Page 15 of Only for Christmas

These were all things he’d encountered during his first week, and something he’d been assured by his new colleagues was perfectly normal. Friendliness was viewed with suspicion and caution. It was seen as a mask for an ulterior motive. He’d never understand such scepticism.

Another anomaly was the language barrier.

He’d have laughed if someone had told him he’d need an interpreter working in London, but he’d only lasted thirty minutes during his first shift at the hospital before having to track down his nursing assistant and ask what a ‘dicky ticker’ was.

It turned out to be slang for heart failure. He now knew that ‘mince pies’ was cockney rhyming slang for ‘eyes’. ‘Farmer Giles’ was ‘piles’, and ‘Mutton Jeff’ meant ‘deaf’. There was a whole new language out there he knew nothing about.

He made it to the hospital with a few minutes to spare and found his nursing assistant waiting for him in his consulting rooms. ‘Hey there, Carla. How y’doing today?’

Carla’s face broke into a smile. ‘Good, thanks, Dr Moore. How are you?’

‘Just peachy. And please, call me Lucas.’

She feigned shock. ‘And defy hospital protocol? It’s more than my job’s worth. I’m required to address you as Dr Moore during clinic hours, and I’m never one for breaking the rules,’ she said, sneaking a chocolate from her top drawer. ‘Except when it comes to sweets. Then I revolt. You want one?’

‘Hell yes.’ He accepted the offer of a chocolate. ‘Who made these dumb rules?’

She shrugged. ‘The powers that be, I guess.’

Carla was late forties and the perfect nursing assistant, efficient, friendly and joyful. She attributed her happiness to getting divorced. The best decision she’d ever made, apparently. With her only son away at university, she spent her free time walking four dogs, volunteering at the local food bank and attending various events with her girlfriends. They played darts in a league, tasted wine at fancy vineyards and met every Saturday to go cold-water swimming. All of which she’d never been able to do while she’d been married.

Maybe he should introduce Carla to his sister? An example of what the future might hold.

‘Who’s my first patient?’ he said, hanging up his jacket.

‘You were due to see Mr Jones about his dodgy waterworks, but he’s running late, so I’ve rebooked him for later this afternoon, which means you have a gap before your first appointment.’

Lucas raised an eyebrow. ‘Dodgy waterworks? Is he having problems with his plumbing?’

Carla grinned. ‘Kind of.’ She pointed downwards. ‘Trouble peeing.’

Lucas snapped his fingers. ‘Ah, waterworks. Right, I get it. Does anybody in this country ever use the correct anatomical description?’

‘Rarely. It’s our repressed upbringing,’ she said, checking the computer screen. ‘You have fifteen minutes before Mr Summers is due.’

Lucas rolled up his shirtsleeves. ‘How come I recognise that name?’

‘He’s the chap you saw on Monday and requested bloodwork for.’

‘Ah, dicky ticker man.’

Carla laughed and handed him the file. ‘That’s him. I have his results here.’

‘See? I’m picking up the lingo no problem.’

‘You’re like a native already.’ She checked the watch on her blue nurse’s tunic. ‘Would you like me to fetch you a coffee before surgery starts?’

‘That’s okay, Carla. I can fetch my own.’ He skimmed through the file. ‘In fact, let me get you one. What would you like?’

Carla pretended to faint. ‘You’re going to get me coffee?’

‘Sure, why not?’

Her hands settled on her hips. ‘A doctor fetching a nurse coffee?’

‘Am I breaking protocol again?’

‘Of the highest order. There’ll be an uprising. Don’t let the consultants catch you; they break out in hives at any perceived threat to their hierarchy.’

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