found what I wanted.
Back up the ladder I painted the big pane of glass bright blue, the next one red. The little one that opens received a coat of canary yellow. Well, they did ask if I was painting the windows, I said to myself.
The two of them stared at me as if they had just discovered that a psychopathic monster lived next door. I pointed with the paint brush.
'Mondrian,' I shouted, but they couldn't hear me through their double glazing.
It's more difficult to be cheerful when there is no audience. I tried to eat decent food, to keep the resistance high, but had little appetite for anything. Gilbert was right, I decided I should have told Annabelle the truth, right from the beginning. I wished I had a photograph of her.
A politician was assassinated in Spain and England were walloped by Romania at football. An airliner crashed in Russia and Rhoda Flannery died in the prison hospital. Maybe she had the last laugh, after all.
The seventh morning dawned bright and frosty. I showered and dressed in comfortable clothes: jeans, woollen shirt, leather jacket and trainers. I scraped the ice off the windscreen, put a load of stuff in the boot that I might need later and drove to the surgery.
It was ten to nine and Sam's car was already there. I was OK until I parked the car, then I started shaking and had difficulty locking the door.
Three patients were already waiting, huddled within themselves like starving peasants awaiting an audience with the laird. The receptionist switched her smile to main beam and started saying: 'Dr.
Evans says you're to go straight…' but I was already knocking on his door.
'Good morning, Charlie. Take a seat,' he said, placing a letter he was reading back on his desk.
'No thanks, Sam. Are they the results?'
'Yes, they are.'
'So what do they say.'
He turned the letter towards me and pushed it forwards. Bless you, Sam, you didn't make a drama out of it. A huge smile split his face as he said: 'The tests confirm that you are not HIV positive.
Congratulations, Charlie, you've beaten it.'
I flopped in the chair and threw my head back, gulping in great draughts of beautiful fresh air like a man dragged out of the quicksand in the nick of time.
Sam was rabbi ting on, but I was hardly listening: '… so if you haven't used a dirty needle or had unprotected sex since you were in hospital, we can safely say you are fit and healthy.'
I didn't remember having unprotected sex when I was in hospital. Must have been asleep for that bit. I gave him the grin and just nodded my appreciation of what he was saying.
He delved into one of the drawers at his side of the desk and produced a bottle of champagne. 'Have a celebratory drink on me,' he said.
'Now?' I suggested, taking it from him. It was the first word uttered by the new Charlie Priest.
'Er, no. I don't think my patients would appreciate it. Better make it some other time. By the way, Yvonne said I've to invite you to lunch on Sunday. Can you make it?'
I held up the bottle. 'I'll bring the booze,' I said.
'Good. Smashing.'
I stood up to leave. 'Thanks for everything, Sam.'
'You're welcome, Charlie. It's good news for all of us, you know, not just you.'
He walked to the door with me. 'So what are you going to do next?' he asked. We were down to the small talk.
'Next? Good question. Suddenly there's a next. Back to catching villains, I suppose.'
'I meant today.'
'Oh, today. Driving,' I replied. 'I've got to go to Guildford.'
'Guildford. That's a long way.'
I looked at my watch. 'Yes, and I'm running late.'
'Well, take it steady.'
'No chance. Flat out all the way. See you Sunday.'
I pulled the door closed behind me. The number of grey faces in the waiting room had doubled and the receptionist had removed her spectacles. We exchanged warm smiles. I thrust the bottle of champers forward and hollered: 'Next!' as I strode towards the exit.
Try to leave 'em with a smile, that's my motto. It's not always this easy, but if it was, anybody could do it.
