I hope this message finds you well. Kofi informed me today that you’re currently on sick leave due to food poisoning, and I just wanted to check in to see how you’re feeling and whether there’s anything we can do to support you.
Please don’t worry about today’s itinerary – Kofi has everything well under control.
Wishing you a swift and smooth recovery.
Best regards,
Jeff
I couldn’t quite tell if Jeff’s message came from his ‘Type A’ personality – always diligent and attentive – or if it was a genuine act of kindness. Maybe it was both. Still, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling it left me with. Did he send thoughtful emails like that to everyone who called in sick … or was there something different about the way he treated me? Especially consideringthatnight during the staff drinks.
Sighing, I sent a quick email back, trying to sound as professional as possible:
Dear Jeff,
Thank you so much for your kind message – I really appreciate you checking in. I’m on the mend and hoping to feel back to normal soon.
It’s reassuring to know that everything is under control with today’s itinerary. Please extend my thanks to Kofi as well for stepping in.
Looking forward to getting back to work once I’m fully recovered.
Warm regards,
Cassandra
I hit ‘send’ and stared at my screen, confused. Was I just looking too deeply into it? Jeff was a nice guy – maybe I was the one who’d been acting strangely around him. Perhaps I’d been reading too much into the lingering glances and the quiet tension in the elevator, mistaking them for something they weren’t. In any instance, I decided to cross that bridge when I got to it.
After deciding that was enough laptop screen time for the day, I ran a bubble bath, hoping that could, in turn, help heal my body. I even threw in some magnesium flakes for good measure. I sank into the tub, letting the steaming, fragrant water envelop me, soothing and relaxing my aching muscles. I closed my eyes and lay completely still for a few moments. It had been quite a while since I’d been able to take time for myself and practice a bit of wellness, so I wanted to drag it out for as long as I could. With my phone on the side of the bath, I lined up the most recent episode ofThe Jungle Diariesto see what drama Simi P had cooking up this week, knowing that for the first time, I wouldn’t be able to relate:
‘What’s up, guys? It’s your girl, Simi P, back again this week withThe Jungle Diariespodcast, where we talk about the harsh realities of trying to survive what I like to call “The Dating Jungle”, because it really is a jungle out here, guys! This week I wanna talk about dating scammers, trappers and drug dealers. I’m seeing so many babes on Instagram living their best lives online with the blurred-out faces of their men who are so obviously criminals, but what I wanna know is, is the glam and glitz of that lifestyle worth the stress of potentially going to prison? In this day and age, why are so many of us lowering our standards for these temporary lifestyle changes? Just so you can stunt on the gram? I’m gonna talk more about that, and then we’ll get into our listener letters later!’
I agreed with Simi in that it felt as if so many women my age were constantly lowering their standards for financial and aesthetic reasons. With the economy in shambles and the cost of living climbing like it’s trying to win an Olympic medal, I couldn’t really blame those women. The dating scene was a mess, and good men? Practically an endangered species. Honestly, I had to respect the hustle – some of us decided to stop waiting around for Prince Charming and go out and snatch what we wanted, even if it meant tossing the rulebook out the window and setting it on fire.
Chapter 13
‘Sorry, love, what was that? Diarrhoea? How long have you had the diarrhoea for?’
I squirmed in utter embarrassment over the pharmacist’s repeated loud use of the word ‘diarrhoea’ for everyone in the hospital pharmacy queue to hear. It seemed as if my sickness had broken overnight and I’d woken up that morning feeling ten times better than the previous day. Aside from a slight headache and a slightly runny stomach, I felt back to normal.
‘Sorry, could you lower your voice please?’ I said in hushed tones, as if I were an undercover police officer trying to score some heroin off the street. ‘I’ve had it for about fifteen hours or so, and it’s slowly going, but I just need something to help with the symptoms for a couple of hours.’
The pharmacist – who clearly paid no attention to my pleas of discretion – continued. ‘OK. Well, we’ve got Imodium – that really helps with a running stomach – but it depends on which one you want. We’ve got Imodium classic, Imodium Dual Action or Imodium Instant Melts if you’re looking for something on the go.’
‘I’d go for the Dual Action if I were you, love.’ I turned around to see an old woman behind me, smiling up at me warmly. This morning truly couldn’t get any worse. ‘The DualAction treats wind and cramps too; may as well get two for the price of one, I say!’
‘Thanks so much,’ I muttered darkly, wishing the ground would swallow me up. After purchasing the medicine, I hotfooted it to the staff elevator entrance corridor and made my way up to my floor, missing my daily cappuccino ritual. Today was not a day to be playing around with dairy, of all things. I had my date with Theo tonight, and I absolutely had to make sure that everything went according to plan, right down to my plumbing downstairs. If it meant having to plug my bumhole with cotton wool for the night to prevent any accidental leakages, then so be it.
I’d arrived at work a full thirty minutes ahead of schedule, giving me time to log in to the computer and swiftly knock back a couple of the Imodium double-strength pills. I prayed they would start working immediately; everything would be counting on how the next few hours would go. Luckily, my work inbox was looking a little thin on the ground, meaning there wasn’t that much for me to catch up on outside of arranging the new patient appointments and scheduling the pre-operative assessments, which would probably take no longer than a couple of hours.
Just as I was starting to get into the swing of things, a gentle knock at the door pulled me from my focus. I turned to find Jeff standing in the doorway, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He wore a grey houndstooth tweed suit – something that seemed far more fitting for a day at Cheltenham races or a wedding than a shift at the hospital, but he looked great nonetheless.
‘Hey, Cassandra!’ he said brightly, entering the room and sitting in Kofi’s seat to face me. ‘Good to see you back in the office – how are you feeling?’
I’d never had anyone at work, bar Kofi, be so invested in my health and wellbeing before. I would almost be touched if Ididn’t find the situation slightly weird. But again, maybeIwas being the weird one and making our whole interactions weird thus far. At that moment I decided to just give Jeff the benefit of the doubt and talk to him like a normal human being.
‘Thanks so much, Mr Paulson, I feel a lot better. I think it was one of those twenty-four-hour bug things where I’d eaten some bad food. But I’m all good now – I’m just lining up your post-op appointments as we speak actually, so if there are any more patients you want to add on, you can email them to me throughout the day.’
Jeff continuously stared at my lips as I spoke, which threw me off. But, I had to tell myself that I was probably reading too much into it. Maybe that’s just how he looked at people. He was a surgeon, for God’s sake – surgeons had the reputation of being precise and meticulous. Maybe that was just his thing.
