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“Please, let me show you. You are owed this.”
I nodded, admittedly curiosity had the better of me.
“In my final year at med school, Dad had a fall at work and hurt his back. I covered for him while he recovered, and Steve, Mel and Simon were covering for me at uni. I never went to the hospital to see you as Patient AT because Simon filmed you for me.”
I gasped and Harry held up his hands.
“He got your permission to do so but he’d signed in with my ID at the hospital so I’d get credit. It was a bold thing to do in case anyone recognised him. If we had got caught, we both could have ended up with academic penalty, maybe even kicked out.
“Anyway, Simon filmed you and he saved it to a USB so I could watch it at home after a painting job. In the video, you were on a phone call, facing away from the camera while Simon filmed your injuries. But I could hear bits of your phone call in between Simon’s commentary. You were talking about getting your clearance to drive on the racetrack again, something about shearing in two weeks and that you were thinking of doing a dance class at the aged care home.
“I wrote all of that up in my assignment as part of your treatment plan including what to consider if you were competing in a suit with your burns and how a physio could advise on whether dancing was suitable physical therapy with your healing skin. I pulled an all-nighter writing it and surprisingly, my result was really good. The lecturer sent my assignment to a rural doctor by the name of George Larcombe who asked me if I wanted to do a rural placement for three months at his friend’s clinic in Walston.”
“You mentioned the placement at the fundraising dinner,” I whispered.
“Yes, but it had never occurred to me that there was any link to you. George had never briefed me about you.” His voice wavered. “The rest about me you know. I’m so sorry, Stacey. I never met you on the ward visit. I never knew your real name. Never even guessed that you were Patient AT. George never said a thing. It just never came up on my placement. He was in Stanmore anyway and it never occurred to me that you might have been his patient.”
He waved to the laptop. “Can I show you Simon?” His voice softer, rougher. “And show youyou.”
I shifted in my heels. “Yes.”
We sat beside each other on the couch, our bodies not touching, as Harry set up the laptop and pressed play, and sat back with a sharp intake of breath.
A young man spoke and then suddenly, there I was on a hospital bed, and he asked me if he could film my injuries. I mumbled a yes, and the young man—Simon—rattled off my stats and chart details while I discreetly took a phone call. I was upset about something.
Soon it was over and then Simon was in a corridor teasing Harry about someone like me being his ideal woman.
“Shit.” Harry blushed as he hit stop, and the screen went black.
“Did Doc Larcombe ever tell you about my assignment I did?” Harry asked.
I shook my head.
“I achieved the highest result for that assignment about you. Did all of the things Simon told me to, and then some. Even made a recommendation for a specialist racing suit.”
“Wait, I remember the Doc mentioning there were special suits that could help prevent overheating on hot race days. That was ages ago.”
His mouth twitched, almost smiling.
I couldn’t leave Simon’s assessment of me unsaid. “So, Simon thought I was your ideal woman, hey?”
Harry sniffed and actually blushed harder.
“Stacey, I’m sorry about what you experienced. Those pricks who shared opinions about your scars.”
“You don’t have to apologise for them. I should be apologising to you. For not giving you a chance. I panicked.”
“You had a panic attack. You don’t need to apologise for that.”
I looked down, still feeling a small sense of shame. “I haven’t had one for years and then boom, that night it started, blindsided me. But it wasn’t fair to you that the internet saw me as I am and I couldn’t show you my scars that night.”
“I’m so sorry, Stacey.” Harry moved closer. The urge to touch him was so strong.
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask about what your dream was.”
I shook my head. “I’m the one who’s sorry that I didn’t tell you about interior design.”
“All I’m asking for is a chance, Anastasia.”
