Which Sally was quite tempted to do, what with all the fuss he was making.
‘I washed it up, dried it and put it away.’ Biting her tongue, she opened the final cupboard door and took out the omelette pan. ‘There, panic over.’
Gabe looked irritated. ‘It’s never been kept in that cupboard.’
Every time she felt bad at having lost the letter that had arrived for him — and not mentioning it
— Gabe said something to make her feel less guilty. Like now. Evenly Sally said, ‘Gabe, up until a couple of weeks ago, I’d have left the omelette pan on the stove or dumped in the sink and I wouldn’t have got this much grief about it. Why are you being like this?’
Didn’t he realise that she might sound in control but inside she was finding his attitude deeply upsetting?
‘Sorry.’ Gabe didn’t sound remotely sorry. ‘Will you be coming straight home from work?’
‘No, I won’t. So don’t worry, I won’t be here to put the wrong cup on the wrong saucer.’
He switched on the gas ring, ignoring the jibe. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Having dinner with Roger and Emily.’
‘Who?’
‘Dr Willis and his wife.’
Gabe said sarkily, ‘Again?’
He never used to be sarky.
‘Yes, again,’ Sally mimicked him.
‘Why?’
Why indeed? She hadn’t the foggiest. But Roger had said they had something they wanted to tell her so she’d agreed. ‘I don’t know.’ Pointedly Sally said, ‘Maybe they enjoy my company.’
Gabe exhaled heavily and began breaking eggs into a bowl. Sally picked up her keys and limped out of the kitchen.
They’d always got on so well together. How had it come to this?
’Ten o’clock, love, with Dr Burton.’
Sally dragged her attention back to the elderly woman on the other side of the counter, checked the lists on the computer screen and said, ‘That’s fine, Betty, take a seat.’
‘You all right this morning, love? Looking a bit peaky.’ Sally forced a smile; it was always a joy to know you looked as rubbish as you felt.
‘I’m OK, Betty. Just a bit ... tired.’ Tired of being criticised, tired of hearing she looked peaky, tired of being nagged at because she’d put the omelette pan away in the wrong sodding cupboard.
‘Oh hello, Maureen, didn’t see you there.’ Betty beamed at Maureen, sitting over by the magazines with her knitting.
‘How’re you doing, Betty? I’m not so bad myself. Feet still playing up but I’m trying some new tablets, so fingers crossed. And our Lauren’s expecting again, that’s cheered us all up.’
‘Ooh, lovely. What d’you think of Sally over there, then? Reckon she’s looking a bit peaky, do you?’
Oh, for crying out loud.
‘Probably too many late nights,’ said Maureen, peering over the top of her glasses at Sally perched on a stool on the other side of the reception desk. She winked saucily. ‘Got yourself a new boyfriend, love? Burning the candle at both ends? Too much canoodling and what-have-you, that’s my guess. Am I right, hmm?’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Betty. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of morning sickness.’
Oh, for crying out loud .. .
Across the waiting room the old regulars, Maureen and Betty, were chuckling away. Half a dozen other patients were all watching expectantly too, waiting for her to come out with some chirpy reply.
To her absolute horror Sally realised that she was actually physically about to start crying out loud. Her vision blurred with tears and her throat tightened from the inside. Attempting to duck down out of sight behind the computer screen, she almost toppled off her stool. Her walking stick was out of reach, propped up against the filing cabinet. If it hadn’t been for her leg she would’ve made a dash for the bathroom but she was too clumsy and too slow. Even Maureen with her gammy feet and Bettywith her lumbago were faster, peering over the counter and clucking with concern.
Since they’d already seen the tears, Sally let them slide down her face. ‘S-sorry, I’m not pregnant. Just having a b-bit of an off day.’
‘Oh, love, go on, let it all out. Here, have a tissue, don’t go dripping mascara on that lovely shirt of yours. There there, don’t worry. So, boyfriend trouble, is it? Is he giving you the runaround?’
Everyone in the waiting room was agog and staring. All the magazines had been put down.
Mortified but unable to help herself, Sally sobbed noisily for a couple of minutes before blowing her nose and shaking her head. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’
‘Good,’ a middle-aged man said crisply. ‘Now you know how we feel, having to sit here knowing that you know all our shameful secrets.’
‘Like piles,’ mused the older man next to him.
‘Speak for yourself,’ a girl in a purple sweater retorted. ‘I don’t have piles.’ As several people smiled she said, ‘I have an irritable bowel.’
