Neil’s expression is guilty, as if I’ve wrongfooted him. “I... okay. Maybe this spreadsheet is more detailed than usual. The accountant is a temp. Listen, if you don’t want to help, I’ll find someone else.”
“No, of course I’ll help. It appears straightforward enough. But why did Ezra ask you to do this if he knows you struggle so much?”
“I don’t, normally. As I said, it’s a different accountant.” His fist on the table clenches. “Does it matter?”
Awkward exchanges like this are precisely why I issue my conflict avoidance speech. “No, of course it doesn’t.”
“Okay then.” He points to the screen. “This section is the worst. I can’t take in the numbers at the far end and then keep it all straight as I scroll through to the other end. I tend to…I can’t keep it in my peripheral vision.”
“Fine, I can help you with that. How about I grab a pen and write down the numbers you can’t decipher yourself? I’ll talk you through it, too.”
Neil blows out a relieved breath. “That would be good, thank you. Write fairly big, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
We make our way through the documents. Neil squints a lot and rubs his temples, as though concentrating pains him.
“How’s the head?”
“Tender, but fine. I’ll stay off the booze next time we have a gig.”
My suspicions teeter on the tip of my tongue. “Maybe stay away from the edges of the stage, too.”
“Good plan.” He squints again at the screen.
“Would turning the brightness up help?”
“I think it’s as bright as it goes. And I tried printing it all out and putting the pages side by side but,” he shakes his head, “I can’t see any better.”
“Does that usually help?”
“I don’t…no. Not since…no.”
I sip my water. Neil’s glass sits forgotten at his elbow. Earth is in excellent financial shape as far as I can tell, and their accountant seems to have everything in hand. Neil repeatedly expresses his gratitude and I have a new, bushy Japanese peace lily to prove it. All in all, his allotted five minutes (which has stretched to thirty) has been okay. Actually, better than. I don’t have much company in the flat, and, now we’ve both settled down, dealing with someone else’s problems for a change is refreshing. Moreover, I can’t complain about the smell or the view.
Neil is dressed in a threadbare long-sleeved T-shirt with the sleeves pushed up to mid forearms. Solid blue veins lie just visible beneath his pale skin, like low-voltage power lines. I’ve never been particularly enamoured by anyone’s forearms before, but I suspect there is very little of Neil’s body I’m not attracted to. Just below his left ear, on the curve of his neck, he has a small tattoo in black ink, fine-line, a dragon breathing fire. It’s easy to miss until he tilts his head, obscured by his wavy and wild mass of thick dark hair. He’s got enough for both of us and then some.
“See what you think of this.” I tap on my paper pad, hoping he’s not noticed me cataloguing his attributes. He seems oblivious, to be honest. Maybe he’s used to it. When he looks at where I’m indicating, he twists his whole body in his chair. Have his falls resulted in a stiff neck or back? “Can you read it okay?”
His lips, a little chapped, half-press into a relieved smile, the first one since he sat down. “It’s perfect. Your writing is really clear.” He glances up from the pad, directly at me, brown eyescrinkling. “I thought good handwriting was beaten out of you lot at med school.”
I tear the relevant pages out and hand them to him. “I must have slipped through the net. Whoops!”
His elbow jolts his water glass. I grab it before it slides off the table.
“Good catch. Sorry, didn’t see it there.”
He gathers up his things. I hand him a sheet of paper he’s missed and, before I overthink it, say, “You know, if you need anything else whilst Ez is away, I’m around most days.”
“I wouldn’t want to take up your time. I know how busy you doctors are. Alaric never seems to stop working.”
“I’m part-time,” I answer. “For…um…health reasons.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t enquire. “What breed of doctor are you, anyhow?” he queries instead, rising to his feet. “I never asked.”
I brace myself, preparing to defend my entire career. Usually, I start my spiel by pointing out the skin is the body’s largest organ, thus skin disease affects the entire human body. Skin disorders don’t just itch—they isolate, they embarrass, they break people down. They can be a sign of cancer or a harbinger of serious autoimmune disease. Diagnosing and treating them is unbelievably rewarding. Patients have thrown their arms around me, crying with relief when their skin conditions finally stop hurting.
“I’m a dermatologist,” I say.
