Page 8 of Broken Heart Syndrome
At all.
I wasn’t used to anyone taking such an instant dislike to me. To be honest I was usually so good at blending into the background that I doubted people even thought about me enough to dislike me. Similar, perhaps, to a Peace Lily: an inoffensive but average pot plant that people largely ignore.
I couldn’t really remember anyone being openly hostile to me since school. I was, in general, pretty harmless. However, Tom quite noticeably avoided looking at me or touching me, and there was a hard edge to his voice when he spoke to me. All in all it was exhausting.
Just as we were about to part ways (it was already way past lunchtime), we stopped outside Tom’s office and he turned to Ash.
‘Try not to forget the cardiac artery diagrams I designed tomorrow, Ash; would have been useful with that last patient.’
‘Um, I –’ Ash started to say, and I could tell he wasn’t going to rat me out, but I couldn’t let him take the blame.
‘I chucked them in the bin,’ I blurted, and felt heat hit my cheeks.
‘Oh … kay,’ Tom said. ‘Odd thing to do, but whatever floats your boat I guess. Wait here.’ He ducked into his office and came out with a piece of paper.
‘Although Peppa and her family have their place, I think a sketch of the heart might be rather more useful on a cardiology ward round. If you can resist the urge to chuck it, I’d appreciate twenty copies on my desk by the end of the day,’ he said, shoving the paper into my hands and stalking back into his office.
I closed my eyes, lowered my head, and both my hands (one clutching the patient list and the other the stupid diagram) fell to my sides. I felt Ash’s hand on my arm and looked up.
‘Don’t worry, he’ll loosen up in a few days,’ he said.
‘Is he always like this?’ I asked.
‘Well … to be honest, no. You seem to bring out the worst in him.’ Bizarrely this idea made Ash grin widely at me.
‘He hates me,’ I whispered looking down at the list. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘What is there to hate, habibi?’ he asked. I didn’t know what ‘habibi’ meant, but I did know that I was a big fan of Ash calling me it in that soft voice. ‘Do not worry over this. All will be well, and remember: “Love sees sharply, hate even more sharp, but jealously sees the sharpest of all because it is love and hate at the same time.’’ ’
‘Ash, you do realize that makes no sense.’
‘I think it makes perfect sense,’ he said, his wide smile back with a vengeance. ‘You’ll see. I’ll be in clinic if you need me.’
With that he strolled away.
Proverb obsessed crazy man.
I decided to skip lunch altogether and get on with the insane number of jobs Mr Grumpy had lumbered me with.
*****
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Jumping about five feet in the air, I whirled round to be confronted by a pair of angry blue eyes.
It was just after seven and I had finally, finally finished everything. My feet were killing me, I was starving, and if I never took another set of bloods, or put another cannula in again, it would be too soon.
I sighed and dumped the photocopies down on the very small area of his desk that wasn’t covered in papers, journals, mugs or Hula Hoop packets. I had a curious urge to start tidying his office, and decided that being a cardiology trainee had caused me to lose my mind, and it was only my first sodding day.
‘Look, Tom,’ I said, too tired to remember that I hadn’t been invited to use his first name, and noticing his head jerk when I said it, ‘I’m not up to dealing with any chopsiness at the moment. I just want to go home.’ I tucked the hair that had fallen out of my ponytail behind my ears and made for the door. Unfortunately he moved to block my exit.
‘You called me Tom.’ He was studying me closely and it didn’t sound like an accusation, more like he was confused and trying to solve a problem.
‘Oh right, sorry,’ I muttered. ‘My bad, won’t happen again.’ I tried to dart around him and out to the safety of the corridor, but he caught my arm.
‘Frankie, I …’ he started. I was staring at his large hand (which had completely enclosed my upper arm), and hyperventilating. He noticed the path of my gaze and quickly withdrew his hand, running it through his thick and already messy hair in a gesture of frustration. ‘I didn’t mean for you to stay so late,’ he finished stiffly; and I had the strange impression that that wasn’t what he had intended to say.
‘Um …’ I was stumped. If he hadn’t wanted me to stay late, why pile on the workload? I glanced down at my list and he sighed.
‘You didn’t have to do all the jobs today,’ he explained.
