Page 8 of Swiping Right (and other disasters)

Dawn nodded and Brian smiled. “You’re a smart lass,” he said. “You’re welcome to follow us round today and see what we get up to. It’s like being famous and having a journalist interview us.”

Dawn laughed. “Oh, Brian, you are daft,” she said. Kiera giggled as she got out her notepad and asked Dawn questions about when she’d been referred to the hospital and what had happened since she started coming. Dawn was happy to help, with interjections from Brian from time to time.

After about twenty minutes, it became clear that the clinic was running behind. Kiera would ask Pritesh about why that might be later, but in the meantime, she went to the desk and asked when Dawn would be seen. It was going to be at least another twenty minutes. She sighed.

“Ok, both. Apologies, it seems that we’re in for a slightly longer wait than we would have hoped for. I’m heading to the café. I hear Marjorie the chef has made chocolate concrete – it’s her signature dish. How about a round of teas and some of that?”

“Oh, well, yes,” said Dawn, “only if it isn’t any trouble.” Brian started to rummage in his pockets and as Kiera watched, he pulled out a crumpled five-pound note.

“No need, Brian, this one’s on us. What with having to put up with me following you round and the delay, it’s the least we can do.”

Chocolate concrete was a peculiarity of the hospital Kiera hadn’t been familiar with until recently. She wondered if it was a Brummie thing. She’d never even heard of it until she started working there, and certainly nothing like it was ever served up in her Devon homeland. But she had soon learnt that it was a helpful way to smooth over a tricky meeting or waiting room moment. Marjorie would do a batch every couple of weeks and email all the staff when it was ready. The Head of Communications was desperate to curb Marjorie’s ‘email-all’ rights, but she was something of a hospital institution, and the CEO was a fan.

Tea and chocolate concrete made the wait fly by, and soon they were in a small private room with one of the consultants. Kiera had been through the consent process with Dawn, to ensure she was totally happy with her presence in the room.

“Hello,” said the tall, slender dark-haired woman sitting at her desk. “Nice to see you, Mrs Maxwell.”

“Call me Dawn, love,” said the older woman as she took a seat.

“I’m Ms Alexander.”

“Not Dr Alexander?” asked Brian. “Sorry, not my business.” He clutched his hands together.

“No need to worry, Mr Maxwell. I am a doctor, you’ll be relieved to know,” said Ms Alexander, with a small smile. “I’m a surgeon, so traditionally we go by Ms, Mr or Mrs.”

“Ah, I see,” said Brian. “Well, you can call me Brian. I’m definitely not a doctor.”

By the time Kiera returned to her office, it was lunchtime. “Hey, Charlie, I’ve got some chocolate concrete left. Want some?”

“I’m not sure it fits in with my athletic lifestyle, to be honest,” he said, “though I’ll force it down for Marjorie’s sake.”

“Yeah, good plan. Just do an extra couple of weights at the gym this evening.”

“How was the clinic shadowing?” asked Charlie through a mouthful of crumbs.

“Yeah, interesting. They need to sort out their waiting times – my patient was seen nearly an hour after her appointment. And as always, the language the surgeon used wasn’t as plain as it could have been.”

“Medical jargon,” said Charlie, with a sigh, before pouring more of the sweet treat from the paper bag into his mouth.

“One day they’ll realise the jargon’s for them and not always for the patient. Depending on the patient, of course.”

“Definitely depending on that. Do you remember when Saffie the matron up on ward 6A broke her arm? The A&E staff still wince when you mention that to them. She was, truly, a terrible patient,” said Charlie.

“Oh my, yes, I remember it well. Didn’t she demand that the radiographer took another angle when she was in X-ray, and then inform the poor Registrar exactly what kind of fracture she had and how best to treat it?” Kiera laughed. It was a cliché that medical staff made the worst patients, but in her experience, clichés were usually there for a reason.

“Come on then, bab,” said Charlie, changing the subject, “how’s the world of lesbian dating? Have you met someone, moved in and bought a cat yet?”

“Imagine what Mr Chips would say!” said Kiera. “But no, I haven’t.” Her cheeks reddened.

“I can sense a ‘but’…”

“Well, as it happens, I do have a date this evening.”

“Oh my God, why on earth didn’t you lead with that?” asked Charlie, his voice raised and his chair whirling in excitement. “Come on then, what’s her name, what does she do, is she hot and does she have magnificent tits?”

“Charlie,” said Kiera, reaching back to shut the office door properly, “do you want a job tomorrow? If a patient hears you, you’ll be toast.”

“You’ve not heard how some of the patients talk about the staff,” Charlie pointed out, with a frown.

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