Page 60 of The Night Shift
It really was just too depressing to consider the full implications and at this point the karma of the universe seemed to catch on– her front tyre hit a pothole causing her to swerve and wobble to within inches of a car waiting in the traffic jam she was skirting. The driver beeped and wound down his window. Violet braced herself for a telling off– the car was an exclusive four by four variety and he was probably worried about a scratch on his expensive paintwork– but to her surprise the man leaned out of his window and asked if she was okay. She nodded her thanks and went on her way, pleasantly pleased to have her view of humanity restored. What with finding out about the complaints on Christmas Eve, learning that granny-dumping was a genuine phenomenon and then Marvin’s assault, she had spent the first half of her week of nights reinforcing her belief that people were generally unpleasant until proven otherwise.
But the past few days had shown this to be an unduly negative view and she was absolutely prepared to look at the evidence and alter her diagnosis of the human state– she was a scientist after all, and that’s what scientists did. As if running through a spreadsheet she began to calculate a mental inventory of her recent positive experiences; there was Mr Zeller’s obvious enjoyment of his Christmas present (despite his protestations), Marvin’s speedy recovery, Cindy’s support and friendship at work, Mrs Jenson’s daughter-in-law’s lovely comments and accompanying hug (unnecessary invasion of space, but still nice), the interesting conversations she’d had with Mrs Chambers about the cancer treatment and the planned cruise, and her increasing strike rate with cannulations (she’d even managed to take blood gases last night without it looking like someone had slaughtered a pig on the ward). And of course, there was Gus. Every single thing about him brought a smile to her face and she chose to think about him for the remainder of her journey.
Taking a short cut through the winding one-way streets she felt a light dusting of sleety snow begin to fall on her cheeks. It fell softly, twinkling and filtering the warm light from the pubs and cafés she passed. She felt invigorated by it (knowing she could dry off at Gus’s apartment helped) and perhaps invigorated by life in general. She had slept soundly that day, whether it was her body now becoming used to the night shifts and the reversal of circadian rhythm, or the sheer amount of physical activity she’d undertaken in the previous forty-eight hours, she didn’t know. She was still trying to calculate whether mind-blowing sex burned up as many calories as cold-water swimming, and whether, when you factored in the sense of glorious well-being that came from spending time in the company of someone you were starting to adore, the additional health benefits may also be equivalent, when she arrived at Gus’s flat.
She was earlier than planned– they’d said six o’clock and it was only a quarter to by the time she crossed the road to his apartment block but it was now lashing it down with freezing hail, the gentle misty sleet of ten minutes ago long gone. She was soaked through and didn’t think he’d mind if she raced in and got straight into the shower. He might even join her. The thought put an extra spring in her step as she bounded up the central staircase to the fourth floor. She rang the doorbell and pulled a damp pot plant out of her rucksack. It was a small cactus in a grainy clay pot, spindly and prickly, just like her. She thought Gus might like having it about the place and it seemed appropriate to bring something, given that this was the third night in a row that he’d be cooking for her. She knew that people would traditionally bring wine or chocolates but alcohol felt inappropriate pre-night shift, and boxes of chocolates were their special shared joke saved for the wards. Besides, after helping Marvin work his way through the leftover selection boxes, she was done with chocolate for a few days at least.
Tiny fragments of ice still clung to her fringe although they were starting to melt with the central heating and as the door opened a trickle of warm water dripped into her eye. Her nose was also starting to run but she was holding the plant so had to screw up her shoulder to wipe her face on the sleeve of her very damp coat, which didn’t really help. It was in this pose, squinting through the meltwater, head cricked at an improbably angle, that she was greeted by the sight of a woman so beautiful that she wondered whether she might have walked into the apartment block of a Hollywood film star. Backlit by a range of soft lamps and fragrant candles, the woman’s blonde hair shone like a halo. She was wearing a patterned silk kimono robe over what looked like extremely expensive loungewear in soft teal with a lace trim and her face was radiant, peachy-toned skin, full glossy lips drawn into a wide smile that dimpled her cheeks and revealed immaculate white teeth. Violet was so dazzled that she couldn’t think of anything to say and merely stood there mutely for a second while her fringe dripped forlornly into her face.
‘Hello there,’ said the angel, looking Violet up and down with a quizzical expression. ‘Can I help you?’ Her eyes alighted on the cactus and narrowed a fraction.
Violet glanced at the number on the door– had she come to the right flat? And then she looked beyond the beautiful woman and into the corridor behind her, yes this was Gus’s apartment, there was the sofa where they’d… And she could see a glimpse of the kitchen units where they’d… And the door to the master bedroom was ajar, a warm light emanating from its interior. This was definitely the right place. Which meant that this woman must be… She looked at her face more closely, compared it to the photo she’d found in Gus’s drawer.
‘You’re Amelia,’ she said, without thinking.
The woman smiled but her lips were thinner now. ‘I am,’ she said.
Violet’s thoughts were jumbled and she tried to order them, gather them up like so many errant sheep. She remembered Gus’s comment about the photo frame, the other items in the drawer. ‘Have you come to collect your– your stuff?’ she said.
Amelia smiled again, more confidently. ‘In a way. Yes.’
Violet nodded. She could tell that there was a hidden message in those words, could see it from Amelia’s expression, but she didn’t know what it was– did Amelia mean that Gus was ‘her stuff’ and that she’d come back to ‘collect’ him? God, why was she so bad at this? And why didn’t people just say what they meant?
‘So you’re not…’ She’d been about to say, ‘staying’ but a noise further inside the flat stopped her. Movement in the bathroom, a shower door closing.
‘Are you after Gus?’ Amelia asked. She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the bathroom, a secretive smile on her face. ‘He’s just in the shower. He won’t be a moment.’ She went to move away from the front door but Violet stopped her.
‘No– no. you’re okay,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to– uhm– interrupt. I was just going to– uhm…’ She looked down at the cactus, still in her hands, It suddenly seemed completely ridiculous and she was almost overwhelmed by an urge to throw it against the wall, watch the clay pot smash into tiny pieces and scatter earth across the pristine interior of the doorway.
‘Is that– for him?’ Amelia was looking at the cactus too, an expression of polite amusement on her face.
Violet wanted to lie, of course she did. She wanted to say, ‘God, no, what a strange thing to bring to someone’s flat. No, I’m on my way to visit my grandmother, it’s for her.’But she couldn’t fabricate a lie at short notice and even if she’d had years to plan one she wouldn’t have been able to deliver it with any conviction. ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling like an absolute dick. ‘Yes, it’s a cactus. For Gus.’
Amelia raised her eyebrows a fraction and moved aside. ‘You’d better come in,’ she said, opening her arm out to the corridor, gesturing Violet inside. ‘Pop it down on the side table?’
Violet took two steps into the hallway but suddenly found that she could go no further. The whole flat smelled different. Floral, sweet, slightly cloying. She could see through the door of the master bedroom a suitcase was open on the bed, almost empty, dresses draped on hangers ready to be returned to the wardrobe rather than packed and taken away. A drying rack was positioned in the central living space, near the window– sheets and pillowcases hanging neatly from its stainless steel rungs. Scented candles flickered on the windowsill, the table, the kitchen island– the smooth pillars of wax imbued with various warm pastel colours. The thought of Dev’s beeswax wrappers popped into Violet’s head and she wished for a moment that she was back at home, still talking to her housemate, still laughing, blissfully unaware of the contents of Amelia’s suitcase, her floral smell and the peachiness of her skin.
Amelia followed Violet’s line of sight to the drying rack.
‘Place needed a good clean,’ she said lightly. ‘The bedding was absolutely filthy, but you know what men are like!’
Violet nodded sadly, knowing she was beaten. ‘I don’t really,’ she said. ‘Sorry to have bothered you. I’ll just leave this here.’ She placed the clay pot gently on the side table near the place where she’d left her own keys and purse the night before, and backed out of the door, blinking back the tears that were now mingling with the melting hail and threatening to spill out of her eyes. She would have blamed her blurred vision for the fact that she bumped into the doorframe, but she knew it was simply that she was clumsy. Clumsy, awkward and a poor judge of her physical surroundings. A poor judge of character as well, as it turned out.
Gus
When Gus had returned home earlier that day and found Amelia sat at the kitchen table, a penitent expression on her face, his initial feeling had been one of rage– or at least, as close to rage as he ever got. What the hell was she doing here? Inhisflat? A ‘Why now, for God’s sake’ had almost burst out of his mouth and he thought if he’d been more like Violet, it almost certainly would have. But following hot on the heels of his fury, had been the realisation that Amelia looked extremely anxious. She’d lost weight, that was clear. Her cheeks still held that familiar curve but the dimples had gone and there was a new frown line at the bridge of her nose. He noticed that his immediate reaction had beenbetter not draw attention to it or she’d be miserable for days–funny how the old knee-jerk responses were there just below the surface. Funny, but also extremely annoying. He shouldn’t be remotely concerned about her feelings given how little regard she had paid to his over the past few months– he needed to grow a pair.
‘Well, this is a surprise,’ he said, his voice cold. ‘Why are you here? Did you forget something?’Like common decency and a basic level of respect for a man you lived with for two years, he wanted to add.
‘Gus,’ she said, pushing the chair back as she stood. She flicked her long blonde hair back from her face in a well-practised gesture as she moved towards him, her eyes taking in his scrubs with what looked like relief. ‘You’ve been on nights.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know where you were. I was worried.’
‘You were worried about me?’ He gave a hollow laugh of disbelief as he dropped his bag on the floor. ‘Is it not a bit late for that?’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘What’s going on? Has something happened?’ He wondered what possible catastrophe could have occurred that would bring her back. Family issues? Work? Better brace himself for a story of woe.
She smiled sadly as she took a step closer. Her pose was wary, as if she didn’t really know where to put herself or wasn’t sure where she belonged.
