Incident No – 5628323
Time of Call: 18:27
Call Handler: SUNITA “RAVEN”CHAKRABARTI
Call Handler: You’re through to the NHS 111 service, my name’s Raven and I’m a health advisor. Are you calling about yourself or someone else?
Caller: Honestly? I’m calling about my husband, but you will be helping my sanity.
Call Handler: Could you tell me your husband’s name please?
Caller: His name’s Robert and I’m Claire.
Call Handler: Hello, Claire. How can I help?
Caller: We need you to settle an argument for us.
Call Handler: I’m sorry?
Caller: Which is better for a toothache – paracetamol or ibuprofen.
Call Handler: I’m sorry. Does your husband have a toothache?
Caller: No. He does not.
Call Handler: Do you have a toothache?
Caller: No. No one has a toothache. You’re missing the point here, sweetie. I’m trying to prove to my micromanaging husband that he isn’t always right. That sometimes other people know things! Like actual, genuine facts.
Call Handler: Oh, well … this might be something your GP might be better able to handle. Or your dentist?
Caller: Well, what good are you then?
Call Handler: I’m sorry?
Caller: All I want to know, so for once in my life I can feel a little morsel of fucking validation, is whether or not paracetamol or ibuprofen is better for a toothache.
Call Handler: Don’t you have a dentist you could ask?
Caller: [Heavy sigh] No, love. It’s after hours, isn’t it? [Screams] Why can’t you do this? Why can’t you do this one simple thing for me? All I want is an answer beyond what bloody Google says. Ibuprofen or paracetamol.
Call Handler: Ibuprofen I guess. It’s an anti-inflammatory. Paracetamol if you’re allergic.
Caller: Boom! You hear that? You. Hear that babe? I told you it was ibuprofen. [Muted: Babe. She said paracetamol if you’re allergic. Ibuprofen is the better choice overall.] Here. I’m putting you on speaker so you can hear it yourself. The doctor says ibuprofen is the better choice.
Call Handler: Umm … I should say that I am not a health professional. It would be better—
Caller: What? You’re not a health professional?
Call Handler: No.
Caller: What are you then?
Call Handler: Umm … a call handler?
Caller: Oh, jaysus. Fucking hell. The one time I’m bloody right and now you’ve gone and fucked it up by being a nobody. Thanks for nothing. [Call ends]
Call Handler: Thank you for calling 111! And a special thank you for depleting my self worth. Please do call if your sysmptoms worsen or you have any other concerns.
Chapter Fourteen
With the television off, the house was far too quiet. Sue tried humming a little tuneless number as she washed up her mug and folded the tea towel on the edge of the sink. She hummed a bit louder as she headed up the stairs, but doing so reminded her too much of the ridiculously naive women who wandered straight into the face of danger in all of those horror films Gaz had liked watching. A part of her wondered if the films would frighten her now or if she’d roll her eyes, astonished that someone could be panicked by something as everyday as the dark. There were far more horrifying things to be frightened of. War. Famine. Walking into the stairwell of your own home with a spatula in your hand only to discover your husband had had enough.
She probably shouldn’t have had that extra coffee at work today, but Flo had kept bringing the hot drinks round to her desk like clockwork. She’d never had them before. The packet cappuccinos. Australian, Flo had said. From her son. They were surprisingly moreish and had a strangely exotic taste about them. One had definitely had vanilla in it. Another had seemed a bit coconutty. Cardamom, Flo had explained without having to be asked when Sue had caught the scent of the third one. Cardamom.
Cardamom! Gary would’ve laughed, and not because she would have stumbled over the word. He had never made her feel small, her Gary, though he did tease. She could picture him clear as day laughing as she told him about the lovely older woman from work who was handing out flavoured coffees. ‘Cor, look ‘oo’s posh now with her cardamom lattes.’ He would’ve said the word perfectly.
‘Cappuccino,’ she would’ve giggled, wanting to be just a little bit right. (Having an older brother whose statements – true or false – were taken as a given had made her nervous about insisting she was right in front of anyone apart from Gary. ‘It’s a cappuccino, Gaz.’ She’d only just learnt the name cappuccino came from Italian monks who wore white hoods and brown robes. Kath off of Brand New Day had been on about it after Kev had asked what was wrong with plain old coffee, wondering aloud just how much money Kath had spent over the years on fancy coffees. Tens of thousands of pounds, he’d speculated. Tens of thousands.
Gary would’ve agreed with him, Kev. That the fancy coffees were a waste of money, but he would’ve liked the bit about the monks. She’d meant to tell him about it over dinner. The toad-in-the-hole. She’d not be able to wow him with that little titbit now. She’d loved doing that. Bringing home quirky little nuggets of information he could use at work if the person who had rung him to unblock this or de-drip that was hovering. She could picture it perfectly. Telling him about the Capucins and the cappuccinos. Her smiling a bit too proudly when he pulled her into a hug and called her his resident brain box. No one else in the world had ever called her that. A brain box. Now, she supposed, no one ever would.
Sue resumed her trip up the stairs, her eyes glued to the steps. It was the safest way. If she looked up she’d see the hatch to the loft. She’d always thought it too dangerous being as close to the stairs as it was. It wasn’t as if their tiny little two-up, two-down row house afforded ample space to locate a loft hatch
