March 12 Redford, a sleepy market town split by the A14, the old brick houses on one side and the tidy terraces on the other. Ive been wandering the infirmarys courtyards, watching the world through the thin veil of my own thoughts.
Give me another chance, whispered Eleanor, the lanky student in the bluetrimmed scarf, pulling a dainty white handkerchief edged in pale blue from her pocket and dabbing at her nose. The little cloth was embroidered with tiny daisies at the corners.
I felt a twinge of pity. How naïve, I thought. I cant bear a womans tears; they sting my heart.
None of that, I said, trying to keep my voice light. Perhaps next year, love? In the meantime I could set you up as a ward assistant at the hospital. I gestured grandly at the rows of white coats, the gleaming tools, the sunlit corridors. Imagine it: you, a little demigod, nodding to patients who look at you with pleading eyes.
Eleanors freckles seemed to dance in the afternoon light, and for a moment I laughed at the absurdity of it allher sunkissed skin, the birthday of my wife, the thought of us heading to the cottage where pike and perch dart about the pond, bees buzzing angrily in their hives while I try to teach them something about reason.
Darcy, another student, stared at me, puzzled. Youre laughing? This isnt proper. She blushed, clutching her ticket, fearing the exam boards gaze.
I tried to smooth things over. Darcy, youre lovely. Lets get some ice cream
Cant, its scorching today! I pulled the collar of my shirt, tucked my battered leather briefcase under my arm, and fumbled for a few crumpled notes from my trousers.
Here, buy us both some ice cream. Ill wait on the bench. I waved my hand toward the vending cart.
Eleanor squinted. What flavour?
Anything, but hurry. I dont want to be left with a soggy spot on the floor. Run, Darcy!
She shuffled toward the icecream stall, her tiny legs wobbling. I watched, shaking my head. Shes just a child at heart, I muttered, feeling an unexpected fondness for her freckled cheek.
Sitting on the bench, I pulled out my own handkerchiefa garish bluegreen check, utterly hideous. I dabbed my forehead, cursing the sweat, the fatigue, the creeping sense of old age that clung to me like a second skin. I resented the thought of flirting with a student; I loved my wife, Emily, more than any fleeting fancy.
Eleanor returned, clutching a wrapped stick of vanilla. Here, she said, offering it to me.
Wheres your second? I asked, eyes narrowing at her empty hands. She blinked, then darted back to the cart, bought another, and plopped down beside my briefcase.
Eat, I commanded. Then be off. I have a lot to doloading the car, hauling the luggage, getting Emily to the cottage. Where are you headed?
She wiped the corner of her mouth with a fingertip, shrugged. The ice cream is too sweet, it makes me want to drink it.
I sighed, feeling the weight of my own impatience. Youre from somewhere, arent you?
Just staying with my Aunt Lucy for now, she replied. Her family is arriving from the north later, so Ill be on my way soon. This house isnt a permanent one.
I nodded, remembering how my own aunt once told me to mind your manners, the roof isnt made of rubber. The conversation drifted, and I asked about her studies.
Its not important where Im from, she said. Just give me another exam, please. Ill prove myself.
I raised a finger. You cant have your head in a whirl and still operate. Youd be as likely to cut a spleen instead of an appendix!
She gasped. You cant just swap one organ for another!
She clutched my arm, pleading for another cone. I wrenched free, annoyed. No more. Im off. My wife is waiting. See you next year, if youre still around.
I rose, tipped my hat, and stalked away down the park path, leaving her in the redandwhite scarf, sighing softly as she tucked a tiny suitcase into the shrubberya suitcase no larger than a childs toy.
Its all over, she whispered, tears glistening on her freckled nose. No one believed Id become a doctor.
Redford, a semirural settlement divided by that winding highway, seemed to mock me. The local infirmary was a crumbling threestorey block, its walls mottled with yellowgreen mould, its windows patched with bits of cardboard. The chief surgeon, Nigel Foyle, was a hulking man with a reddened, swollen nose and dark, dry lips. He never hired fresh graduates, preferring the old ways of whiskysoaked compresses.
I had once tried to help Eleanor get a place, pleading with the dean, but she never turned up. My own life had slipped into a series of halfremembered routinesshovelling coal, ferrying Emily to the cottage, and watching the world spin lazily around me.
Later, as the evening grew dark, Eleanor slipped away with her suitcase, muttering about needing a drink. A lanky lad named Victor appeared, his cheek flushed from the cold.
What are you doing here? she snapped. Give me my bag!
Calm down, love, he grunted. Ive always backed you. Your aunt called, said you were coming back, so Im here.
She lunged, we wrapped each other in a clumsy hug, then she pressed her cheek to his chest and let out a childish wail. In that instant, Victor kissed hera nervous, hurried kiss that left us both blinking in the twilight.
Im glad youve come back, he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. If you stay, Ill come to you.
She smiled, the tension easing. The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and distant traffic.
Soon after, I found myself again on that bench, the briefcase beside me, the absurdity of the day weighing on my shoulders. The sky was beginning to lighten as dawn crept over the horizon, casting a pale blue over the wards cracked plaster.
Emily slept in the metal chair beside me, her head on my arm. I tried to reach for her hand, but my muscles refused. The world felt cold, the smell of chlorine hanging in the air.
A nurse in a blue coat entered, offering a glass of water. Who are you? I asked, bewildered, noticing the freckles on my own nose.
She smiled. Im Eleanor, your old student. Ive been looking for you for two years. Im staying here now, working as a ward assistant, learning everything I can. Ill come back next year, promise.
I stared at her, the absurdity of the moment sinking in. Youre going to change this place?
She nodded, eyes shining. Ill try. Even if it feels like trying to cut a splinter with a chainsaw.
I laughed, the sound hoarse. You sound like a witch from an old story, with that beard of yours, I teased.
She chuckled. And you, professor, are no sorcerer either.
The old man named Colin shuffled in, his coat stained, his eyes weary. He confessed hed once tried to fight the system, only to be beaten down by a lack of resources. He warned me that the hospital was a sinkhole of neglect, but Eleanors determination gave him a flicker of hope.
Emily finally awoke, rubbing her eyes. Andrew, she murmured, whats all the fuss about?
I squeezed her hand, feeling the weight of years and the flicker of something new. The day had been a whirlwind of laughter, tears, and absurd promises, but somewhere amidst the chaos, a seed of change had been planted.
I walked back to the infirmarys gate, the crisp morning air filling my lungs. My name, Andrew Yates, was now listed once more on the admission board, beside the newly accepted Eleanor Harper. Perhaps, after all, theres still a chance for us all to rewrite our stories, even in a town as stubborn as Redford.
