Page 12 of Prognosis Bad Timing

Charlie nodded. His friend made a good point. ‘Right.’

‘Right. So...see you soon?’

‘Right.’

Charlie hung up the phone and checked his watch, his thoughts returning once again to Carrie. Damn it!

He drummed his fingers more loudly.

––––––––

Carrie was late. Itwas unprofessional and rude. She tried the number again but was blocked by yet another busy signal. Last night’s accident had thrown a spanner into the works. Having to arrange insurance and quotes and organise a hire car this morning had not been conducive to punctuality. And she’d slept badly, tossing and turning and thinking about Charlie all night.

She stood in front of the drab-looking building that she’d been assigned to and felt uncharacteristically depressed. A faded sign on the front announced it was the Valley Drop-In Centre.

God...she was tired.

Pushing through the mesh reinforced glass doors she looked around the room. ‘Dr Wentworth?’ she asked a couple of skinny, tatted-up teenagers.

They pointed to a closed door and she approached it briskly. She had a job to do and regardless of her near-death experience last night, Carrie needed to put it aside and concentrate on today.

Concentrate, damn it.

The chipped nameplate said ‘Dr Charles Wentworth’. She thought of Charlie and then shook her head disgustedly.

Concentrate!She gave a brisk rap.

‘Come in.’

Carrie took a deep breath, pushed the door open and walked into the office. She stopped mid-stride, knowing instantly the identity of the tall rangy man with the shaggy downcast head sitting behind the desk and gave a startled gasp.

Charlie glanced up, his pen stilling in surprise. ‘Carrie?’

‘Charlie?’ A sinking feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. He couldn’t be. ‘You’re Dr Charles Wentworth?’ She’d figured the man in question would be at least two decades older.

‘The very same.’ He nodded. ‘And you’re...Dr Douglas?’

She nodded and Charlie stared in dismay at her smart businesslike suit. Navy blue. Rich, red, silky blouse. Pinstripes. No tie-dye in sight. Pinstripes — hell! ‘And you’re here to...’

She nodded again. ‘Audit you.’

The wall clock ticked so loudly in the silence it might as well have been a bomb. Charlie recovered first, ignoring the ominous A word and its implications to the viability of the centre. He’d lived under the cloud of closure since he’d opened the clinic five years ago.

‘You’re a doctor?’ Charlie asked. What the hell?

Carrie lifted her chin. She’d never had to justify her title before and she was damned if she’d do so now. For the next month she was in charge here so it was imperative that she assert her authority immediately.

Having him think less of her qualifications, ones she’d worked long and hard for, ones her parents had worked two jobs and re-mortgaged the house for, rankled. ‘Yes, I am.’

Charlie was flabbergasted. He couldn’t have been more surprised had she admitted to being a closet astronaut. ‘A medical doctor?’

‘Yes, Charlie, a medical doctor.’

‘You could have fooled me.’

She shrugged, trying for nonchalant when in reality her heart was hammering madly in her chest. Surely he could hear it? ‘I’ve been in management for a while now.’

‘I thought only middle-aged has-beens went into management.’

---