I’m so tired that I could just lie down here and have an emergency nap. The words on the screen of my iPad are swimming in front of my eyes. I’m supposed to be working on an essay, but my brain’s gone on strike.
On a plus note, things at home are a bit less fraught. Now the whole Emma thing is over – and I’ve firmly ended my brief dalliance with being the sort of bloke who has a friend with benefits – I feel like I can breathe a bit. I mean it’s all very well in theory, but it just wasn’t me at all. Not even recovering-from-a-break-up me.
‘Can’t believe you got a first in that essay,’ Jameela says, throwing her bag down on the floor of the nurses’ station. I jump, because my overtired nerves are jangling on high alert at the moment, and she gives a snort of laughter.
She looks as shattered as I feel. Sometimes I think if it wasn’t for the others who are all in the same boat I’d struggle to believe this job wasn’t just some sort of nightmare. We’re all so tired we could fall asleep standing up, and we’ve got assignments coming out of our ears.
I watch her peeling off layers of coat, scarf and cardigan. She shoves them in her locker in a ball and, reaching over, grabs the cup of stewed tea I’m holding, then takes a slurp.
‘Oi,’ I say, laughing.
‘I’m bloody freezing. And you got a first. Maybe if I nick your tea I’ll soak up some of your magic.’
‘Doubt it,’ I joke.
We’re waiting for one of the senior nursing team to appear and take us on an observation in theatre. My stomach’s churning with excitement and nerves. The familiar ritual of boiling kettle, teabag in cup, milk and sugar steadies me. Before I’d started working in the hospital I’d taken tea with nothing more than a splash of milk. Now, working long hours, never quite sure when the next break is coming, I heap sugar in for extra calories to keep me going. We all do.
I make another cup and pass it to Jameela. ‘Here. How did you do in the essay, then?’
‘Sixty-eight.’
‘That’s basically a first.’
‘No prizes for coming second.’ She rolls her eyes.
I watch as Jameela sips her tea, flicking her hijab back over her shoulder.
‘So what’s happening at your place?’ she asks.
‘Nothing much.’
She gives me a meaningful look. ‘Everything sorted with Emma?’
Jameela’s a good listener. I told her the whole story one long boring night – she and I have ended up on the same rotation and it’s made a real difference to have someone who actually gets how I’m feeling. And who doesn’t mind if I doze off mid-sentence.
‘Nope. She’s got someone else. I’ve accepted my new life as a permanent singleton. Anyway, all that sneaking around in the middle of the night was a bit like being seventeen and on a school trip.’
‘That sounds quite exciting.’
‘It loses the novelty pretty bloody fast. No, I’m focusing on this—’ I wave in the general direction of the ward ‘—and on getting decent grades.’
Jameela takes another sip of tea and looks at me for a moment. ‘How’s Jess?’ she asks.
‘Fine.’
‘Fine?’ She gives me a look.
‘Fine. Well, she’s in Bournemouth seeing her gran, who’s had some blood pressure issues.’ I take a green paper towel and dry the mug, hanging it back on the rack. I’ve been trying not to think about Jess down there in Bournemouth, with the perfect, super-capable James there for moral support. When they’re not sitting hand in hand by Nanna Beth’s bedside, they’re probably taking romantic walks on the beach.
‘And no news from Alice?’
I look at her sideways and arch an eyebrow. ‘This is like the Spanish Inquisition.’
‘Sorry. Your life’s way more interesting than mine at the mo. Mine is basically work, study, sleep, work.’
I nod. ‘Yeah. Mine is basically that with a bit of screwed-up relationship stuff added in. As for Alice, no. Nothing much. The odd text. But I don’t think you can go backwards, you know?’
‘God, yes.’ Jameela sounds emphatic. ‘Been there. It’s like trying to revive someone who’s come in DoA.’
‘Nice image.’
‘Sorry. I swear my entire life is nursing-focused since I started this course.’ Jameela yawns so widely that the last words are smothered with her hand.
‘All right?’
That evening I almost jump out of my skin as I walk into the sitting room after my shift and hear a voice from the dark. ‘Rob,’ I say, once I’ve got my bearings. ‘God, I forget you’re here half the time.’
‘Cheers,’ says Rob, sardonically. He lifts his legs off the coffee table so I can head over to the battered beige armchair beside the television. ‘What’s up? You look like you’ve had a shit day.’
‘Just, y’know, life stuff.’
‘Anything I can help with?’ Rob leans forward. He turns the volume down on the television and inclines his head towards the door, and the rest of the house. ‘Woman trouble?’
Does everyone know what went on with me and Emma?
‘I dunno,’ I say, picking up a cushion and hugging it. ‘I was talking about Alice today at work and I got out of a surgery observation – open heart, ironically – and there was a message from her. I guess she’s at a bit of a crossroads – she was seeing someone for a bit and it didn’t work out.’
‘Ah.’ Rob nods briefly. ‘That’s a tricky one. You dinnae want to be the fallback guy.’
‘Alice wants more than I’ve got. Not in a bad way – I mean I don’t think she was only after my money when we met, but she thought she was marrying into a lifestyle. She wants kids, a nice house in the suburbs, all that sort of thing.’
‘And you don’t?’
Unbidden, an image of Jess pops into my head, laughing at something as we’re walking along the canal path at Little Venice. I need to get a grip.
‘I wouldn’t say I don’t, but I’m never going to be able to give Alice what she wanted, and – she’s a nice girl, and all, but—’
‘She’s no’ the one?’
‘Exactly.’
Rob looks thoughtful. ‘Well, you don’t want to settle. I tried that, and here I am at forty-four, living in a basement with you lot.’
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘Oh, I liked her a lot; she was a nice lassie. We moved down here when I got the job as a commis chef at my first restaurant, and when things started falling apart we tried to fix it by getting married.’
‘And it didn’t work out?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nah. She headed back to Glasgow, and I signed over the wee flat we had up there to her. Felt like I owed her that much.’
‘So that’s how you ended up here?’
‘Yep. No property, no savings, not a bean to ma name. But I’d still rather have that than be stuck in a marriage where we were both miserable. You need to actually like the person you’re with, no’ just fancy the pants off them.’
‘You’re right.’
‘Aye.’ Rob looks at me, steadily. ‘Mind you remember that. It’s important.’
Suddenly, Becky crashes into the room. ‘What’s going on in here?’ she asks.
‘Just men’s talk.’ Rob waggles his eyebrows.
‘Oh God, right, football and all that crap.’ Becky laughs, looking at the screen where the weekend football fixture list is playing. It’s a pretty good cover.
‘Aye, something like that,’ Rob says.
‘Well, I have a treat in store, if you’re not busy. A client’s just delivered a massive crate of wine as a thank you, so I think we should celebrate the fact that we’ve made it to the end of the week – assuming none of you are doing anything tonight?’
‘Nope,’ I say. ‘Well, I’d been planning an early night, and a bit of studying. But it won’t take much to convince me to work on the assignment in the morning.’
‘Or the afternoon, if you’re hungover. But this is good wine,’ Becky says, pulling a bottle out of the crate, ‘and I was reading a thing today that said that you shouldn’t get hangovers from expensive wine, so we can test it out. Rob, are you about?’
‘I am.’
‘Not working?’ I ask, surprised.
‘I’ve knackered my ankle.’ He indicates the leg that was propped up on the table. ‘Can’t stand up for longer than about five minutes, and it’s so manic in the kitchen on the weekends that I’m a liability, so I’ve been signed off sick for a couple of days.’
‘We can have a party,’ said Becky, looking cheerful. ‘I’ve just helped on a case that looks like it’s going to the High Court and we’re going to win.’
She looks triumphant and exhilarated, the same expression on her face as I’d seen on the surgeon’s earlier when they’d successfully completed a bypass operation. It was weird – instead of making me envious, it just underlines the fact that I don’t miss law one bit. Doesn’t make me want to be a surgeon, either, mind you.
‘Em,’ Becky calls up the stairs. ‘Are you in?’ She’s opened the wine and is thrusting glasses into everyone’s hands. ‘Has anyone heard from Jess today?’
‘She’s coming back in a few days, I think.’ I sip the red wine. It tastes expensive, and it’s the kind that goes down way too easily, especially after the week I’ve had. I sit back and put my feet up on the coffee table.
‘Shame she’s not here for this,’ said Becky, as Emma comes down the stairs. I can see her through the open door of the sitting room. She’s dressed for a lazy evening in a pair of cut-off jeans and a fluffy grey cardigan over a tiny white vest top. She pauses for a moment.
‘This banister is seriously wobbly,’ she says.
‘The whole place is crumbling,’ says Becky. ‘Anyone any good at DIY?’
‘I’ll have a look at it tomorrow,’ Rob says.
‘With your foot?’ Becky laughs.
‘With my eyes.’
‘I mean, should you be doing house repairs in your state?’
He chuckles. ‘I know what you meant. I promise, I’ll be safe.’
‘Alex, want a top-up?’ Becky pours more wine into my glass and hands one to Emma.
‘It’s Jess’s birthday next Saturday. We should do something to cheer her up.’ Becky curls up on the sofa beside Emma and Rob.
‘Good thinking. Assuming she’s free, of course,’ I say.
I don’t mention our plans to get together for a walk sometime soon. I haven’t heard from her since yesterday, actually, which is weird. She’s normally messaging stupid jokes or sharing things she’s seen that she knows will make me laugh, although now James is on the scene that’s tailed off a bit, obviously.
‘I’m out of the loop a bit here. Is Jess okay? What’s been going on?’ Emma looks at Becky.
‘Oh her gran’s been sick, and she’s been away. Didn’t you notice?’
Emma shakes her head. ‘I’ve been so busy with work, I thought we just hadn’t crossed paths for a bit.’
It’s weird how we can all scatter for days – weeks even – without really seeing much of each other. I watch Rob chatting to Becky about how to make the perfect chilli, arguing over recipes online, debating about whether dark chocolate is the perfect addition or an abomination. Emma catches my eye and raises her eyebrows heavenward.
We watch a crappy Netflix thriller and drink more wine. I nip out to get some snacks, realising halfway down Albany Road on my way to the corner shop that it definitely feels like winter’s coming early, and a T-shirt and joggers is not enough to keep me warm. By the time I get back home my fingers and toes are like ice and the sitting room’s empty.
‘The secret’s in the chopping.’ Rob’s preparing a very late-night dish of chilli-spiked vegetables and shredded beef. Becky’s standing beside him, measuring out rice into a jug and boiling the kettle.
‘They’re doing competitive cooking again,’ says Emma, passing me the wine.
We watch and wait, drinking and chatting. They work well together, despite the constant bantering half-arguments, and at quarter to midnight – all of us pretty much completely pissed – we’re sitting down to dinner in the cosy, dilapidated kitchen.