of their long night, and their lack of sleep, overcame her and she leaned forward on her arms as her escalating mirth made her shake helplessly. Instantly and savagely, disaster struck, and she felt the searing pain of a hamstring cramp, giving an involuntarily howl before completely cracking up with hysterics. Libby rushed over to assist her and managed to get one arm around her in support before she, too, succumbed to uncontrollable mirth and the two of them stood side by side, both bent over double, helpless with laughter. Trying desperately to regain her modesty, Louisa snatched at her upwardly mobile hemline while wriggling her backside as best she could. As she was blinded by the wild cascade of escaped hair that fell over her face, the cramp again gripped at her leg ruthlessly. She let out a low, gravelly moan of pain and clutched at her spasming buttock.
Behind them, filling the frame of the large security door he had just come through, Martin Ellingham stood, mortified.
He hadn't known where to look but a little voice in his head suggested that 'away' might be a good start. Feeling an excruciating flush of embarrassment, and desperately hoping that they hadn't noticed him, he hastened down the hall, with the feet of a cat, and into the relative safety of the stairwell. After running up several flights of stairs, he was happy to both have an excuse for the colour of his face which he felt was as red as a beacon, and satisfied that he had put enough distance between himself and the exhibition he had just witnessed.
Making his way to the staff toilets, he washed his face and hands and dried himself thoroughly, pressing his face firmly with a thick wad of paper towels as he struggled to push the highly evocatory image from his mind. Exhaling deeply, he thanked fate that he hadn't still been in the company of the Junior Doctors as he had come through that door. That they might have noticed his intense discomfort would have been too much, never mind if he'd had to witness their, no doubt, puerile reactions. Checking his colour briefly in the mirror, he cleared his throat, squared his shoulders and made his calm, dignified way back to the small private space that was deemed to be his office.
Before they eventually left the hospital, Louisa had had the presence of mind to phone the flat and leave a message on the crackly old answer phone that she and Libby were fine and were, finally, on their way home. On the bus, exhausted silence had finally overtaken them and, after she had coaxed her wild mop of voluminous hair back into a ponytail, Louisa sat with her head against the window and, reluctantly, let Martin sneak back into her consciousness. She hadn't regretted her decision not to reveal herself; indeed the more she reflected on the last twelve hours, the more relieved she was about her spur of the moment call. At some stage, they would discover the fate of the boy, the student telegraph would take care of that, she had no doubt. The most important thing was that Martin hadn't seen her and had no reason to think ill of her. It was a close call but, somehow, she'd got away with it.
She recalled her feelings as a young teenager and how she had developed such a massive crush on the aloof young doctor in such a ridiculously short space of time. She realised that, back then, she'd just been a soppy kid and he was a responsible and professional adult, charged with saving lives and taking care of people. As hard as it had been, she'd understood and accepted that. But, on seeing him again, however fleetingly, she was feeling something else again. Akin to sadness, bordering on regret, and similar in intensity to the adolescent grief she'd experienced when he'd slipped away all those years ago without saying goodbye. Seeing him again had made her feel flustered, and not just because of the hideous circumstances. The thing that really eviscerated her was that, while she supposed that they were both technically now adults, Martin now seemed more remote and unobtainable than ever before.
In itself, the fact that he had immediately forced himself into her consciousness again in such a vivid and overwhelming way, was enough to disturb her. It felt like a cruel joke, a mean-spirited taunting, reminding her that, while she had champagne tastes, tragically, she was very much on a beer budget. An uncomfortable thought festered in her mind but Louisa struggled to form it into a coherent idea. Feeling both ridiculous and embarrassed, she allowed herself to recall her fascination and, if she were totally honest, the confusing physical longing she'd felt around Martin even as a girl of fourteen.
And then she faced the really excruciating realisation that she'd tried to deny. The desire she'd pretended to have, and the disappointment it had brought her. She'd read something in one of Holly's Cosmo magazines and the line had stayed with her. With Danny Steele being who he was, she hadn't needed to fake an orgasm because he neither seemed to notice nor care. No, she'd gone infinitely and demeaningly further, she thought with chagrin, she'd actually faked an entire relationship. No wonder he had chosen his career in the end.
When she got home, Louisa attempted to brush her hair, threw off her clothes and slipped into bed gratefully. Everyone was accounted for and was sleeping off their eventful evening in the dubious comfort of their tiny bedrooms. Unable to now wind down, she tossed and turned for a while before settling on her back, her pillow clutched over her face, feet drawn up and knees in the air. She recalled her last shopping trip to Truro, with Karen and how they had talked a bit about life, and what challenges Louisa might come up against when she got to London. Karen and Holly had both given her the same advice really. Holly pointing out that you have to kiss a lot of frogs and Karen telling her, slightly more maturely, that relationships when you are Louisa's age are really just about discovering what you can and can't stand in people, differences that you can tolerate, and qualities that you find desirable. Karen had, in her quiet way, suggested to her that she should try and keep everything fun and lightweight because there would be plenty of time for serious relationships later on.
Now Louisa realised that Karen had seen right through Danny and she was probably, and quite rightly, a bit concerned about his motives, which explained why the first place she'd taken her young charge to in Truro was the women's clinic. Privately, and away from the prying eyes of village and the judgemental opinions of the local pharmacist, Karen made sure that Louisa was sorted out for oral contraceptives and had slid a disgusting STD pamphlet into her bag whilst reassuring her that it was something every adult needed to be aware of. The doctor was lovely and had explained everything to her very clearly but Louisa couldn't help but have another one of her 'abandonment' moments when the inevitable family medical history enquiries came up and she realised, yet again, how little she knew of any of her antecedents.
Later, Martin let himself in through the door and into the tranquil stillness of his immaculate flat. Immediately, he went to the water filter and poured himself a large glass before dropping lightly, but wearily, onto the sofa. The afternoon light played on his latest purchase, a Tibetan, gilt-plated Buddha that he had purchased at considerable expense a few weekends before. He'd seen it in an auction of Eastern antiquities and he knew he had to possess it, despite the eye-watering final bid it had taken to secure it for himself.
At the time, he'd told himself that, as well as an astute investment and a highly decorative objet d'art, the Buddha was a fundamental cornerstone in his attempts to pursue a state of Brahmacharya. He gazed at it for several minutes, admiring the impeccable patina, and savouring the pleasure that it gave him, while speculating idly at its provenance and the journey it had undertaken to find itself a home in a Kensington flat. As the sunlight reflected off its golden curves, he was disconcerted to witness some sort of optical illusion. The Buddha appeared to be smiling at him. Martin blinked and, looking back, was relieved to see that the contemplative gaze had returned to its ancient countenance.
He'd had an onerous day. It had started badly and only got worse. Annoyingly, he'd let himself be distracted and he was thoroughly disappointed in himself; he'd noticed the young woman's hair as he'd marched along the corridor and he had no idea why it had caught his eye. He'd refused to look back at the two women who sat, inexplicably, outside the closed cafeteria. He hadn't lost all of his self control. But then his anger had been provoked when that arse, Chisholm, had decided that, whoever the women were, they were more interesting than the commentary Martin was providing on the diagnosis of Monckeberg's sclerosis in a patient they were on their way to examine.
But his discouragement with himself at that point was nothing compared to his reaction to what he was exposed to barely a quarter of an hour later. Abject and utter mortification didn't even come close. Young people behaving abominably in A&E on a Saturday night was nothing new. He'd seen enough of it to last a lifetime when he was a Junior Doctor on the emergency roster. On reflection, it could have been worse. Martin had averted his eyes reasonably quickly, and he was confident the women hadn't seen him so their blushes at least were saved. He couldn't help but wonder what on earth they were doing though but, whatever it was, it had both caused them great amusement and, Martin, a number of disconcerting flashbacks throughout the course of the day.
He and the Buddha stared at one another for a few minutes before the young man stretched his long legs out in front of him and an almost imperceptible, wry grin twisted across his face.
"Can't for the life of me understand why you look so smug." Martin growled at him. "You were no bloody help today, whatsoever."