Page 41 of Prognosis Bad Timing

What the hell? Something had put her panties well and truly in a twist.

No. Do not think about her panties!

‘I know.’ He shrugged, sipping at his drink. ‘I just thought, you know...I’m going to be here anyway, and I thought she might enjoy another dance.’ He smiled, thinking about Dana’s dance style.

‘You’re going to be here?’ When he nodded, she continued, looking at him over her glasses. ‘So, let me get this straight. You’re here at the crack of dawn until late at night. And weekends? Charlie, I hate to break this to you but you need a life.’

This from a woman who pretended she’d rather deal with piles of paperwork than minister to the sick and needy, a role to which she was so obviously suited. ‘You sound like Joe.’

She nodded and returned to her work. ‘I knew I liked Joe for a reason.’

Hearing her talk affectionately about his friend churned in his gut. ‘So, that’s a no to me removing the sutures?’

She gave him a you’re-interrupting-me look. ‘Yes. That’s a no. Thanks for the offer but even if I wasn’t doing it myself, I hardly think this is the place for a kid to hang out, do you?’

He felt another twist in his gut. She sounded just like Veronica and seemed untouchable again in her pinstripes and glasses. ‘But it was OK in an emergency?’

Carried heard the steel in his voice and saw his eyes turn icy. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, taking her glasses off. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. But you’ve got to concede I’m right. This place isn’t exactly Buckingham Palace. She’s four. Call me overprotective but I’d like to shelter her from this side of life for as long as I can.’

He straightened. He was so used to his colourful working environment he often didn’t see the grungy aspect. But he supposed that mothers had to worry about that type of thing. Parents had to.

But what the hell did he know about that?

‘Of course, you’re right. I’ll let you get back to your work.’

Carrie watched as the door shut behind him. The end of her assignment couldn’t come soon enough.

––––––––

Charlie sat in thechair while an efficient-looking woman with a severe hairdo and a twinkle in her eye extracted blood from the vein in the crook of his elbow.

‘Last one, love?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Sure is, Liz.’

‘At least you’ll be able to get on with your life now,’ she said conversationally.

Charlie nodded again. Liz was the second person to utter those words today. How many times had he thought them since this all started? Getting the all-clear so he could bring his life off hold?

Carrie’s words from earlier taunted him — you need a life.

He watched his blood pour into the blood tube. Infected by a potentially deadly virus? Or not? A flip of a card. A roll of a dice. Is this what his life had become?

You need a life.

The words reverberated around his head. Liz unclipped the tourniquet and stuck some gauze at the puncture site.

‘Bend your arm up,’ she instructed unnecessarily.

Charlie did as he was told. You need a life.

‘Just a few more days now, Charlie.’

He stared at Liz. You need a life. Just a few more days now.

Did he really want to wait a few more days? He’d waited for six months. More, if he counted the numerous blurry years as his marriage had disintegrated and the separation had happened and the divorce becoming final.

Did he want to waste one single day more?

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