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‘This is me,’ Merida said, and gave Maria, the owner, a wave through the window.
Ethan had fully intended to wait outside, though he couldn’t help but be curious, so he walked with her up the dingy stairs.
It was a studio apartment. There was a bed, a small kitchenette, and he guessed behind a beige door must be the bathroom. There was not much else.
She hauled out her suitcase from under the bed and sorted out the papers she might need. ‘Do you think I need to take my passport?’
‘I’ve never been for an audition,’ Ethan replied. ‘You’re really nervous, aren’t you?’
‘I really am,’ Merida agreed. ‘I’d better tart up.’
‘Tart up?’
She nodded, but didn’t elaborate.
‘I’ll wait outside for you,’ Ethan said. ‘Give you some space.’
She was running late, so she headed to the bathroom and quickly got to work. There, she added loads of eyeliner and mascara, and wished that shehadn’twashed her hair, because the bedhead look would have been much better.
She kicked off her boots and put on a sheer pair of tights. Then poked a finger through the knee.
And she was going to have to get Gemma a box of chocolates, or something, because the black stilettoes were being worn again.
A shabby bra was easy—Merida could have worn any of the ones she had in her drawer. And then she put a skimpy black top on.
There was no full-length mirror in her apartment, so Merida just had to hope she looked low-rate hookerish enough.
She clattered down the stairs in her heels, her mind too full of her audition and the waiting Ethan to remember that she had meant to come home to take her Pill. Instead, she was wondering why Ethan had chosen to wait outside. Perhaps the chaos of her tiny apartment was too much, Merida thought. It certainly wouldn’t be anything like he was used to.
But Ethan hadn’t left for that reason. Once outside, he had pulled out his phone. It was nine-thirty, and usually by now he’d have achieved close to two hours of work.
He’d called Abe. ‘Any news?’
‘Why aren’t you in the office?’
‘I’m taking the day off.’
‘Well, I just called the hospital and he’s still in theatre.’
‘He was first on the list?’ Ethan checked.
‘He’s theonlyone on Jacobs’s list,’ Abe corrected. Jobe Devereux would have the top surgeon’s full attention for as long as was needed. ‘Apparently he went down at eight.’
‘Keep me posted,’ Ethan said.
‘Sure.’
There was no small talk.
They didn’t do that.
Ethan didn’t voice the maths that was going on in his head. If he’d gone down at eight, there would have been, say, half an hour till he went under. And that was being generous. Exploratory surgery? Well, there Ethan’s expertise died, because he didn’t have a clue.
Ethan just wanted the call to come saying that everything was okay so he could shake the black feeling that had clung to him like a murky shadow since... Well, since a couple of months ago, when he’d first seen his father wince with a pain he’d quickly denied.
And that jibe about him refusing to follow the professor’s orders and only partake in a light supper? That had been forboththeir benefits—a stab at a pretence that things were normal.
But in truth, apart from soup in restaurants, Ethan hadn’t seen his father eat in weeks.
