Read Online The Wish List by Jane Costello - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jane Costello
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option is to say yes.
As he goes to the door to invite in the student, I am instructed by the nurse to leap onto a reclining bed and place my legs into two stirrups underneath a spotlight, enabling an optimum
view.
I stare at the ceiling, counting polystyrene tiles in an attempt to take my mind off the stranger who’s prising open my knees and peering between my legs.
After a short rummage around, he senses my tension and says reassuringly: ‘I can’t see anything untoward.’
‘Really?’ I gasp gratefully, flipping up my head.
Only, it’s not the top of the doctor’s head that catches my attention.
It’s the medical student at his shoulder.
And the reason he catches my attention is not because he’s nodding studiously as if having a guided tour of the Elgin Marbles, or because his mentor is gaily pointing out notable features
of my vagina.
It’s because this is not the first time we’ve met
.
I freeze and turn a violent shade of crimson as I’m assaulted with a flashback of Saturday night, when I last saw this student – who apparently doubles as Chris the barman from Alma
de Cuba. The one I
almost
slept with. The one I
would
have slept with, had his shift finished two-and-a-half hours earlier.
‘The patient is concerned about previous sexual contact and has been experiencing abnormal irritation,’ the doctor tells him.
It’s at that point that he glances up and makes eye contact with me, a split-second occurrence in which his expression shifts dramatically – and five words are screamed internally by
us both: ‘
Get me out of here!
’
He doesn’t move – he can’t. And neither can I, given that I’m in the sort of position into which you’d manoeuvre a turkey, pre-stuffing.
Clearly at a loss as to what to do, the student bends down hastily to pretend to scrutinise the most intimate part of my anatomy. He doesn’t look up, but I can recognise one thing after
the doctor’s commentary about my health concerns.
Never in his life has he been as grateful as he is now for having been stuck with Saturday night’s late shift.
Chapter 16
Asha phones that afternoon to confirm she’s in the clear after what’s obviously been a torturous morning.
‘Toby got home from the event and, while Christina was getting changed, he logged onto her Facebook profile in their study. Hers is the default account on their PC and all her passwords
are saved on there.’
‘So he rejected the friend request?’
‘Exactly, then deleted the notification she was sent.’
‘So – panic over?’
‘Yep,’ she says flatly. ‘I guess so.’
Then there’s a silence. Because it doesn’t feel like much of a triumph somehow.
Asha’s roller-coaster romantic life is a long way from that of my sister. Marianne is so firmly in the couple-zone these days, I’m worried she’s a step away from his
’n’ hers undies.
‘Brian and I are thinking of going away to Devon,’ she announces, when I Skype her later that night.
‘Really?’ I love Devon myself but I’m wondering when this became exciting to a woman who used to pop to New York for a weekend.
‘It’s meant to be lovely – he has family there. And things are a bit tight for him at the moment so going abroad is out.’
‘It’ll be nice.’
‘I think so. I spent years travelling to places like Ibiza and Paris and never really discovered half of the UK. Hey, Brian’s just come in! Why don’t you say hello?’
Marianne disappears and after a short background conversation, followed by shaky webcam adjustment, I am confronted by a gargantuan brown jumper, a tent of an item, underneath which is a man I
recognise – just about – to be Brian. I say
just about
because, since the last picture Marianne showed me on Facebook, he has grown enough facial hair to knit a matching
hat.
‘Emma, we meet at last!’ he grins. At least, I think he grins. The beard moves, certainly.
‘Hi Brian – how are you? I’ve heard a lot about
As he goes to the door to invite in the student, I am instructed by the nurse to leap onto a reclining bed and place my legs into two stirrups underneath a spotlight, enabling an optimum
view.
I stare at the ceiling, counting polystyrene tiles in an attempt to take my mind off the stranger who’s prising open my knees and peering between my legs.
After a short rummage around, he senses my tension and says reassuringly: ‘I can’t see anything untoward.’
‘Really?’ I gasp gratefully, flipping up my head.
Only, it’s not the top of the doctor’s head that catches my attention.
It’s the medical student at his shoulder.
And the reason he catches my attention is not because he’s nodding studiously as if having a guided tour of the Elgin Marbles, or because his mentor is gaily pointing out notable features
of my vagina.
It’s because this is not the first time we’ve met
.
I freeze and turn a violent shade of crimson as I’m assaulted with a flashback of Saturday night, when I last saw this student – who apparently doubles as Chris the barman from Alma
de Cuba. The one I
almost
slept with. The one I
would
have slept with, had his shift finished two-and-a-half hours earlier.
‘The patient is concerned about previous sexual contact and has been experiencing abnormal irritation,’ the doctor tells him.
It’s at that point that he glances up and makes eye contact with me, a split-second occurrence in which his expression shifts dramatically – and five words are screamed internally by
us both: ‘
Get me out of here!
’
He doesn’t move – he can’t. And neither can I, given that I’m in the sort of position into which you’d manoeuvre a turkey, pre-stuffing.
Clearly at a loss as to what to do, the student bends down hastily to pretend to scrutinise the most intimate part of my anatomy. He doesn’t look up, but I can recognise one thing after
the doctor’s commentary about my health concerns.
Never in his life has he been as grateful as he is now for having been stuck with Saturday night’s late shift.
Chapter 16
Asha phones that afternoon to confirm she’s in the clear after what’s obviously been a torturous morning.
‘Toby got home from the event and, while Christina was getting changed, he logged onto her Facebook profile in their study. Hers is the default account on their PC and all her passwords
are saved on there.’
‘So he rejected the friend request?’
‘Exactly, then deleted the notification she was sent.’
‘So – panic over?’
‘Yep,’ she says flatly. ‘I guess so.’
Then there’s a silence. Because it doesn’t feel like much of a triumph somehow.
Asha’s roller-coaster romantic life is a long way from that of my sister. Marianne is so firmly in the couple-zone these days, I’m worried she’s a step away from his
’n’ hers undies.
‘Brian and I are thinking of going away to Devon,’ she announces, when I Skype her later that night.
‘Really?’ I love Devon myself but I’m wondering when this became exciting to a woman who used to pop to New York for a weekend.
‘It’s meant to be lovely – he has family there. And things are a bit tight for him at the moment so going abroad is out.’
‘It’ll be nice.’
‘I think so. I spent years travelling to places like Ibiza and Paris and never really discovered half of the UK. Hey, Brian’s just come in! Why don’t you say hello?’
Marianne disappears and after a short background conversation, followed by shaky webcam adjustment, I am confronted by a gargantuan brown jumper, a tent of an item, underneath which is a man I
recognise – just about – to be Brian. I say
just about
because, since the last picture Marianne showed me on Facebook, he has grown enough facial hair to knit a matching
hat.
‘Emma, we meet at last!’ he grins. At least, I think he grins. The beard moves, certainly.
‘Hi Brian – how are you? I’ve heard a lot about
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