Tig looks sheepish. ‘Sunday.’
‘That’s in four days.’
‘I’m know, I’m sorry, but Mark knows someone who’s offered us their villa for free – it has five bedrooms – so you’d just need to book flights.’
It’s July, which tends to be slow for me anyway. Could I rearrange my schedule and get away next week?
‘Is there reliable internet?’ I ask, because worst case scenario I could do Zoom sessions. A few of my patients prefer them, anyway.
‘It’s goteverythingshe says.’
By the time Theo finishes his lesson and comes to sit with us, Tig is in a much better mood.
She leans over to kiss him on the cheek. ‘You’re doing great, babe.’
‘Yeah, I think it’s finally clicked.’ He takes a sip of Tig’s cocktail and winces. ‘That’s like drinking syrup. I’m going to develop diabetes just looking at it.’
‘Would you like me to get you a glass of sherry, Granddad?’
He smiles at her patiently, then turns to me. ‘So, you girls all did a lot of dancing when you were younger?’
‘We went to Anthi’s after-school dance club twice a week for years,’ I reply.
It takes Theo a couple of seconds to join the dots. ‘Anthi? You mean Mark’s mum?’
Tig frowns. ‘I’m sure you knew that.’
‘So, does that mean Mark can dance, too? Did he take classes?’ Theo is finding this new titbit fascinating.
‘Only until he realised how uncool it was,’ I reply. ‘Anthi moaned to Mum foryearsafter he stopped. She said he was a natural.’
‘I should have guessed there was dancing in his background,’ says Theo. ‘We had a Greek night at uni once, and everyonewas very impressed with hiszeibekiko. He kept quiet about the ballroom stuff, though.’
‘Of course he did,’ I say, enjoying imparting this naff factoid about Mark. ‘Zeibekikois a dance for alpha males – a samba isnot.’
Chapter 19
The more I think about it, the better I feel about going to Cyprus. At the very least, five days away will give me breathing space from Rich.
We didn’t bump into each other at all yesterday, and I was hoping it would be the same today. But this morning, I saw him making coffee in the kitchen when I went to put my lunch in the fridge.
‘How are you?’ he asked, just as one of the phlebotomists walked in. She didn’t say anything, but what’s more damning than asking someone you supposedly live with how they are?
I’d hurried to my office, and that’s where I’ve been ever since. But it’s half past one now, and I’d really like to eat my sandwich. My next patients are at two, and if I don’t eat now, I won’t have another break until four.
The prospect of two hours of embarrassing stomach gurgles is enough to prompt me out of my office. But once I’m in the corridor I hear Rich’s voice and freeze. He’s chatting to someone young and female who evidently finds what he’s saying very funny.
I sigh at the unfairness of it all. He’s putting up this perfect front and going about his day as usual, while I’m the one skulking around like a criminal.
Well, sod him. If he’s in the kitchen so bloody what. He’s not going to keep me from my halloumi and cucumber sandwich.
I’m almost disappointednotto find him in the kitchen, which means he’s probably in reception, talking to whicheverbombshell is on shift today. Feeling grumpy, I grab my lunch and retreat to my office.
I’m not supposed to have favourite patients, but some I look forward to seeing more than others.
Hugh and Fernando are in their sixties and have been together for thirty years. They lived through Aids, Section 28, and grew up in a time where bigoted teachers didn’t see anything wrong with calling a child a homophobic slur. Fernando is mixed race, which would have made his experience so much worse.
They first came to me about three months ago because Hugh had slept with someone else. It didn’t take much digging to work out he’d done it as a cry for help. He was a Category 5 cheater – he’d strayed to grab his partner’s attention.
