She could be anything she wanted to be.
Do whatever she wanted to do.
But whatever she did, she was going to have to do it alone.
‘Well, good morning, my dear. How are you, this fine spring day?’ It was Harold, resplendent in his lightweight suit. He carefully lifted his pack of ham, his small, white sliced loaf and his two tins of soup – one oxtail, one vegetable – onto the conveyor belt. His hands were cramped with arthritis. She was relieved to see him. He’d not been into the store for a few days, and that was unlike him.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Webster. We’ve missed you this past week.’
He was struggling to unfurl his ancient string bag. Chloe knew better than to insult him by offering to help. The girl behind Mr Webster – blonde crop, sportswear, beautiful, in every other day for her lunch – indicated that she was in no rush. At last he got his bag untangled. ‘I’ve just been a little under the weather. But I’m A-okay now.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. Are you enjoying the sunshine?’ Chloe asked.
‘I am indeed. Makes all the difference, doesn’t it, my dear?’
‘It does.’ Chloe smiled. The girl behind Mr Webster smiled – at Chloe.
She scanned his goods. He carefully put them into his shopping bag, taking his time. He paid in cash – as always. She counted out his change into his shaking blue-veined hand. Wallet stowed in his trouser pocket, bag shouldered, he tipped his hat at her. ‘Goodbye, Chloe. I’ll be seeing you soon.’ He walked away slowly, leaning heavily on his stick.
A veggie wrap, a packet of nuts and seeds and a bottle of water. A health junkie. It showed. She never bought crisps.
‘Does he come in often?’
‘Mr Webster. Yeah. Most days.’
‘Bit like me then?’ The girl smiled. Blue eyes. No, or very little, make-up. She didn’t need it.
Chloe smiled back. The atmosphere shifted. Chloe was almost sure of it. She took a risk. ‘Not at all like you in other ways!’ She felt herself flush. ‘I’m Chloe.’
‘So I gather.’ They looked at each for a long second. ‘I’m Natasha. Tash to my friends.’
Chloe risked a glance. ‘Nice to meet you, Tash.’
The girl laughed, a short, loud, carefree bark of a laugh. ‘Likewise.’ She picked up her lunch. ‘Same time tomorrow then?’ A raised eyebrow.
‘I’ll be here.’
She sashayed away. Chloe watched her, heart rattling. At the end of the row of tills, Tash stopped and glanced back.
Perhaps there was a reason to stay after all.
Chapter 60
IT WAS 8.45 a.m. by the time Liv handed over her last patient. Home time. She’d been feeling much better of late, her symptoms less onerous – or perhaps she’d just got used to living with them.
She opened her locker, collected her bag and fished out her phone. There were two new messages. The first was from Angus, checking what time she’d be home and reminding her that the plumber was coming to fit the new shower in the downstairs bathroom – he did at least sign off with an emoji heart. The second message was from Chloe, wishing her well on her last day. Liv’s relationship with Chloe was so much better than it had been. It was still delicate and tentative – they had a lot of old baggage to unpack – but since Chloe had stepped up and Liv had stepped back, they had begun to communicate. Not only was there more respect, there was more affection.
She retrieved her jacket. Her locker looked shockingly empty.
A flash of sadness ripped through Liv. This was the last time she would finish a shift for quite a while, the last time she would lead a team, make life-and-death decisions, be the professional she’d striven so long and hard to become.
Letting go of the things that used to define you was scary.
Colette’s voice startled her. ‘Where are you sneaking off to?’
‘Home.’
‘Hell, no. You need to come with me.’ Colette tugged her by the arm back onto the ward and there, at the central station, were her colleagues bearing gifts, with daft grins on their faces.
Lou, the senior sister, had obviously been nominated to give the speech. ‘As you all know, Dr Coulter is leaving us today. “Rat and sinking ship” comes to mind, but I’ve been warned by senior management to be more positive about her dumping us in the shit while she swans off on maternity leave, so I’ll do my best.’ She mock-cleared her throat. ‘We couldn’t let her skulk away without saying something… nice, heartfelt and obviously very short, given we have a waiting room full of people, and I believe the patient in bay six is still anxiously anticipating his enema.’ There was a ripple of laughter. ‘Anyway, we all wanted to say congratulations, and good luck. We’re going to miss you – something rotten. You’ve been an absolute pain… sorry, pleasure to work with – most of the time! Particularly in Resus.’
Liv had a reputation for high standards, bordering on intolerance, which she was proud of; and which was, she believed, justified by the number of crash patients she’d saved over the years.
‘But I’m getting off track. We hope everything goes well. We’d toast your departure if we could, but you know the rules about drinks on the unit as well as anyone else. So, cheers.’ They all raised imaginary glasses to her. ‘Oh, and we also thought we should warn you: young Dr Amit here says he should be doing his stint on Maternity around your due date, so if you want to avoid him popping up at the business end with a pair of forceps, you might want to think about having this baby over at St Mary’s!’
As they hugged her and her seven-month bump, Liv was overcome by affection for her colleagues, and by the realisation that this would be the last time she’d see many of them for at least eight months. Possibly longer. But she and Angus had agreed: this
