Hey love, you wont believe the chaos that went down at the university last week. So Im sitting in the courtyard of the old Student Union at the University of Sheffield when a little girl you know the type, brighteyed and always sighing for attention whines, Give me another chance, please, pulling a tiny white handkerchief with a blue trim and little flowers out of her pocket and dabbing her nose.
Im watching her, thinking to myself, How sweet but I really cant stand a girls tears, they just get under my skin.
My colleague, Dr. Andrew Whitaker, chuckles and says, No chance today. Maybe next year, love. In the meantime, how about I get you a spot as a ward assistant at the local hospital? Its grim work, but youll get a glimpse of what goes on behind those white doors the shiny coats, the gleaming tools, the spotless corridors. Imagine you, strutting like a little demigod, nodding at patients who look at you with pleading eyes. Sound good?
He leans in under the girls sunflowercoloured cap, eyes her freckles, and jokes, Look at those freckles, Charlotte! The sun mustve kissed you all over. He bursts out laughing, delighted by the sunkissed freckles on her skin, the fact that his wifes birthday was coming up and they were heading to the country house where pike and perch swam in the pond, and that the bees in the hives were buzzing like theyd had enough of the heat. He even pretends to be having a chat with the bees, teaching them a thing or two.
Charlotte looks up, squints, and says, The professor is laughing? Thats odd It feels wrong. Shes nervous, her hands sweating over her ticket, afraid to lift her eyes.
Andrew, trying to sound earnest, says, Im not laughing at you, Charlotte, youre absolutely beautiful. How about we get some icecream? Its sweltering, isnt it? He pulls his shirt collar back, grips his battered leather briefcase, and adds, Dont get fancy, Im not taking you to a fivestar restaurant or a ballet, just a cone. Here, take this, he rummages in his trousers, pulls out a crumpled £5 note, Buy us both a cone and meet me on the bench over there.
Charlotte shrugs, tilts her head and asks, Which one do you want?
Anything, just quick. Otherwise Ill be left with a cold spot instead of a ward spot, and that wont do, Andrew says, rushing her along.
She scurries over, her tiny legs wobbling like a newborn chick. Shes just a kid at heart, Andrew mutters, shaking his head.
He settles on the bench, pulls a massive, garish bluegreen checkered handkerchief from his jacket pocket, wipes his forehead, and grimaces, Ugh, being sweaty, tired and old is nasty. Its awful feeling grand next to a freckled, delicate girl. Not because I want to flirt thank heavens but because it reminds me how fleeting life can be. He sighs, thinking of his wife, his own age, and how hed rather watch young, bold folks like Charlotte chase their dreams than stare at his own reflection.
Charlotte, now holding a halfeaten vanilla cone, asks, Why are you looking at me like that?
Youre holding the icecream, right? I asked for two scoops, he says, eyes widening like a fish about to be caught. Nothing! Youre not listening! Whats next? Ill tell you! He makes a ridiculous face, sounding like the pike he plans to catch tomorrow. Youre told what to do and you ignore it! Youre not listening!
She snaps back, Okay, okay, Ive got it! and darts back to the icecream stall, returns with a second cone, plops down beside him, and he tells her to eat. Then goodbye, Ive got a lot to do my wifes waiting for the country house, Ive got luggage to move, sacks to carry. Eat up! Where are you off to now?
She wipes the corner of her mouth, shrugs, and admits the icecream is too sweet, too greasy it makes you want a drink more than anything.
Andrew, annoyed, says, What do you mean you dont know where you are? Youll end up somewhere, wont you? He stomps his foot, muttering about her being a drifter.
Charlotte replies, Im staying with my aunt for now. Shes expecting relatives from the north today, so Ill be on the move again. The flat isnt exactly a palace.
My aunt said I should be responsible, not wander forever, she adds. So maybe I should apply again next year?
She asks, Could you give me another exam? Im pleading.
Andrew, pointing a finger, retorts, You cant have your head in a mess and expect to operate on someone elses appendix or spleen. Thats absurd!
She whines, How could you cut one thing instead of another? Its all different Want another cone? She grabs his arm, he pulls away, huffing.
He says, No, I dont recommend excess. Goodbye, Charlotte Whitmore. Ive got to get back; my wifes waiting. He stands, nods, and walks away down the park path without looking back. Charlotte, in her redandwhite cap, sighs and stays on the bench, pulling a tiny suitcase from the bushes it looks like a childs toy.
She whispers, Thats it they never believed a tiny girl from Littlebrook could become a doctor. They said Id never get in, that Id never finish.
In Littlebrook, a halfrural village split by the A57 into old terraced houses on one side and neat cottages on the other, nobody really thought a girl like Charlotte could ever walk the halls of St. Marys Hospital, let alone become a senior nurse at sixty. The local hospital was a crumbling threestorey building with yellowgreen mould on the walls, outdated equipment, and a chief who believed rubbing spirits on wounds would cure everything. Dr. Nigel Finch, the chief, was a redcheeked, swollennose sort of man with dark, dry lips, never hiring fresh graduates because he thought theyd just make a mess.
Charlotte tried to apply, but she flunked biology and genetics clearly not meant to be.
Andrew Whitaker vanished from sight, leaving Charlotte still on the bench, clutching a melted icecream stick, thinking, Now I just want a drink. She pulls her suitcase out of the bushes, looks around, and heads for the bus stop, hoping to catch the train before dark.
Shes scared walking alone at night, every rustle of a bush feels like a ghost. Her grandmother used to scare her with tales of demons and willowls, so she shivers at every creak. The night sounds a fence board snapping, a branch breaking, chickens clucking, a rooster crowing, distant dogs barking make her curl up under a blanket, halfasleep. In the next room, her grandfather snored loudly, muttering in his sleep, which oddly calmed her.
But now the grandfathers gone, taken by pneumonia, and Dr. Finch still prescribes his endless spirit rubs. The villages dark lanes, overgrown hedges, abandoned brick houses, and whispers of mischief remain.
A sanitation worker, Mrs. Tamara Ellis, passes by and mutters, What a misery as she watches Charlotte limp away with her suitcase, whimpering.
Charlotte keeps hearing, You didnt get enough points, dear. Come back next year. She wonders why Andrew never believed her, why she wasnt taken seriously.
A young lad, Vinnie, spots her, grabs her suitcase, and says, What are you doing here? You thought Id never believe youd get in, huh? He tries to take it, she shouts, Give it back, Ill carry it myself! He grumbles, Ive always had your back, you know that.
They end up in a tight hug, her cheek pressed to his chest, both sobbing like children. Finally, Vinnie plants a quick kiss on her forehead, and they pull apart, laughing nervously.
Later, Andrew Whitaker is spotted rummaging through admission lists, muttering names: Carson, Cartwright, Carling Oh, bless the surnames Hes interrupted by a receptionist, Nadine, whos wiping her glasses with a matching bluetrimmed handkerchief. He asks for the missing list, she shrugs, pulls out an apple, and munches anxiously.
He eventually finds Charlottes name Whitmore, Charlotte Anne on the board, the one hed been searching for two years. Hes ecstatic, shouting, Got her! Shell be here next year!
A senior lecturer, Dr. Fiona Hartley, laughs, Not everyone gets a lucky break. Andrew snaps back, Im not looking for protégés, Im just tired of this place! He strides off to the icecream trolley, buys a cone, and sits back on his bench, sighing, At least Ive got pike in the pond and my wifes birthday to celebrate.
Meanwhile, his wife, Tessa, is at their country house with friends, grilling sausages, playing guitar, talking about football, while the women sip tea and flip through magazines.
Later that night, Andrew collapses in his flat, clutching his chest. Tessa, shocked, pulls him into the car, and they speed toward the village hospital, the road dark, no streetlights.
Call an ambulance! Tessa yells, gripping his hand.
A passing farmer points, Theres a crash up the road, a fuel tanker blocking the lane. They detour around it, cursing the lack of medicine in the village.
At the tiny hospital, the night nurse, Mrs. Ellis, shouts, Wheres the doctor? We need a doctor! The gate is locked, so she bangs on it, eventually forcing it open. Dr. Finch stumbles out, halfdrunk, shouting, Stop the noise, Im trying to rest!
Andrew lies in a cold ward, the dawn barely creeping through the grimy windows. He tries to reach for his wifes hand, but he cant move, his breath shallow.
A young doctor in a blue coat, Nurse Lily, slips in, adjusts his head, and says, A bit of water, sir? She offers him a cup. He looks up, stunned, Charlotte Whitmore? You? He smiles weakly, Im fine, just a bit pale. Lily nods, Dr. Finch said there was no heart attack, just something else. Take it easy.
She hands him the cup, and he drinks, whispering, Charlotte, why are you here? Ive been looking for you for two years. Charlotte, now a trainee nurse, places a finger over her lips, Dont speak, please. She tells him shell come back next year, that Vinnie met her at the station, they married, had a son called Sam, and shes now working as a ward assistant as he suggested. She says she wants to become a doctor and fix the whole mess.
He grumbles, If you try to cut the wrong thing, youll end up like Dr. Finch. Its a nightmare.
She laughs, I used to think the same, but now Im determined. She adjusts his blanket, and the two share a quiet moment.
Later, a gaunt Dr. Finch, now in a greyyellow coat, sits nursing a mug of tea, muttering about the endless paperwork. He watches Andrews name reappear on the admissions board for the third time, Whitmore, Charlotte Anne accepted. He smiles wryly, grabs his briefcase, and heads back to the icecream trolley, humming a tune.
And thats where were at the village still waiting for a proper doctor, Charlotte still dreaming, and me just trying to keep up with all the drama. Hope youre doing okay, love. Talk soon.
