Except the more he spoke – as we all sat there in my office – the more I began to wonder if I hadn’t actually got him totally wrong. He was exceptionally articulate and controlled for a seventeen-year-old. It was hard to believe he was the offspring of the great ape sitting alongside him. I established quite quickly that he attended a nearby private school, which possibly explains it, but yes, it threw me. He was clearly very bright indeed and I watched him carefully as he talked. He was also astonishingly good-looking; there was no debate to be had there. He was on the cusp of that final shift from beautiful boyish vulnerability to masculine dominance; fatally attractive to a certain kind of person, in my experience.

  But ‘the Devil hath the power to assume a pleasing shape’, and Jonathan Day was far more than a pretty smile and big brown eyes. I found myself engaged as he made some pithy observations and, to my mounting dismay, I began to see how Alex might well have had her head turned by such a boy. I was certainly concerned enough to check the days she’d worked in June and, on Monday, the 19th she was off – she does a four-day week because of her young children. My first assumption was that Day junior had struck lucky with this detail – I wasn’t worried that it confirmed anything bar that it was logistically possible that she might have gone to his house that day, and yes, it was.

  Would Alex be so foolish as to have responded to a note left by a young, male – attractive – patient on her car however? Surely not. No health care professional would do that. They’d just completely ignore it… but while one would like to think she’s learnt her lesson on that front, one also knows Alex can be far too easily led for her own good.

  As I listened to Day junior, I started to think about the recent lunchtime when I found Alex crying at her desk. It would have been in August, I think. I didn’t really know how to comfort her; like most British men of my age I’m fairly useless when it comes to being confronted with a crying woman in a social context, but when I worriedly asked her what was wrong, she confided that she was experiencing some marital difficulties.

  I was very sad to discover that her husband seemed to be repeating his behaviour pattern of old, this time substituting Alex for some young colleague of his. As my mother would say, there’s no fool like an old fool. She was obviously upset, but at the time I had no reason to think her mental capacity had been affected by what her husband had rashly done. I think I would have staunchly pointed out to anyone who suggested such a thing what an insult to the intelligence of an exceptionally capable woman that was. But as I listened to Day junior hold court, I began to wonder if perhaps a boy like this appearing in her office, flirting with her when she was already feeling rejected by her husband, had proven just too deliciously tempting?

  There are lots of things that fascinate people about doctors, but one of the things I’m asked most at dinner parties is, do you ever fancy your patients? Is it tricky when you’re having to intimately examine a very attractive person?

  My answer is always the same. Most people – unless they are attention-seeking nut jobs – come to the doctors because they have something wrong with them: lumps, bumps, boils, bleeding bowels, rectal protuberances, pubic lice, ulcers, puss-filled hair follicles, heavy periods, testicular torsion, excessive bloating or wind… aroused yet? Exactly. It doesn’t matter how attractive a person might be, I just see symptoms – and almost everybody looks better with clothes on, trust me.

  Of course, sometimes a person will walk into your room who is exceptional. And yes, we’re only human. But that’s when the experienced doctor then simply detaches from that emotional response and focuses on the job. The patient is there to be treated, not flirted with. The professional within us must remain empathetic, naturally, but we do not allow ourselves to become compromised. How on earth would we cope with the extremely distressing cases – of which there are plenty – unless we are able to compartmentalise successfully? We would be basket cases, no use to anyone. It was one of the first lessons I taught Alex after the Rob debacle: detach and compartmentalise. Protect yourself. Surely she hadn’t let Day undo all of her good work?

  I admit I was unsettled and concerned enough to give the rest of Day’s statement my undivided attention.

  9

  Jonathan Day

  Cherry was the first person to notice my mind was elsewhere. We’ve been going out for over seven months now: she was never going to miss it. The first time she confronted me was in her bedroom after school on the Monday after I’d left everyone in the pub and gone home.

  We were watching Nigahiga. ‘I literally don’t get this,’ I said, staring at the screen. ‘Five million views for picking rubbish out of his bin and he’s not funny. He’s not actually funny.’

  ‘I like him.’ Cherry shrugged. ‘He’s authentic – which is the golden ticket. He doesn’t pretend to be someone he isn’t.’

  ‘I know what authentic means,’ I snapped, and she raised her eyebrows.

  ‘You’re very touchy recently,’ she remarked. ‘Talking of truth and lies, why aren’t we doing it any more?’

  ‘What?’ I pretended to look puzzled. ‘We are.’

  ‘No, we’re not.’ She changed position and lay on her front on the bed, crossing her feet over at the ankle. Everything had become a selfie pose with her; she’d almost completely stopped moving like a normal person. ‘Not since you got your leg fixed. Have you gone off me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Am I fat?’ She twisted over on her back and stuck her long legs up in the air.

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Seriously. Am I getting fat? You can tell me.’

  I sighed. ‘Of course you’re not.’

  ‘No, Jonny, that’s right. I’m not fat. I got 1K likes when I posted in just a suit jacket last week. Someone said I AM Lolita clickbait.’ She sat up suddenly and crossed her arms. ‘So it’s not me. That’s for sure. I’m still doing good business. You though? Not so much.’

  ‘Can you please not talk like you’re American? It really pisses me off. You were born in Bromley, not Brooklyn.’ I reached over and turned the iPad off grumpily.

  ‘OK. Stick this in your mockney pipe and smoke it, then.’ She shrugged. ‘Your numbers are shit. You’re not getting any more followers because you’re not putting in the effort. You need to be posting every day at this stage. There is no way we’re even vaguely ready to be YouTubers yet. Joe and Zoe, on the other hand, are out there right now, living our lives with their millions of followers, houses, endorsements, and cute little dogs. How do you feel about not being part of that narrative?’

  ‘Don’t channel Taylor Swift like that. It makes you sound like an immense bell-end.’

  ‘Whatever. I can tell you I do NOT feel good. I refuse to be part of generation mute. I love you, but I want to be out there loud and proud. If you’ve gone off the idea of YouTubing together, then fine, but at least have the courtesy to tell me, so I can get your replacement sorted.’

  I scoffed. ‘As in replacement boyfriend?’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘I mean, someone more committed to creating their online presence. Of course I still want you as my boyfriend.’ She sat up on her knees and pulled her tie loose, unbuttoned her shirt, unhooked her bra and just looked at me, half-naked. She was right, she looked amazing – and I felt absolutely nothing.

  ‘There are so many people who would kill to see me like this in real life, and you’re the only person who gets to, but you don’t want it,’ she said. ‘So, who have you met? Where did you go last Friday night when you just disappeared?’

  ‘I went home, Cherry. That’s all. I was tired.’

  ‘Do you think Joe Sugg gets tired, or do you think he’s out there right now writing his next book? Your last Instagram was over five days ago. It’s not good enough, Jonathan.’

  I was suddenly bored. Bored of it all. ‘I am NOT a mockney. That’s just bloody rude.’ I got up, grabbed my phone and banged out of the house.

  She didn’t come after me, and I didn’t care. I got into my car and roared off down the drive, only stopping once I was back out on the lane, to text Alex from the burner.

  Can I see you?

  So much for my playing it cool. I sat and waited for ten minutes, but she didn’t answer. I gave up and went home. Cherry messaged me later that night with an apology of sorts.

  It’s good that we argue! People are going to love this shit! Will they won’t they, do they don’t they? Trust me. We are going to rule!

  I told her it was fine and I’d already forgotten about it, which I sort of had anyway – it was Alex I was concentrating on. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong that meant she was now just ignoring me. I did think she might just be doing what I do with girls – blank them until they are grateful for whatever attention I show them.

  If she was, it worked, because by Wednesday I’d reached the point where I needed to see if she was deliberately cutting me off or was on holiday or something and there was a rational reason for her silence. I’d just pulled into the surgery car park after school to look for her car – I’d decided if it was there, that was it, we were over, I was just going to get on with my life – when a text came through from her. I jumped with shock.

  Are you at home?

  I’d looked around me worriedly and spied the BMW. She was here somewhere. Could she see me from an office room? Was this a trick question? I decided to just be honest.

  No, I’m in your car park at work.

  I waited for a moment, but nothing happened. I climbed out of the car and walked up to the surgery hesitantly, then turned right and ventured around the side of the building where I’d seen her disappear off to that first day. There was a door there, but no one around. No Alex waiting for me. I hung about for a moment or two more, but nobody appeared, so I walked back to the car park. I even popped into the chemist, just in case – but she wasn’t there either. Just a couple of old people waiting for prescriptions.

  I went back to the car, and as I climbed back in, the crappy mobile finally went off in my hand, making me almost drop it in the scramble to look at the screen.

  Go home.

  I was confused. Was I being dismissed, or summoned?

  Just in case, I started the car and drove as fast as I could back to the house, but she wasn’t there waiting, and I also discovered, when I got up to my room, that my iPhone was missing from my bag. I’d had it when I left school, so some wanker must have nicked it from the passenger seat while I was pratting around outside looking for Alex. I was seriously pissed off by this point, as well as angry with myself. I could do without the hassle of getting a new phone, but far more importantly – I’d blown it with Alex and overstepped the mark. What I’d done must have looked stalker-ish to her, but it really wasn’t. I was actually trying to resolve everything, but then her text had thrown me. I didn’t know what it meant, or what I was supposed to do. I was completely confused, which was probably the point.

  On Wednesday, 12 July – a whole two weeks after she’d effectively told me to do one – a message came through with an address and

  This Sat – be there at 10 p.m.

  That was it – but her precise schedule was a problem. It was Olly’s party, which had been planned for ages to coincide with his parents going to Tenerife. I couldn’t arrive before ten, then go and come back again, or show up as late as eleven either, at my mate’s party. But I wanted to see her, I really wanted to see her.

  * * *

  So on Saturday morning, I went into Ruby’s bedroom. She was still dozing and Angel was lying on her bed, looking up and wagging her tail when I came in.

  ‘You know when she wags her tail like that she’s effectively wiping her arse on your bedclothes, don’t you?’ I said as I sat down.

  Ruby rubbed her eyes and turned over. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I lied. ‘I came to see if you wanted a tea or coffee.’

  Ruby pulled a face. ‘Shut up and just tell me; it’ll be a lot quicker.’

  I sighed. ‘Are you in tonight?’

  ‘Yes, why?’ She looked at me warily.

  ‘I need some cover for why I’m going to get to Olly’s party about two hours late. Can I say that you had a crisis and I had to be here with you?’

  She burst out laughing. ‘Yes, because if that were true, you’d be the first person I’d call.’

  ‘You might,’ I said and pretended to look hurt.

  ‘Don’t try your baby deer thing; it’s only Mum that works on. Why are you getting to Olly’s two hours late?’

  I hesitated. ‘I can’t tell you. I just need an excuse that they’ll all buy, especially Cherry.’

  She frowned. ‘Is what you’re doing illegal?’

  ‘No, promise,’ I said sincerely.

  She propped herself up on her pillow. ‘Are you cheating on Cherry? Because that’s a bit shit if you are. I don’t especially like her and she’s got a balloon instead of a head, but she’s obviously very into you and you shouldn’t knowingly hurt people.’

  ‘Believe me, Cherry can more than take care of herself. You don’t have to worry about her. Please, Rubes. This is important.’

  She looked at me again. ‘So if anyone asks, you’re going to say you’ve been at home consoling me, and as far as Mum and Dad go, you’re going straight to Olly’s?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Are you going to be somewhere safe?’ she said, all of a sudden. ‘You’ll text me when you really do arrive at Olly’s? I’m not doing it otherwise. And you’ve got your pen?’

  ‘I swear.’ I reached into my pocket and pulled out my insulin pen to prove it. ‘Thanks, Ruby. I owe you one.’

  * * *

  I started to get ready way too early and was done by seven o’clock. I hesitated and texted Alex.

  Can I come at nine, not ten? Would make a big difference to me?

  * * *

  No, it’s not dark enough then. Someone might see you arrive.

  She knew how to make me feel special, that’s for sure. But the thought that I’d actually be with her in two hours overrode everything else. I refused Mum’s offer of an Indian because I didn’t want to smell, having a salad instead – to much piss-taking – and sat on the sofa watching Bridget Jones’s Baby with the three of them, jittering my leg nervously until Dad turned to me.

  ‘What’s rattled your cage?’

  I stopped instantly, shrugged and looked blank. ‘Nothing? I’m going out in a minute, that’s all.’

  Dad looked at his watch pointedly. ‘The night’s as good as over!’

  ‘It’s not even quarter to ten yet.’ I looked at my phone then out of the window. It was dark enough now, surely?

  ‘Leave him alone, Gary.’ Mum popped a chocolate in her mouth. ‘Just watch the film. You said you were enjoying it a moment ago.’

  ‘I said it’s better than the first two,’ Dad retorted. ‘That’s not the same thing. McDreamy’s getting on my nerves now and it’s not realistic. She’s stopped smoking just like that, has she? I don’t buy it. Where are you going anyway?’ He swung back round to me, and I jumped guiltily.

  ‘Olly’s.’

  I glanced at Ruby, but she didn’t look up from filing her nails.

  ‘Make sure you text me, please, if you’re going to be later than one,’ Mum said. ‘And remember that you’ve got school on Monday. It’s not the holidays yet. You got a snack with you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ I stood up – Dad was still looking at me.

  ‘You’re too smart for your own good, sunshine. You know that?’ he said, and my heart thumped. ‘What is it that you’re really doing?’

  ‘Excuse me, Poirot, do you mind? I’m trying to watch this, even if you’re not!’ Ruby exclaimed. ‘Urgh – and I think the dog’s doing something in your slipper.’

  ‘What?’ said Dad in alarm and looked down under the sofa.

  Ruby widened her eyes at me, and I legged it.

  I put the postcode into Google Maps and discovered it was only twenty minutes away. It couldn’t be her actual address? It took me out past the bunny run and the farm shop entrance then left onto another even smaller lane that led past a couple of houses and wove deeper into the forest. I made the mistake of turning off too soon into a small Forestry Commission clearing. There was nothing else there, only an open track leading right into the woods. I reversed and drove on, almost immediately reaching a cottage set back from the road, behind a five-bar gate.

  I parked on the road, and walked down the drive through the garden, in the dark. There were no lights on and the curtains were open. It looked a bit like the family who lived there had gone on holiday. I peered in through the glass and jumped to see Alex just sat on a sofa in the gloom looking back at me. She stood up and walked out of the room as I made my way to the front door. I waited until she silently opened it and stood back to let me in.

  Walking into the hallway, which smelt strongly of flowers, I kept my hands in my jeans pockets and turned to face her. ‘Do you live here?’

  She nodded. ‘My husband has taken the children to his parents for the night. I pretended I wasn’t feeling well and stayed put.’

  I’d not thought about her having children before then. For the first time I wondered exactly how old she was, but then I realised what she’d just said. We had all night.

  Maybe that was why she didn’t seem in as much of a rush as usual. She slowly walked over to me and I gently lowered my head and kissed her. She pulled back immediately and looked at me, surprised. I reached for her hand and started leading her towards the stairs.

 

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