“Rang her today,” he said, and he galloped down the stairs, dropping socks and shorts behind him as he went.
I followed him down the stairs more sedately, picking up his washing as I went, and he reappeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, my God,” he said. “Your washing machine has buttons and dials and gauges and things.”
“I’ll show you how to use it.” I handed him the pile of washing when I got to the laundry. “What did she say?”
“’Have you met any nice doctors for your sister?’” Matthew quoted. “I told her about F, and the other doctors I’d met, and said you were the only sane one out there.”
“Your sister wants to date a mechanic,” I said, adding detergent to the machine and starting it. “They work decent hours and earn more. Hell, considering the hours I work, Kendra is better off than me. Mind you, she’s obsessive/compulsive about music.”
“I’m telling Mom you said that,” Henry called out from the living room, before appearing in the hallway. His eyes boggled at Matthew’s T-shirt, and I slapped him on the back.
“Get used to redefining masculinity,” I said cheerfully, and he groaned and went back to the TV.
When I’d lugged the first armful of groceries in, I dropped the bags in the kitchen and went upstairs to investigate the shouts of glee.
Henry and Matthew were in the study, Henry at the desk, Matthew on the floor, with cables snaking between his laptop and my PC. “Look out behind you!” Henry shouted, and the speakers on the PC boomed with gunfire.
Obviously, ‘Hello Kitty’ T-shirts didn’t interfere with Matthew’s eligibility as a fellow gamer. I went back downstairs to carry the rest of the shopping in by myself.
That night, when I was curled up under the quilt, my head on Matthew’s chest, listening to his slow deep breathing, our fingers entwined, he said, “Andrew?”
“Hmm?”
“I have a problem,” he said, and I could hear that he was trying not to laugh.
“Okay,” I said. “And that’d be?”
“It seems that I’m very good at negotiating having safe sex, but I actually have no idea how to ask if we can stop,”
Matthew said as he squeezed my hand.
“Guess you just did,” I said contentedly.
Chapter Forty Four
London Hospital didn’t have a cardiology special on the menu in the cafeteria, but they did do a killer omelette, thick and substantial, obviously filled with whatever was left over in the kitchen from the day before.
I got stuck into my omelette, keeping a close eye on the doors, watching for Matthew. Neither of us had very long for lunch, but it was always a good thing when we overlapped.
This was one of the lucky times, and I was only halfway through my lunch when he appeared, wearing green scrubs, hair still in a cap, laughing over his shoulder to Clarissa, who was walking behind him, carrying a laden tray, too.
I waved a fork at them, and Matthew grinned at me and pushed his way through the crowd to plunk his tray on the table opposite me. Clarissa sat down and Matthew leaned across the table to kiss me quickly.
“God, I’m starving,” he said, picking his knife and fork up.
He was eating the omelette, too.
“Guess what?” I said to him, reaching into the folder that was on the table beside my plate.
I handed him the printout from the MRCP examination result page.
He scanned it quickly, and grinned when he found my name, then practically leapt across the table to hug me.
“Yes!” he shouted. “You did it!”
I hugged him and kept hugging, and he kissed me. Life didn’t get any sweeter than this.
“Who have you told?” he asked me, clambering back into his own seat and giving Clarissa a chance to congratulate me, too.
“No one,” I said. “I’ll call Henry now, tell him, then drop into F’s office and leave a message for him.”
He was grinning at me across the table, and we were having one of those sentimental moments that made Henry make vomiting noises if he caught us, when Clarissa elbowed Matthew.
“Eat up, kid,” she said. “We’ve got six minutes until we’re back in pre-op.”
Matthew bolted down his food, but I could still feel his glee. When he pushed his chair back from the table, I said,
“What time tonight?”
He glanced at Clarissa, who shrugged and finished her orange juice as she stood up. “Think the list runs until seven,”
she said.
“Eight thirty,” Matthew said. “Can I call you to be collected? Will you be finished by then, too?”
I nodded. “Yep, I should be home by seven. Give me a ring.”
He disappeared, dumping his tray onto the waiting trolley, and merging into the milling people around the main hallway.
London Hospital didn’t have a car park, so Matthew couldn’t bring the Morris into work. However, because I spent so much time at the hospices the hospital serviced, not only did I get one of the highly-prized parking bays, but the hospital provided a Smart car.
Henry had shrieked with laughter when he’d first seen it, and we all called it Mickey, based on the resemblance of the emergency vehicle lights to mouse ears. It looked absurd, but I had a pass to take it into central London, and I’d done the emergency driving course to be able to use the lights. I’d never used the lights, but I parked on the sidewalk constantly.
My phone rang as I stood up, and I slid my tray onto the trolley and said, “On my way. Just give your wife another dose of morphine immediately, and I’ll be with you in twenty minutes.”
Matthew was standing beside my car bay at the hospital, slouched shoulders underneath his jacket, and I unlocked the passenger door for him.
“Hey,” he said, leaning across to kiss me. “Thought you were going to finish at seven?”
“She died,” I said. Matthew would know that meant I had to stay, at least until the mortuary ambulance turned up.
Matthew nodded, and he looked tired by the interior light of the car. “Let’s go home,” he said.
There was food in the freezer, curries and lasagnas, hinting at a level of domestic organisation that I had not previously managed to achieve, and I tossed a pack of pasta and sauce into the microwave and hit the shower.
Matthew opened the shower curtain, held out a glass of wine for me, and then kicked the lid of the toilet shut and sat down on it. I drank a big gulp of wine and put the glass down beside the basin, then went back to washing myself. I didn’t really feel like talking, but the company was good, and when I glanced back over my shoulder when I reached for the shampoo, he was leaning back against the cistern, idly rubbing at his cock through his jeans.
“Turn the taps off,” he said, and I did, then reached for the towel he held out for me.
The bed was unmade, and I pushed aside the bunched-up sheet and duvet and spread the towel out, aware I wasn’t dry and was still dripping shower water on the bed, but I didn’t care, not with the weight of Matthew dipping the mattress beside me.
“Close your eyes,” he said, and the drawer beside the bed slid open with a scrape. I let out a long breath, closing my eyes and letting my body relax.
There was a rustle of packaging, and the snap of latex, and while my breathing was smooth and slow, my heart rate had picked up.
“God, I need this,” I said, and he kissed the back of my neck.
