Give me another chance, the girl pleaded again, pulling a dainty handkerchief from a tiny pocket and dabbing her nose. The handkerchief was white, edged with a pale blue trim, and dotted with tiny flowers in the corners.
Its touching, thought Professor Andrew Yates. Ah, she can feel itshe knows I cant stand a womans tears!
No hope, he replied, his tone dry. Try again next year, love. In the meantime, how about I get you a job as a ward assistant at the hospital? Its grim and hard work, but youll get a glimpse of what youre aiming for. Imagine, youstanding in a spotless white coat, gleaming instruments, sterile corridors bathed in sunlightnodding at patients who look at you with pleading eyes. Sound good? He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Youve got more freckles than a summer meadow, Blythe Redford! The sunshine must love you.
A chuckle escaped him, half because of the freckles dancing across her cheeks and half because the sun seemed to be smooching Blythe all over. He thought of his wifes birthday, their upcoming weekend at the cottage where pike and pikeperch swam lazily, and the bees buzzing angrily in their hives while he tried to lecture them on good sense.
Blythe raised an eyebrow, surprised at his mirth. Professor, thats odd. All of this feels wrong. She had prepared so carefully, yet now she was sweating over a ticket, fearing to meet the exam board.
Er Im not laughing at you, Andrew said, suddenly earnest. Youre a lovely young lady, Blythe. How about an icecream? Its blistering out today. He tugged at his collar, clasping his battered briefcase under his arm. Dont get the wrong ideaIm not inviting you to a fancy restaurant or a ballet. Just a simple scoop. He fumbled in the pocket of his tweed jacket, pulling out a crumpled bundle of notes. Heres a few pounds. Go buy us both a cone. Ill wait on the bench.
Blythe shrugged. What flavour? she asked softly.
Whatever you like, and make it quick. I dont want a damp patch on the floor where Im supposed to be your mentor. Off you go! He watched, almost delighted, as Blythes tiny legs carried her toward the icecream stall.
Girl, youre a real kid at heart! he muttered, shaking his head. How did you end up on my desk?
Sitting on the bench, he produced another handkerchief from his coatthis one absurdly large, covered in a garish bluegreen check, looking like it had been stolen from a 1970s kitchen. He dabbed his forehead, grimacing. Ugh, being sweaty, tired, and old is dreadful. And being next to a freckled, delicate girl makes it even worse. Not because I want to flirtthank heavens! I love my wife, Tessa, more than anything. I never stare at students. Its just tragic to watch a life pass by when yours feels stuck, like yoursdetermined, stubborn, bright.
He stared at Blythe, who blushed. Why are you examining me so closely? she asked, handing him a paperwrapped icecream.
What? For myself? he snapped, glancing at her empty hands. I said two scoops. Youre not listening! Whats next? Speak up! He widened his eyes, looking like a pike about to jump from a pond.
Fine, fine! Blythe shouted, sprinting back to the stall, buying a second cone and plopping down beside his briefcase.
Eat, Andrew ordered. Then be off. Ive got a lot to doloading the car for Tessas cottage, hauling bundles, lugging suitcases. Where are you off to?
She dabbed the corner of her mouth, shrugged. The icecream was overly sweet, cloying, and left her wanting a drink more than a bite.
Dont you know where you are? he snapped, stamping his foot. You must be staying somewhere, right?
Im at my aunts for now, she replied. Shes expecting relatives from the north today, so Ill be on the move soon. This place isnt exactly a palace.
Whats your aunts name? Andrew asked, chewing.
Liz, she said. She told me to be sensibleapartments arent cheap. She said, If you dont pull yourself together, youll be out on the street.
Where do you live? he pressed, still chewing.
Doesnt matter. Just get me another exam, please! Blythe begged. I can recall three or four questions; I just got confused.
Stop that. You cant have your head in a knot and expect to operate on people, he warned, tapping his finger. Youll end up cutting out a spleen instead of an appendix. Thats absurd!
Can you cut the wrong organ? she gasped. Its all different
Do you want another cone? Two perhaps? she grabbed his arm; he jerked away, huffing.
No, thanks. And Id advise you not to overindulge. I must be off; my wifes waiting. Come back next year. He rose, gave a curt bow, and stalked away down the parks path, leaving Blythe in a whiteandred cap, sighing sadly.
She tucked her tiny suitcaseno bigger than a toyinto the shrubbery. Its really over she whispered, sniffling. Theyll all laugh at me at home. No one believed Id study medicine
In the little town of Redbridge, split by a winding road into tidy terraced houses and quirky cottages with painted shutters, no one really expected Blythe, as small as a grasshopper, to make it to medical school and someday stroll the local infirmary in a white coat, giving advice to nurses nearing retirement.
The towns hospital was a shabby threestorey block with yellowgreen mould patches and sagging plaster. Its chief, Dr. Nigel Fotherby, looked like a perpetually hungover manred, swollen nose, blue veins, puffy eyes, dry lips. He rarely left his office, claiming he didnt have to accept modern staff, and was always in a sour mood.
Blythe had prepared for his interview, only to botch biology and genetics. It seemed fate wasnt on her side.
Andrew Yates had disappeared from view, while Blythe lingered on the bench, still clutching her icecream stick. Now Im thirsty, she mused, pulling her suitcase from the shrub and heading toward the bus stop, hoping to catch the evening train before darkness fell.
She dreaded walking alone at night, haunted by every rustle in the hedgesghosts, demons, the stories her chatty grandmother used to tell. The creaking fence, the snapping branch, the clucking chickens, the crowing rooster, distant dogsall made her shiver under the blanket. In the next room, her grandfather snored loudly, mumbling curses, which oddly soothed her.
Her grandfather had since passed away from pneumonia, and Dr. Fotherby still prescribed his endless miracle poultices. The towns gossip spread: Poor lad, he died in that very infirmary. The night nurse, Tamara, sighed, Hes had enough.
The path home from the station was still the sameovergrown hedges, old brick houses, likely full of mischief. A lanky young man appeared, scooped up Blythes suitcase, and introduced himself as Vince.
What are you doing here? You didnt think Id believe youd get in? Blythe snapped. Give it back, Ill carry it myself!
Calm down, love, Vince muttered. Ive always backed you. Aunt Liz called, said you were coming back, so Im here to meet you. Upset?
He stopped, and Blythe, shaking, rushed into his arms, clinging to him with childlike ferocity, then pulled back, pressing her cheek to his chest and sobbing bitterly. He finally kissed herawkward, damp, like two fledglings pecking. She stared, then leaned in again, and they shared a clumsy, sticky kiss.
Fine, Im glad youre back, Vince whispered when they pulled apart. If youd stayed, Id have come to you.
She nodded. All right then.
A gust of wind rattled a nearby window, and, now slightly older and still a bit disheveled, Andrew Yates snatched a list of applicants from the secretary Nadine, flipping through it with a bony finger.
Karas Karche Oh, God, the surnames, he muttered, scanning names like Barker, Cooke, Dalton, Ellis, Finch, Grant, Hargreaves He stopped, eyes widening.
Looking for someone specific? Nadine asked, pushing up her glasses and wiping her nose with a tiny white handkerchief edged in blue.
The handkerchief, Andrew snapped. Where did you get it?
From the market, she replied, blushing, tucking it back into her bag. There were ones with yellow flowers too, but I liked this one better.
He waved his hand. Never mind! I need Blythe Redford. Shes the candidate Ive been chasing. She didnt turn up, and Ive wasted my nerves on my wifes birthday preparations. I even begged the dean for an extra spot, but the dean said no. So, you see, Im still waiting for her.
Nadine, now pregnant, sighed, chewing on an apple shed pulled from her pursenerves always made her hungry.
Dont stress, Andrew warned. You mustnt get nervous! Blythe Redford, where are you? He glared at the empty hallway.
Later, Dr. Fiona Farnham, a sharptongued senior lecturer, laughed. Looking for a protégée? Not everyone gets lucky, love.
No one, Andrew shouted, wrenching his hand free and marching toward the icecream trolley. He bought a cone, sat back on the bench, and began to eat solemnly.
Right then, he mused. Ive got pike in the pond, perch in the river, and my wifes birthday to celebrate. Why do I keep remembering Blythe?
He had a habit of remembering the one student who asked for nothing in return, only promising to study hard. That made her stand out among the many who tried to bribe or cajole him.
Meanwhile, Tessa, his wife, lounged on a garden bench, humming along with neighbours who were barbecuing, strumming guitars, and chatting about fishing and football. The evening was pleasant until Andrew suddenly went pale, clutching his chest.
His friends, including Igor and Victor, rushed to his side, panicking. Whats wrong? Call a doctor! shouted Igor, slamming the car door.
The nearest hospital is the one in Redbridge, a passerby muttered. Its just a small place, but its all we have.
They drove through the night, the road unlit, until they reached the threestorey infirmary with its mouldy walls. Inside, a janitor muttered about heart attacks and old wives tales, while the nurse Tamara rolled her eyes.
Wheres the emergency room? Igor demanded. We need a doctor, quick!
The janitor shrugged. Everythings an emergency in here, love. Just tell me what you need.
Tessa, tears in her eyes, begged for help. The doors finally creaked open, and Dr. Fotherby shuffled out, looking halfasleep, his breath reeking of last nights ale.
Quiet, love, he barked. Dont make a scene. Its just a bit of a scare.
Andrew lay in a cold, empty ward, the early dawn barely filtering through papercovered windows. He tried to reach for his wifes hand, but his body wouldnt obey. He groaned, eyes closing.
The door opened, and a young woman in a blue coat entered, a scarf tied around her head. She adjusted the scarf, approached the bedridden professor, and gently lifted his head.
Water? she asked, offering a glass.
Redford? You? Andrew whispered, his freckles glinting.
Yes, Professor Yates, she replied, smiling. Dr. Fotherby said there was no heart attack, just something else. Here, have a sip.
She poured him a swallow of water; he nodded gratefully.
Where are you, Blythe? he asked, his voice hoarse. Ive been looking for you everywhere for two years.
Blythe, now a ward assistant, placed a hand over his mouth. Ill come back next year, I promise. Ive been working here, learning everything, and Ill fix this place.
Fix it? he scoffed. Youll end up like that doctor, watching us all stumble about.
Yes, she said, tucking a blanket around his shoulders. I wanted to change things, but its hard when the system is that rotten. Still, Ill keep trying.
He thumped the blanket with his fist. This place is a dump! It needs tearing down!
Tessa, trying not to shout, whispered, Andrew, calm down, love.
Blythe smiled. You look like a wizard with a beard, Professor.
He huffed. What? You think Im a wizard?
No, youre just you. She took his hand, leading him toward a kitchen where tea and ginger biscuits awaited.
Later, a lanky man named Colinonce a respected surgeonappeared, his white coat now a dingy grey. He confessed, I gave up. No funds, no drugs, nothing. I tried to help, but everything fell apart, so I left.
He laughed bitterly. Now the youngsters come in, full of hope, and I drive them away. Only old women stay.
Andrew, redfaced, asked, Will Blythe get in?
Colin shrugged. Shell try. Shes bright. Teach her well, and maybe I wont have to watch the place fall apart completely.
Andrew, still shaking, whispered, Well fight. Well write, well beg. Just dont let the place die.
The night passed, and the infirmarys garden, once overgrown, seemed a little less bleak. Andrew, with a strange pride, read Blythes name on the admissions board for the third time: Redford, Blythe Anne. She had finally been accepted.
He smiled, turned to the icecream trolley, and thought, If I can move a mountain, perhaps I can move a heart. The humor of it all wasnt lost on him; the whole saga felt like a farcooked joke, but somehow, it kept him going.
