Page 54 of Secret Paths

A glass sits upside down on the draining board. There is a book on the table, facedown beside a mug that has clearly contained tea and been abandoned before it was finished. Mandy’s life, exactly as she left it before going to the pub.

I do not know why that gets to me.

Perhaps because my own house has felt less like a life lately and more like a list of things I might have to give up.

Mandy lets go of my hand and leans back against the chair. “Right.”

“That sounded efficient.”

“I am resisting the urge to make tea.”

“Heroic.”

“And yet here we are, having feelings in my kitchen. Hydration may become necessary.”

I laugh, and this time it feels less forced.

She folds her arms. “Tell me the bit you keep circling.”

I look at her. “Do you ever stop being a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When people stop standing in front of me pretending they are fine.”

I get up and pace. Sitting down feels too formal. Standing still feels worse. Mandy watches me walking the length of the kitchen exactly once, then raises an eyebrow.

I stop.

“The job sounds sensible,” I say.

“That is not usually a bad thing.”

“It might be in my case.”

“Why?”

“Because sensible is what you do when the better option is gone.”

Mandy tilts her head. “Is it?”

“It feels like it.”

“Does it feel sensible because it is smaller, or because you might actually want it?”

I do not answer.

That is the problem with Mandy. She skips straight past the safer arguments and puts her hand on the bruise.

“I do not know,” I say eventually.

“Yes, you do.”

“Do I?”

“I think you know enough to be uncomfortable.”