Page 20 of Gideon
In any other marriage that might have been a cause for concern, but my parents are both surgeons and totally married to their jobs even though they love each other. I’d grown up knowing very firmly where I stood in the pecking order. First was patients, second was my mum and dad’s relationship, third was appropriate schooling for me, fourth was the managing of their expectations of me, and finally fifth would be me. Maybe. At the end of the day. If there was a window of opportunity.
I don’t want to sound bitter because I love my mum and dad. I had a very lovely childhood and wanted for nothing. But still, all our interactions were clouded by the weight of their expectations. Everything was about getting me into the best schools and socialising with the right people.
My strong desire to do the exact opposite of what they wanted every time bemused them, and needless to say when I left medical school and enrolled in a local nursing college it had come as a complete disappointment to them, to the extent that my dad refused to pay for my tuition fees any longer if I wasn’t going to be a doctor.
But I’d been determined and had managed to work two jobs while attending nursing school. Even then he’d somehow seemed to view my actions as being purely an opportunity to thwart him and embarrass him in front of his high-achieving friends.
As if on cue, my mother says blithely, “Before I forget, I met Alan Fraser at a party the other night. His son Robert is in his second year of med school. He’s hoping to specialise in orthopaedic surgery.”
“Well, he’ll never be short of patients,” I say cheerfully while sighing inside.
I wander over to the window and peek out on my side view of the deck where I can see Gideon dressed in the khaki shorts and chambray short-sleeved shirt that he just bought. He’s basking in the sunshine with a very expensive pair of Ray-Bans perched on the end of his long blade of a nose. He also appears to be looking at some papers which flap blindingly white in the sunshine. I make a mental note to whip them away if Frankie gave him some work. He’s supposed to be having a complete rest.
My mother hesitates and I rub my nose, waiting for it. “You know, Alan said he could find you a place. He’s on the board.”
“Is that how Robert got in? Because I remember him in anatomy, and his complete ignorance of the human body might be a teeny problem if he’s operating on someone’s hip thinking it’s their foot.”
He couldn’t find my prostate with a map and a torch either, but I keep that information to myself.
“Oh, Eli, don’t take the mickey. Robert is a lovely young man. Very ambitious.”Unlike my sonis the unspoken narrative.
“Well, I wish him all the best,” I say lightly. “I’m sure he’ll turn out just like his father.”
It definitely isn’t a compliment, but my mother of course takes it as one. “I hope so. Alan issoproud of him.”
Unlike my father, who hasn’t spoken to me in six months and shows no sign of having any desire to break this run.
“Well, it was lovely to talk to you,” I say brightly. “But I’ve got to go, Mum. My patient needs me.”
“Oh really.” She laughs dismissively. “What is it this time? Another celebrity recovering from an overdose or someone taking a fat cure?”
“Mum, they may not have the same needs as your patients, but they are still human beings.”
She laughs. “I’ll take your word for it. Now, what are you doing for your birthday? I know it’s a few weeks away, but we could have a party for you at the club.”
“I’ll be working,” I say quickly. Or cutting my toenails. Either seems more important than attending their tennis club.
“Okay, sweetie. I’ll ring in a few days.”
“Love you,” I say, knowing she’ll forget and suddenly call me in a few months when she remembers. It’s been the constant theme of our interactions.
I end the call and walk outside, happier now that it’s done.
It’s hot outside, but the sea breeze is refreshing, and I note with satisfaction that Gideon has some colour on his thin cheeks. His skin looks the type to tan easily, but I still point at him. “Have you got cream on?” I say.
“Yes, Mother,” he says irritably. “I’ve also moved my bowels and wiped my nose.”
“Hope you washed your hands in between.”
He snorts and shoots me a lightning-quick glance. “You okay?”
“Yes, why?” I ask, amazed.
He shrugs, looking slightly awkward. “You look a bit tense.”
“I do?” I immediately want to check my reflection in a mirror because usually I cover everything up with a professional manner.
“Your shoulders are tight,” he says dismissively. “I’m an actor. I read body language.”
