Page 1 of Swiping Right (and other disasters)

Chapter One

There were several notifications on Kiera’s phone, awaiting her attention. Since she was at her desk, she opened her personal emails to see what had come in. An email from a gov.uk address stood out. She opened it:

Reference no: XX19D86775

Dear Kiera Marsh,

The decree absolute has been granted and you are now divorced.

Download the certificate from your account and print it…

She stopped there. She could read the remainder of the bureaucratic jargon at a later date.

The message was simple. She was divorced. It was over.

Kiera took a breath in. This was good, right? She breathed out.

She looked at her watch. It was 4.30pm. She stood, gathered her possessions and jangled her car keys. The hospital was full of outpatients heading to, waiting for or leaving appointments with their designated doctor. Sickness didn’t discriminate, a variety of people made their way through the large atrium of the city’s largest hospital. What was common to almost all of them, though, was their speed – or the lack thereof. As she tried to dodge wheelchairs, people looking at signs to work out where they were going and those simply taking a moment to sit on a wipe-clean seat, she knew she was probably walking too fast. To her surprise, she sensed herself about to be overtaken, and glanced over her shoulder to see a porter carrying a package that was clearly of great importance to someone somewhere. The man was practically sprinting towards her. She wasn’t going to win this one, and she had a feeling that his need was greater than hers. She slowed and moved to the side.

“Hello, nurse, we’re a bit lost; can you help?” The voice came from an elderly black gentleman leaning on a walking stick, wearing a flat cap, standing nearby. He had a strong Brummie accent and was motioning towards the woman beside him, who was leaning heavily on crutches.

“Oh, um, I’m not a nurse,” replied Kiera, regretting having left her NHS lanyard on.

“Sorry, doctor, I do apologise,” said the man, taking off his cap and clasping it in his hands. “I know I shouldn’t assume.”

Kiera smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not a doctor. Just call me Kiera, that’s fine. I work in the patient engagement department.” She put her car keys back in her pocket. “Where do you need to get to?”

“X-ray, and call me Brian,” the man told her, with a grin. “This is my wife, Dawn.” Kiera glanced over at the white-haired woman. She looked like she could do with a moment or two on one of those wipe-clean seats.

“Right,” said Kiera. “X-ray is a bit of a walk from here. Hello, Dawn. I wonder whether it might be better if I find you a wheelchair to take you there?”

“Oh, I don’t want to be no trouble,” said Dawn, her voice only just above a whisper.

“It’s no trouble,” Kiera told her, taking in the woman’s arthritic fingers. “It’s my job, really.”

“Oh, you’re an angel,” said Brian, putting his cap back on his balding head.

It wasn’t really her job, but she knew that finding a porter would take forever, so she swiftly grabbed a rogue wheelchair that had been abandoned in a waiting area nearby.

“Here you go, Dawn, your chariot awaits,” Kiera announced, silently cursing herself for using the same cliché she employed every time she wheeled a patient anywhere.

“Thank you, you’re so kind,” said Dawn. “Time was, Brian would have whizzed me down there himself, but he’s not getting any younger.” Kiera started the walk towards X-ray, Brian beside them. “But in spite of that, he’s a good husband.” Brian beamed.

“How long have you been married?”

“Fifty-seven years,” said Brian, the pride showing in his eyes.

“Congratulations, that’s impressive.” Kiera couldn’t help it; her mind was already drifting back to the email she’d just read.

“How about you, Kiera?” asked Dawn. “Are you married?”

“No,” said Kiera, saying it out loud for the first time.

“Ah well,” Dawn continued, “a lovely kind girl like you will no doubt meet someone lovely one day soon.”

The walk to X-ray took about five minutes. “Oh, Kiera, thank you,” said Brian once again, “this would have taken an age. You’re a brick. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” whispered Dawn.

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