Novella
Hospital waiting rooms, a peculiar environment where everyone shares a common concern that no one wishes to share. This is particularly true when it’s an all-male cast. I’ve followed the rules and ensured I’ve left a least one seat between myself and the next guy. In fact, I’ve gone one better and sat at the far end of a bank of six with only one other feller occupying the other end.
I settled into the dull monotony that I was convinced would consume at least the next few hours of my life when my boredom was abruptly shattered by a resounding crash emanating from the sliding entrance doors. In a heart-pounding moment, my overactive imagination catapulted into an intense heist scenario, where an organised crime gang was brazenly attempting to breach the doors with an armoured vehicle. However, reason quickly prevailed, reminding me that it was merely a hospital waiting room—certainly an unusual choice for armed robbers. The collective attention of the room momentarily shifted upward, but just as swiftly, everyone averted their gazes back to the mundane comfort of their feet.
Curiosity got the better of me and as I stood to get a better view, I just managed to catch the sight of a poor guy in a wheelchair hurtling backwards down a ramp before coming to an abrupt halt and being hurled into an ornamental privet hedge.
A receptionist, porter and a passing nurse leapt into action and rushed outside to rescue the unfortunate soul who, judging by his demeanour had done more damage to his pride than his body. Helped back into his chair, he shrugged off any further assistance and gingerly made his way back to the offending sliding doors before pausing and allowing them to open fully this time before attempting to enter.
The remaining receptionist, who for reasons best known to herself had not leapt to his assistance, peered over her desk and calmly asked, “Is everything OK sir?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine thanks, just a bit eager I guess.”
“Surprisingly enthusiastic for someone attending a vasectomy clinic. What name is it please?”
“Banford, Harry Banford,” he replied rather sheepishly.
“And your date of birth?”
“Twenty ninth of the second, nineteen eighty-four.”
“Please take a seat Mr Banford,” she said, completely missing the irony of her comment, “we’ll call you when we’re ready.”
Harry deftly wheeled himself into position immediately to my left. I liked him already and we hadn’t spoken a word. He was a rule breaker, not even the slightest attempt to distance himself from the rest of us. Though in fairness, he didn’t have that much choice. His options were to park himself at the end of a row of chairs or sit in the middle of the room like an ornamental statue.
I was tempted to open the conversation, but as my irresistible urge was to go straight to the sliding doors incident, I held my tongue not wanting to embarrass him further. As I mulled over what I might chat to him about after cursory introductions, a beast of a guy built like the proverbial brick out house and with a Desperate Dan chin that could chisel granite, appeared out of nowhere and nearly sat on my lap such was his eagerness to grab the seat next to me. Well, that was waiting room etiquette out of the window. I shifted my right buttock maybe two inches so that we weren’t physically touching each other, but it hardly counted as putting any great distance between us. My soon to be new mate Harry, who I had yet to speak a single word to, shot me a perplexed look and I just shrugged my shoulders in bewilderment.
“Bollocks!” The ‘beast’ speaks. “Smartphone my arse, dumb phone more like.”
“Technology eh?” Harry replied, though directing his response more to me than the ‘beast’.
“Double bollocks,” louder this time, “What eejit came up with solitaire. Eh? Eh? Well?”
I wasn’t convinced the question was directed at me or Harry for that matter. It might have been a question for the room at large such was its volume.
“Well?” he repeated in a slightly threatening hushed tone.
“Well what?” I said nervously.
“What eejit came up with solitaire? What’s the point of it? You can’t even play it with your mates.”
“I think that is the point.”
“What?”
“Solitaire, it’s meant to be played alone, hence the name solitaire deriving from the French for solitary.”
“Oooohhhhh get you Madam-mos-elle clever shit.”
“Just thought it was pretty obvious that’s all,” I said before contemplating why I was even entering into a conversation with neanderthal man.
“Well, it might be obvious to you in your la-de-da three piece and designer shoes, but some of us are still proud to be British. Some of us aren’t ashamed to admit we only speak the Queen’s English.”
Curiosity got the better of me. “What’s that got to do with playing solitaire?”
All credit to the guy, he had an answer, however bizarre it might have seemed.
“It’s got to do with being sold down the river pal. It’s got to do with losing your sovereigns.”
Should I correct him, will it antagonise him? Sod it, in for a penny, in for a pound. “Do you mean sovereignty?”
“Whatever. The point is, if I want to sit in a vasectomy clinic talking French, then I’ll jump on the Eurocar and have me nads chopped in frog land. Capiche?”
At this point I realised I was out of my depth. Continuing the conversation seemed to have only one conceivable outcome and that was a punch in the face. An uncomfortable silence filled the air.
With a disarming charm, Harry remarked, “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”
The ‘beast’ was on him straightaway. “Aye up wheelie boy, who rattled your chariot?”
In a way that I knew was going to be patronising, I felt the need to protect my disabled buddy, fully aware that he was probably more than capable of sticking up for himself. “Hey, relax my friend,” I said trying to come across as an equal, “it’s stressful enough sat around here waiting for some guy to take a knife to Richard and the twins, without us falling out over a game on a phone.”
“Hear, hear,” Harry said in support.
The ‘beast’ paused. “No sweat fella, just a bit tense, that’s all.” It was as close to an apology as we were going to get.
“Of course you are, we’re all a little tense,” I said in the hope that reminding him of our shared fears would keep him calm for the rest of the morning.
A brief hush settled in the room, only to be broken by the violent swing of two massive corridor doors. All eyes in the room were immediately drawn to the chaotic sight of what appeared to be an out-of-control hospital trolley careering through the waiting room, with a hospital porter desperately clinging on for dear life. It was hard to determine whether anyone was on the trolley such was its speed and the only clue we had was the porter shouting “Bleeder coming through, mind your backs, bleeder coming through, mind your backs.”
With that he was gone, disappearing into a room closely followed by several white coats and a nurse who in contrast didn’t seem to share the urgency of the situation as she strolled at a leisurely pace some distance behind them. There was a sense that everything was under control as very little happened in the next five minutes until the tannoy sprang to life.
“Doctor Knackersack to emergency room two, Doctor Knackersack to emergency room two please.”
Again, the whole room was brought to attention, eager to get a glimpse of Doctor Knackersack – the beacon of hope for the poor soul seemingly teetering on the precipice of life or death in emergency room two. Seconds and then minutes passed by, but no Doctor Knackersack. Instinct told me to speak to the receptionist and ask her to put out another tannoy message, but just as a I grappled with this notion, a scruffy looking octogenarian stuffing his face with what looked like a Cornish pasty, strolled nonchalantly through the increasingly tense and anxious waiting room, discarding the remains of his brunch on the receptionist desk before opening the door to emergency room two asking, “Is he still with us or have we lost him?” The door slammed behind him, and we were all left wondering.
While the rest of us sat in silence contemplating the fate of ‘the bleeder’, the ‘beast’ had other things on his mind.
“So, what’s your story then?” he asked, pointing at Harry.
“Story?” Harry replied.
“Yeah, what’s with the wheelchair, you one of them ‘fripples’?”
“Excuse me?”
Once again, I felt the need to interject. “I have to hand it to you… Sorry, didn’t catch your name?”
“Dick,” the ‘beast’ replied.
“How appropriate. Short for Richard I assume?”
“Nope… Roger.”
“Dick is short for Roger?”
“No numb nuts, my last name’s Whittington.”
“Ah, Ok. I’m Tom by the way. As I was saying, I have to hand it to you Dick, you certainly have a way with words… ‘Fripple’?”
“Yeah, fake cripple. You see ’em all the time down at the benefits office. Scrounging bast…”
“Are you for real?” Harry interrupted in a much more measured way than Dick deserved.
“Hey, chill whatever your name is, just curious. Meant no offence.”
“It’s Harry and none taken.”
This was the point our new friend Dick should have shut up or changed subjects, but it was becoming evident, that wasn’t Dick’s style. He paused briefly, but clearly hadn’t finished with his line of questioning.
“So erm… You had the wheels long like?”
Sarcastically Harry said, “Had them since I broke my back five years ago as it happens. I’d been looking at getting some and then the collision with a tree kind of made up my mind.”
“Five years? Jesus Christ, it’s takin’ a long time to heal init? I broke two knuckles punching a wall once and they were right as rain in a couple of weeks.”
“Bloody NHS eh? You pay thousands in taxes, and they still can’t find a cure for a broken back,” Harry said, not anticipating Dick’s response.
“I’m with you on that one brother. The robbin’ friggin’ government screw ya’ for every penny you earn and then can’t even be arsed to put some effort into finding a cure for a broken back. Come the revolution brother, me and you, Dick and… and…?”
“Harry,” Harry reminded him.
“Dick and Harry stood shoulder to shoulder, well shoulder to hip in your case. We’ll fight ’em on the beaches, we’ll fight ’em on the streets and defeat imperialism and its running dogs,” Dick announced while stood to attention clutching his heart in a gesture of solidarity.
“Well said Dick,” I said in a somewhat dismissive tone, “in the meantime, a nice cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Wishful thinking,” said Harry, “I don’t think there’s a vasectomy clinic refreshment budget anymore, it got cut.”
I smiled at Harry’s weak attempt at a joke, while Dick looked on confused.
The minutes ticked by painfully slow. Dick had seemingly lost interest in Harry’s disability, well for the time being at least and sat cursing his phone as he once again grappled with solitaire. Harry was engrossed in a book and had a wry smile on his face. For my part, I sat people-watching, wondering about the diverse stories and journeys that had converged in this space, all of us bound by a common thread of uncertainty and hope.
Harry closed his book. “Anyone gone in yet?
“Not that I’m aware of,” I said, “there’s another waiting room just down the corridor, I think they may be first.”
“You’d have thought they might have had a TV, even if it was only for infomercials,” Harry said. “Remind me to put a note in the suggestion box on the way out. Oh well, back to ‘The Memoirs of a Eunuch.’ Not my book of choice, but the wife thought it was amusing under the circumstances.”
I smiled, slightly envious at his wife’s attention to detail. Just as I thought we’d returned to peace and tranquillity; Dick’s short attention span came to the fore as he slammed his phone down on the hard plastic seat to his right and said, “So Harold.”
Without looking up, Harry corrected him, “It’s Harry.”
“Same bloke different cat. What brings you ’ere?”
“Sorry?
“Don’t be sorry, Dick said, ’what brings you ‘ere?’”
Harry looked at me, I looked at Harry, I think just to make sure we were both confused by the question. “It’s a vasectomy clinic Dick, the clue’s in the name.”
“Oh right, so you’re here for the snip as well. Excellent.”
“Why else would I be here?” Harry asked.
“Don’t know really,” Dick said, as you could see the cogs whirling around in his head trying to decide if the question had been as stupid as Harry was making out.
Harry wasn’t going to let him off that easily though. “Do you think I was just out for a stroll and saw a sign that said, ‘Vasectomy Clinic, short back and sides done while you wait’ and I thought, hey, got nothing better to do, the wife’s at her sister’s, the match doesn’t kick off until three, why not pop in and get my gonads sliced and diced?”
Taking back control, Dick said, “Of course I didn’t think you were out for a stroll. I mean… well… you know… with your wangy legs and all, you’re not gonna stroll far are you?”
“I think it was a figure of speech my friend,” I said.
“Whatever. So, you married then Henry?”
“It’s Harry and yes I’m married.”
Dick seemed surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah really.”
Intrigued, I asked, “Why shouldn’t he be?”
“No reason, just thought with his problems it might’ve been hard to find someone if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t have any problems thank you very much and not that it’s any of your damn business, but I met my wife before my accident.”
It was as angry as I had seen my new friend since we met, but Dick was clearly oblivious.
“Ruddy ‘ell mate, wake up and smell the full English with a big mug of coffee. I’d say bein’ legless is a big friggin’ problem.”
“I have legs, they just don’t work like most peoples do and trust me, it’s more of a problem for people like you than it is for me.”
“Ok H, don’t have a cow, just trying to be friendly.”
“God help us if you turn unfriendly,” I uttered under my breath to no one in particular.
Dick’s line of questioning killed the conversation, and I felt the need to try and take the tension out of the situation. “Any kids Harry?”
“Yeah, four of the buggers.”
“Four?”
“Yep. All girls. Amy’s fourteen, Molly’s twelve and I have twins Lucy and Kate who are three.”
“Rather you than me.”
“It’s a challenge. Why d’you think I’m here? Was hoping for a boy last time but it wasn’t to be, so decided to call it quits.”
If I hadn’t looked down at that point to check a message that had just pinged on my phone, Dick probably wouldn’t have taken advantage of my pregnant pause.
“So, you can still get it up then?” Dick said without a hint of shame.
“What?” Harry replied.
“You can still get the ‘Old Major’ to stand to attention?”
“Of course I can. Do you really think I’d be sat in a vasectomy clinic being insulted by the missing link if I couldn’t get it up?”
“How does that work then?”
“How does what work?”
“The whole baby making business.”
As Dick’s curiosity was firmly focussed on Harry, I again felt the need to step in. “Dick my friend, the whole business of making babies is a very complex and miraculous process, a process that begins with a man and a woman and certain anatomical features.”
“Duh! I know how normal people make babies, I’m not stupid,” Dick said in a way that implied he felt insulted, “I was wondering how Harry made babies.”
“It may surprise you to know Dick, but I make babies in exactly the same way normal guys make babies.”
“Look, I don’t wanna get personal and feel free to tell me to mind my own business…”
“Mind your own business,” Harry suggested, but to no avail.
“But I know when I’m gettin’ jiggy with a bit of skirt, me legs are an important part of the whole gig, if you know what I’m sayin’.”
“Well, whilst my days of leaping from the top of the wardrobe shouting ‘Geronimo’ are nothing more than a fond memory, I am more than capable of getting ‘jiggy’ with my wife in ways that keep us both perfectly satisfied thank you.”
“Ok, fair play to you Harry. The British bulldog spirit, I like it. You’re an inspiration to ‘spazzers’ around the world.”
“What did you just call him?” I snapped.
“Harry, why ain’t that his real name?”
“No… I mean yes, I’m talking about the other name you used.”
“You mean ‘spazzer’?” Dick replied.
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Oh shit. I’m sorry Harry, didn’t mean to upset you pal. It’s what me dad used to call ’em.”
“Hang on, what about me?” I said.
“What about you?”
“Don’t I get an apology, I’m offended too?”
“Why are you offended, you’re not one?” Dick said, seemingly oblivious to the point I was trying to make.
“What’s that got to do with it. If I started talking about…” Dick wasn’t going to let me finish.
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Bloody ’ell fella chill out, it’s not like I called your mother a ‘prossie’.”
Harry stepped in to ease the tension. “Ok boys let’s just leave it there shall we, I’m sure it was just a slip of the tongue.”
“Sure, sure, just don’t want you think I’ve got a problem with your kind, that’s all. I love all that parallel Olympic bollocks. Haven’t got a clue what’s goin’ on, but always good for a laugh. Much prefer it to ‘You’ve Been Framed.’ Shame it’s only on every four years, deserves a prime-time Saturday night slot if you ask me.”
At this point, I believe even Dick grasped that he’d pushed things too far, and he went oddly silent. Harry, on the other hand, got comfy with his book, and I found myself daydreaming about being anywhere else but here right now. For a moment, I even toyed with the idea of making a quick exit. Not just because I was seated next to Desperate Dan and all the drama that comes with it, but because doubts were creeping in about whether I’d truly thought through my decision to have a vasectomy.
My whole idea of having a heart-to-heart with Harry about my sudden confusion got totally wrecked when Doctor Knackersack dramatically appeared in the doorway of emergency room two. There he was, looking all smug, sporting an unlit cigar in his mouth, and throwing up the ‘V’ for victory sign like it was some sort of performance. He certainly turned the whole room into a gawking spectacle, except for Dick, who was busy wrestling with a pack of Murray Mints. The rest of us just stared, utterly bewildered by this strange character who seemed to think he was on a stage waiting for a standing ovation. When the applause didn’t materialize, he slouched his shoulders in exasperation. Then, in a last-ditch effort to get the attention he so desperately craved, he decided to address his captive audience.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, clearly oblivious to it being an all-male congregation, “I would just like to reassure you that the events of the last fifteen minutes are nothing to be alarmed about. Whilst I’m unable to go into any detail about a very serious and unfortunate incident involving one of our patients, I felt it important for your peace of mind that I inform you the young man in question is very much alive and kicking with very little lasting damage. It was an extremely rare complication, so rare in fact that I struggled to find any useful information on Wikipedia to help guide me. Needless to say, my long and distinguished career served me well and I was able to save the young man’s life. Rest assured, I am very confident all your procedures today will go without a hitch and if for some reason there are some hitches, I’m only a tannoy call away. Thank you for your attention and goodbye.”
With that he was gone, disappeared into thin air like some spectral being. No one spoke. Even the receptionist stood mouth wide open in what appeared to be a state of shock. Three guys wasted no time and bolted out of the building, while hushed murmurs started bubbling up among those left behind. Dick was still oblivious, having opened his Murray Mints he now appeared to be trying out origami with the sweet wrappers. Harry, for reasons best known to himself was laughing and shaking his head and I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
“That’s it, folks, I’m done,” I declared, with a touch of theatrical flair, “I ought to be kicking it back at Café Dansant, digging into some antipasti and sipping on a fine 2009 Chateau Lafite-Rothschild. But instead, here I am, half expecting the Baghdad Butcher to make a surprise cameo and pull a ‘gonad gone wrong’ stunt while Doctor Knackersack sits puffing on a King Edward cigar, plotting his near-death memoir for the Lancet’s front page.”
Harry turned and looked at me and started laughing even harder. “Deep breaths Tom, deep breaths, it’s all about risk and reward,” he tried to reassure me, “forget the looney tune and his Winston Churchill dramatics. Truth is, the risks are so low you couldn’t even quantify them, but the rewards are many and remember you’re probably doing this as much for your wife as you are yourself. Think about that instead of overpriced red wine and overrated pretentious nibbles disguised under a cloak of Mediterranean mystique.”
As I was about to reply, the tannoy crackled to life again. If this was another call for Doctor Knackersack, well that would make my decision for me. I’d give Harry a friendly handshake, wish him all the best, and summon my Uber without a second thought.
“Mr Gresham to consultation room six please,” it announced.
No one moved. Everyone remained rooted to their seats. The receptionist got up, and in a firm, kind of scary tone, she took over the Tannoy’s only purpose in life. “Hey there, folks! Listen up, we need Mr. Gresham in consultation room six. Anyone seen him? Mr. Gresham, time to head to room six.” Again a few seconds passed with no response before someone on the opposite side of the room shouted. “I think he might have done a runner love, three of ’em left after that nutter gave his speech.”
The receptionist plopped back into her chair and picked up a phone. Not a moment later, the tannoy chimed in, demanding Mr. Sullivan’s presence in room number six. A guy at the far end of the same bench I was parked on slowly rose and carefully shuffled off to meet his fate. Harry then spent the best part of ten minutes reassuring me that everything was going to be ok and, using tactics that included questioning my masculinity, convinced me to stay and see it through.
During all of this, Dick hadn’t bothered to pay any mind. He couldn’t care less if his life was hanging by a thread. It didn’t faze him one bit that his potential saviour, if things took a nosedive, was a certifiably eccentric quack with a Winston Churchill complex. In all honesty, it seemed like he couldn’t give a damn about anything except himself. So, it came as no shock when he just had to go ahead and initiate yet another chat with two folks who’d done a lousy job at signalling they wanted no part of his conversation.
“I’m sick of this, don’t they realise time’s money?” he announced.
Initially neither Harry nor I responded. I wasn’t sure if he had addressed the question to either of us or whether he was simply talking to himself or anyone that cared to listen. I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.
“Well Tom, what d’you think?”
“What do I think about what Dick?”
“Do you think they realise time’s money?”
In a selfish act, I decided to indulge him, hoping that the banal conversation I was certain we were about to have would take my mind off my impending life threatening procedure. “So, you work then?”
“What’s that supposed to mean, course I work,” he snapped.
“Wasn’t supposed to mean anything, just asked if you work.”
“I work bloody ’ard pal. Twelve hours a day, six days a week.”
“Doing what?” Harry said.
“I dig ’oles.”
“Is that it?”
“Nope, then I fill ’em in again,” he proudly announced.
“Grave digger?” It was the first thing that came to mind.
“No, ya’ daft sod. Utilities, gas, electric that kind of stuff. I dig the ’oles, someone puts stuff in ’em and I fill ’em in again.”
“Must be very rewarding.” I kind of tossed that one out there with a touch of sarcasm, though he didn’t quite catch it.
“Yeah it is, to the tune of six ’undred quid a week.”
“Bloody hell, six hundred quid for digging some holes?” Harry sounded surprised.
And in what might just be his best comeback so far, Dick said, “Like to see you dig ’em.”
“That’s a fair point Harry.”
“Yeah, point taken,” Harry conceded.
I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact that I was still in this conversation. To be honest, Old Dicky and his hole-digging gig didn’t really pique my interest. I can only guess I kept it going because, well, he was doing a pretty good job at keeping my mind off other things.
“How long have you been digging holes then Dick?”
“Since I was kicked out of the young offenders institute… Must be ten years now.”
“I see… Live locally?”
“Yeah, just up the road on the Derwent.”
“Ah, the council estate,” I said.
“Yep, that’s the one.
“Never thought of buying your own place?”
“Nah, why would I want to do that?”
“Good investment and you’re on good money,” I said realising I’d slipped into work mode and could see an opportunity make a quick buck. “Might be able to help if you want me to look into it.”
Just as I was about to launch into a full on sales pitch and pull out one of my readily available mortgage information brochures, the tannoy was at it again. “Mr Kumar to consultation room four please.”
“So, what do you say Dicky, want me to make your home owning dreams come true?” I persisted.
“Nah! Happy where I am rentin’ thanks. Besides, if I go buy somewhere, it might screw up me benefits.”
That one got Harry’s attention. “Benefits?”
“Yeah, me benefits. You know, housin’ benefit, job seekers, all that crap.”
Stating the obvious I said, “But you work.”
“And?”
“And benefits are for people who don’t earn six hundred quid a week, people who need a hand. The benefit system was designed to protect the vulnerable, to help prevent poverty,” Harry protested.
“What cloud cuckoo planet do you live on Harry? Let me tell you about the benefit system. The benefit system exists for a bunch of work shy, lazy, idle, shiftless, inert Jeremy Kyle guests who haven’t done a hard day’s graft in their entire miserable lives. Out of my hard earned six ‘undred quid a week, the thieving self-serving pigs who call themselves politicians, steal two hundred quid under the guise of taxes to help fund the cheap cider drinking, hash smoking lives of these scumbags. Well stuff that for a game of soldiers. Dick giveth and Dick taketh away again, it’s my damn money and one way or another I’m keepin’ every last penny of it.”
I was mildly impressed by Dick’s little speech. “Well, you’ve convinced me Dick, ever thought of running for government?”
Harry on the other hand was clearly still irritated. “But what about the NHS, some of your taxes go to pay for that. Some of your taxes and mine and Tom’s are paying for you to be here today to have the snip?”
“Don’t make me laugh, they should be paying me for bein’ ’ere.”
“And how do you work that one out then?” Harry said.
“It ain’t pocket science ’arry…”
I half considered correcting Dick’s idiom but decided not to interrupt his flow. Old Dicky had momentarily become mildly interesting, so I allowed him to continue.
“I’ll bet you a pound to a pinch of Charlie that when you get down there in that operatin’ theatre, there’ll be some junior quack who don’t speak a word of the Queen’s and we’ll be part of his on the job trainin’ to become a qualified doctor. He wants to think himself damn lucky I ain’t sending him a bill for being his ruddy guinea pig.”
Harry thought for a moment, then seemed to mellow. “You know Dick, you might be onto something there. It wouldn’t be surprising to have a novice doc finding their feet down in that theatre, but hey, if we’re helping him learn the ropes, maybe we can score some good karma for future check-ups.”
“I think I can honestly say hand on heart that I’ve never, ever met anyone with such an interesting take on life, Dick,” I said hoping he would take it as a compliment.
“Can’t disagree with you on that one Tom,” Harry said. “I take it you’re married then Dick?”
“Married? Me? Give me a break.”
“Ah… The modern man. Live with your partner?” I said.
“Live with me dog, me snake and a budgie called Quasimodo.”
“Of course you do. Girlfriend?”
“A few,” Dick replied.
“So, what brings you here then? I mean, why the snip?”
“Sick of the child support.”
“The what?” Harry said.
“Child support. Scrounging Vicky Pollards crawling out of the woodwork claiming I’ve spawned a kid, and they want paying, as if spending the night with me ain’t payment enough.”
Harry and I took a moment to assimilate what Dick had just said before Harry asked. “How many kids are we talking about?”
“Payin’ for three, two pendin’.”
“Christ Dick, haven’t you heard of prophylactics?”
“Course I ’ave. it’s them Ranger’s supporters init.”
“What?” said Harry.
“Not a football fan then Harry. Glasgow Celtic, that’s your Catholics, Glasgow Rangers that’s your prophylactics,” Dick replied in all seriousness.
“Protestants Dick, I’m talking prophylactics, as in French letter, cock sock, love glove, condoms.”
“Ah! Those prophylactics. Yeah ’course I’ve heard of ’em, just sometimes in the heat of the moment you’re sorta… well sorta in before you know what ’appened. Next thing you know, a letter drops through the door demanding money.”
“So, you’re getting a vasectomy to save money.”
“Yep,” Dick replied without a hint of hesitation.
“How did your GP agree to that?”
“I said if he didn’t tell ’em I wasn’t married or in a relationship, I wouldn’t tell ’em about his drug habit and whatdya know, here I am.”
“But what if you meet someone you want to spend the rest of your life with? What if you want kids.”
“I’ve got kids, three of ’em. I’ll borrow one for the weekend if I ever get the urge.”
“I give up,” said Harry exasperated.
Dick remained silent, seemingly content with his own rationale, seeing no necessity to elaborate on his decision. Frankly, he had no obligation to do so, for the matter wasn’t pertinent to either Harry or me. I’d only begun the conversation as a distraction, I didn’t give a toss why he was here.
I rose to stretch my legs and meandered toward a modestly stocked magazine rack that clung precariously to a wall. It relied on a solitary screw loosely anchored in the aging, crumbling plaster. The meagre selection of magazines primarily focused on DIY and home improvement, so I snagged a copy of ‘Style at Home’ and eagerly settled back into my seat, my anticipation fuelled by the hope of discovering the elusive inspiration I needed for my man cave, that had so far been nine years in the planning and no years in the creating. I thumbed through pages one to five quickly as I couldn’t get excited about the science behind choosing paint colours. The section on ‘Right Tools for the Job’ briefly grabbed my attention, what man doesn’t love a power tool? But the article that stopped me in my tracks was Baby Nurseries: 10 Tips for a Stylish and Functional Space.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me, and I couldn’t help but break into a smile, the first genuine one today. Well, in all fairness, there were a couple of moments earlier when Dick’s comical malapropisms managed to coax out a few half-hearted grins. I pushed the magazine under Harry’s nose, who was far more engrossed in his wife’s choice of book than I imagined he should be. Harry looked up at me puzzled, before I realised I’d shown him an advert for a Peloton Treadmill. I promptly turned the magazine over and waited for his reaction to the article that had so amused me.
“Planning a bit of DIY are you?” Harry asked in all sincerity.
“No,” I replied frustratingly, “it’s a DIY project for a baby’s nursery in a magazine in a vasectomy clinic. Get it?”
“Oh OK. Yeah, I get it now. Sorry, thought you were looking for a bit of advice.”
“Why would I need a nursery?”
“No idea. Thought maybe you already had a little one or maybe one on the way. Come to think of it, me and Dick have somehow been coaxed into revealing our inner most secrets, but you seem to have escaped interrogation. Care to share?”
“Trust me Harry, my story is nowhere near as interesting as you guys, just a quick snip, snip no kids and back to reality.”
“Married?”
“Been married eight years tomorrow actually.”
Dick awoke from his slumber. “Is this her anniversary pressie then?”
“Nope, she doesn’t know I’m here.”
“What?” Harry said.
“She doesn’t know I’m here; I haven’t told her.”
“Bloody hell Tom, is that fair?”
“No, not really.”
“But you both agree you don’t want kids?” Harry asked.
“On the contrary, she’d love children. That’s why I’m here; she’s come off the pill and thinks we’re trying to conceive.”
“That’s bang out of order mate. Not wanting children is one thing, not telling the wife is just deceitful.”
“Leave him alone, H. They’re his gonads; he’s free to do what he likes with ’em.”
“Well, I think his wife might take a different view Dick.”
Harry’s comment was like a red rag to a bull and Old Dicky was quickly back on his soap box.
“It’s got nowt to do with his missus. If she was preggers and decided to get rid of the poor little bleeder, no one would give a stuff what Tom thought. When the boots on the other foot, out come all the tree huggin’, yoghurt knittin’, women’s libbers, screeching about women’s rights and how it’s a woman’s body and she can decide what to do with it. Poor old Tom here wants to ’ave a couple of tubes cut and suddenly it’s not fair on his old girl. Equal rights my arse.”
Harry looked rattled. “OK! OK! Calm down. I just think it’s something he should have discussed with his wife, that’s all.”
As the instigator of this little skirmish, I felt it incumbent on me to try and take the heat out of the situation. “Come on guys, let’s not fall out. Look here’s the deal ok. I’m not proud of what I’m doing but it’s complicated.”
“Too complicated to discuss with the wife, really?” Harry said.
“Yeah, really and a little bit sordid I guess.”
“Sounds juicy, should I order beer and pizza?” Dick offered.
“Basically, we were childhood sweethearts, drifted apart and met up again about ten years ago. One thing led to another and before you know it, we’re walking down the aisle.”
Dick sounded disappointed. “That’s not my kind of sordid mate.”
“It was just convenient. I don’t mean I don’t love her, of course I do, but it’s more of a brotherly, sisterly type love if you know what I mean.”
“That’s more like it, I’ve read about your type in me girlie mags.”
“Put it back in your pants Dick, I’m not talking pervy incest stuff. It just wasn’t deep, lustful, passionate love. That’s reserved for guy called Jonathon.”
After a brief pause and then a sudden realisation Harry replied. “Oh… I see.”
Dick on the other hand wanted more. “Do what?”
“I’m in love with a guy called Jonathon… I’m gay.” I said.
I had never witnessed such a behemoth of a man move with such remarkable swiftness. Dick catapulted himself out of his seat, causing the entire row of chairs to skid backward in his wake, almost smashing into a plate glass window that overlooked a sadly neglected ornamental fishpond. He began pacing back and forth in front of me, intermittently pausing as though on the verge of speaking but then grappling with a loss for words.
“What the bloody hell are you doing Dick?” Harry said.
“I’m moving to another friggin’ seat, that’s what I’m doin’. I ain’t sittin’ next to that.”
“Don’t panic my friend, it’s not catching,” I tried to reassure him.
“Yeah, well that’s easy for you to say. I bet the murdering queen who killed Freddie Mercury told him it want catching and look what happened to ’im.”
I’m talking about my sexuality Dick; you’re not going to catch ‘gayness’.”
“Too damn right I’m not mate. Jesus Tom, I could just about understand you doin’ the dirty with your sister, but a pillow biter? Gi’ me a break.”
Despite his threat to move seats, Dick didn’t move far. He scanned the waiting room briefly and then sat himself back down leaving just one empty seat between us. I wasn’t sure whether to take this as a gesture of acceptance or whether he secretly wanted to know more. Harry on the other hand took the opportunity to once more push Dick’s buttons.
“I take it you don’t indulge in a bit of guy-on-guy action now and again then Dick?”
And push his button it did. “Don’t think just because you’re in that chariot that I won’t land one on you ’arry,” Dick threatened.
“The guy’s gay Dick, it’s no biggie.”
“Well it might not be a ‘biggie’ to you, but I’ve got standards pal. It ain’t natural, it ain’t normal and it ain’t no way for a married man to be behavin’.”
As much as I didn’t like to admit it, Dicks last point was valid, and I didn’t really have an answer. On the other hand, I was under no obligation to answer. I’d been asked a question about why I was here, and I’d replied, maybe with a bit more detail than was absolutely necessary, but I’d replied.
“I never thought ten minutes ago I’d be agreeing with anything Dick might have to say Tom, but is that any way for a married man to behave? I mean, why get married if you’re gay, or didn’t you realise you were gay until you met whatever his name is?”
Now I found myself needing to justify my existence. “I’ve known since I was a kid Harry, but you just go into denial. Telling your mates you find them attractive when you’re fifteen wasn’t the done thing. I just thought I’d grow out of it, but of course I didn’t. Then I thought if I met a woman and got married, it would ‘cure’ me, but of course it didn’t. So now I find myself married to someone I can’t bring myself to hurt whilst denying myself real happiness with Jonathon.”
Dick was still struggling with the revelation. “A flamin’ turd burglar, unbelievable.”
Unless you’ve got something useful to say Dick, why don’t you just shut up?” Harry said.
“But…”
“Enough.” Harry was as angry as I suspect Harry gets and for the first time today, Dick looked a little sheepish. “So where does the vasectomy fit in Tom?”
“I couldn’t bring kids into the world knowing that at any moment my wife could find out and the kids would end up fatherless. Don’t think she’d be keen on letting me see them given the circumstances. So, I get the snip, she thinks we’re trying for a baby and life goes on,” was my lame attempt at an excuse.
“Well, I’d like to try and ease your guilt Tom, but I think shit’s going to hit the fan. You seem a decent guy, but what you’re doing is just wrong.”
“I’m not looking for redemption. It’s a crap situation and it’s all my doing, but at the moment it’s the way it is and until I grow a bigger pair of balls, I’ll take the risk. Happy now?”
“Hey, it’s your life, bugger all to do with me,” Harry said, putting an end to the conversation.
The uncomfortable silence, a recurring presence from the moment we took our seats, descended once more. I can’t say I was unhappy, at least the heat was off me for the time being, so you can imagine my disappointment when Harry thought it necessary to awaken the beast.
“You’re unusually quite Dick.”
“If I remember correctly ’arry, you told me to shut up,” Dick reminded him.
“I just meant stop being a dick, Dick.”
“I wasn’t bein’ a dick, I was just in shock, that’s all. I just didn’t have ’im down as a sausage jockey.”
“I am still sat here in case you hadn’t noticed,” I said.
“So, when you say you’re gay, you really mean you’re bi… bat for both side like?” Dick said.
“Nope, I’m most definitely gay.”
“Listen Tommy, or should that be Tammy? Either way, listen. I don’t know much about your vile, disgusting lifestyle, but I know enough to know that if you’re still slipping the old girl one, then you obviously bat for both sides and in my normal, straight world, that makes you a bi-now-gay-later.”
It took some time for me to muster the determination needed to respond to Dick’s oversimplified perspective on life. I had learned long ago to steer clear of discussions involving politics and religion, and though I wasn’t entirely certain where my sexuality fitted within those categories, I strongly believed it had its place. However, I had the distinct impression that Dick wouldn’t be yielding anytime soon and was determined to persist, seemingly clinging to the hope that I might eventually see things from his perspective and forsake my ‘vile’ way of life.
“Being gay is a state of mind Dick, it’s not about who you have sex with. Given the right circumstances and in the right situation, even you could probably get it up in front of a bunch of gay guys, but that wouldn’t make you gay, that’s just some primal sexual urge. I have sex with my wife because I must. The ‘old major’ performs for me because of the circumstances and the situation I’m in, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a gay man.”
Dick came back with an unsurprisingly eloquent and reasoned response, “What a load of bollocks. Gays are gay because they’re oversexed, simple.”
Harry, maybe out of guilt for asking why Dick had been so quiet, chipped in. “You’re oversexed Dick, but I think it’s fair to say you’re not gay.”
“That’s because I can pull enough skirt to satisfy my sexual needs. Tom obviously can’t, otherwise he wouldn’t battin’ for the other side.”
I decided it was time to come down to Dick’s level. “I’m sorry Dick, but you’re just talking out of your arse.”
“I’d rather talk out of it than have a veiny bang stick stuck up it, thank you very much.”
Harry, ever the conciliator. “Ok, I think that’s enough fellers. It’s a free country and Tom can be whatever he likes, it’s not for me, but I don’t care what he does in the privacy of his own bedroom.”
“Or his boyfriend’s bedroom,” Dick added.
“Or his boyfriend’s bedroom, but you’ve got to learn to be a bit more tolerant.”
I felt Harry’s request was a bit of a stretch and so it proved to be.
“Hey, I ain’t got no problem with bog queens,” Dick said proudly.
“With what?” Harry asked.
“Bog queens, shirt lifters who hang around in men’s toilets lookin’ for a bit of action.”
“I don’t hang around in public toilets looking for action, don’t push your luck pal,” I fired back.
I suddenly recognised the unspoken menace in my words, and a subtle wave of apprehension washed over me as I pondered my course of action should Dick continue to push his luck. Thankfully, he didn’t seem threatened; instead, he appeared much more focused on demonstrating his tolerance.
“Ooohhhhh get you sweetie, handbags at dawn,” Dick mocked. “As I was sayin’ before the powder puff interrupted, I ain’t got a problem with his type ‘arry. In fact, I play pool on a Wednesday night with a guy whose brothers next door neighbour’s got a gay son. Does that stop me playing pool with the guy? No course it don’t, in fact if he hadn’t mentioned it, you wouldn’t even know he knew someone who was gay, so don’t talk to me about bein’ tolerant, live and let live that’s what I say.”
As pathetic as Dick’s little speech was, Harry saw it as a minor victory and suggested he shook my hand to show no hard feelings.
“You want me to do what?” Dick said in a somewhat panicked tone.
“Shake the man’s hand and let’s be done with it,” Harry urged.
“OK, yeah I can do that, if that’s what he wants; but if it’s not what you want Tom, just say pal, I won’t be offended, I promise.”
“No, I would love to shake your hand Dick,” I lied, but was secretly enjoying watching Dick squirm. “How about a man hug while we’re at it?”
“Don’t take the piss mate, you wanna shake hands, or don’t ya?”
In an effort to end his torment, I extended my hand, a moment stretching into eternity as Dick hesitated, painstakingly inching his own hand towards mine. Our touch, when it finally occurred, was so fleeting that one could easily doubt it ever took place.
“There ya go,” Dick said proudly, “now if you’ll excuse me, I better go scrub up. Can’t be too careful.”
And just like that, he vanished from sight. Striding with a pace that would make an Olympian proud, he unapologetically pushed through a set of double doors, paying scant attention to anyone who might be in his way in his quest for soap and hot water.
“You know what Harry; I don’t know whether to feel sorry for him or to admire him.”
“Steady on Tom, I can understand why you might feel sorry for the guy, but ‘admire’ him, I don’t buy that.”
“He leads such a simple, uncomplicated life. He’s not living a lie, he’s not hiding behind a false persona, what you see is what you get. We might not agree with his views and his take on life, but at least he’s honest about them. He says what he thinks, he just doesn’t think about what he says.”
“I get your point to an extent, but I still think you’re being over generous.”
“Maybe, but if I was being honest with myself, he’s probably a better man than I.”
Dick’s return was just as striking as his vanishing act. The same double doors burst open once more, with a resounding force, as Dick strode purposefully back in our direction. He appeared somewhat perturbed, but then it occurred to me that this might be his default expression. Without breaking stride, he yelled at persons unknown, “Remember I pay your friggin’ wages,” and sat himself down in the seat beside me, before remembering I was a ‘bog queen’ and shifting one seat away.
“Welcome back Dick, find the homo resistant soap?” I said sneeringly.
“Do what?” he replied.
“That new hand wash? Oh, what’s it called? Ah yes, I remember, ‘Gay Gone, Kills ninety-nine-point nine percent of all known queer germs’.”
Missing the ridicule, he replied. “Nah! Nowt like that. Hot water and paper towels was as good as it got.”
A slight pause in the conversation was interrupted by the tannoy message we’d been waiting for, but deep down didn’t really want to hear. Our time was up. “Would Mr Banford please make his way to exam room four.”
“Bugger, looks like we’re on,” Harry said reluctantly and without moving.
“Well?” I asked.
“Well what?”
“Waiting for a push?”
“No, just mentally preparing.”
“You’ve ’ad nearly an hour to be mental, get yerself in there you tart,” were Dick’s words of encouragement.
“OK! OK! Let’s see if you’ll be in such a rush when it’s your turn. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck pal.”
“Shout if you need me to hold your hand,” Dick said.
One down two to go. Not that Dick or I needed reminding.
For all Dicks bravado, the eerie silence that followed Harry’s disappearance into exam room four suggested the nerves had finally gotten to us both. What seemed like an eternity but turned out to be a mere fifteen minutes before Harry’s return were spent staring at the door of exam room four and praying Dr Knackersack didn’t make another guest appearance.
“Well Harry?” I asked rather too excitedly as he honed into view, “How was it?
“Piece of cake, no worse than a swift kick in your love spuds.”
Not the answer I was looking for. “I was hoping it would be no worse than having a tooth filled.”
Before Harry could expand any further and give me the reassurances I was desperately seeking, the tannoy once again found its voice.
“Would Mr Whittington please make his way to exam room four.”
“Here goes boys.” Dick was up like a shot, strutting his stuff and ready to take on the world.
“Sock it to ’em Dick, don’t take no prisoners,” Harry said encouragingly.
“They don’t scare me, I stitched up me own ’ead once.”
“Why do I not find that hard to believe?”
“Back in a jiffy.”
“So, what happens now Harry?”
“Apparently, you’ve got to sit here for half an hour before you can go home. I’ve phoned the wife; she’s going to pick me up.”
Though I cherished Harry’s company, my nerves stifled my voice. A conflict brewed within: a craving for more information clashed with contentment in blissful ignorance. Harry seemed to pick up on my apprehension and made the considerate choice to leave me in peace.
Before long, Dick resurfaced, wearing a face devoid of any happiness. Despite his earlier irritations, seeing him stride back towards us without assistance, instead of being hurried through on a stretcher, genuinely filled me with happiness.
“Welcome back Dicky old bean. That was quick. I see you’re not walking like John Wayne, which I assume means Harry was exaggerating?”
“We all have different pain thresholds I’ll have you know,” said Harry defensively.
“Well Dick? Don’t tell me they anesthetised your tongue at the same time.”
“They didn’t anath… aneeth… they didn’t freeze sod all,” Dick said.
“Oh no, you tried it on with the nurse didn’t you, and they kicked you out.”
“Nah! Got me self laid out on the bed and the funny looking quack with the wangy eye starts havin’ a bit of a grope, then calls over another geezer who decides to cop a feel, then tells me he’s found two lumps.”
“Dick my friend, those two lumps are your man tonsils, that’s what they’re going to slice up,” Harry said.
“No fuckwit, he found two lumps on my man tonsils. Said he wasn’t willing to go ahead until they got checked out.”
“Damn Dick, sorry mate. All that hanging around for nothing.”
“Tell me about it, useless twat just cost me half a day’s pay.”
“Well, better safe than sorry. Wouldn’t worry too much, probably just cysts,” Harry said reassuringly.
“Yeah probably, our Julie had Ethiopian cysts a few years back.”
“Ethiopian?” I said.
“Yeah.”
“You mean fallopian?”
“Whatever, anyway a year later she went for a check-up, and they’d just disappeared.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll be back here in no time getting snipped.”
“Would Mr Sharp please make his way to exam room four.”
“You’re up Tom. Lie back and think of under cooked sprouts, it worked for me.”
“Thanks Harry, I’ll do that.”
As I rose to meet my fate, Dick grabbed my arm. “Hey Tom, I’m gonna do one, but just want you to know, you’re a sound bloke. I’m sorry if I offended you earlier but I’m not a queer basher, honest. Just don’t think it’s right that’s all. You be careful, don’t go getting yourself any of that Aids malarkey ok.”
“Thanks Dick, that means a lot and you’re a sound bloke as well. I think you’re full of shit, but it’s honest shit. Take care of yourself.”
I once read that always being early might indicate you always assume the worst. So, there I sat, contemplating what worst-case scenarios might unfold, alone on the familiar row of seats, awaiting my first check-up since putting my man tackle in the hands of strangers in white coats. In the weeks that had passed, both Harry and Dick had occupied my thoughts, so it was a delightful surprise when Harry appeared, rolling down the corridor whistling ‘The River Kwai March’.
“Well, well, fancy seeing you here.”
“Afternoon Tom. Long time no see. What’s it been, eight weeks?”
“Yeah, eight long weeks,” I said.
“So, how’s it hanging?”
“Long and low Harry, long and low. You?”
“Yeah, not bad. Got a damn haematoma and had to come back for them to have a fiddle around, but all seems ok now.”
“Managed a shag yet?”
“Got ‘jiggy’ a couple of times. Yourself?”
“Yeah, but not with the wife.”
“Ah! I see. So, think you’re going to be able to give a sample?”
“Secret stash of Brad Pitt pics in my briefcase, so I’m hopeful. You?”
“Downloaded a bit of ‘Debbie Does Dallas’ onto my phone, that should do the trick.”
“Seen anything of Dick?” I asked.
“Nope. Probably gave it up as a bad job. I imagine he’s running round the country shagging anything in a skirt, leaving hundreds of little Dicks in his wake.”
“God help us.”
I wasn’t sure if he had been waiting in the wings wanting to make a grand entrance, but seemingly out of nowhere, Dick appeared, effortlessly gliding into view in a state-of-the-art wheelchair that made Harry’s seem positively prehistoric.
“Talk of the devil and he will appear,” I said.
“Bloody ‘ell if it ain’t Stephen Hawking and George Michael. How’s it goin’ boys?”
“What’s with the wheelchair Dick, benefits scam?” Harry said.
“Nah. Had to ‘ave an op on me nads to sort out them lumps, but when they got in, they found some more stuff goin’ on and had to remove some of my lower spine. No sweat though, they reckon I’ll be up and about in no time, then I can get back to some serious sex, drugs and diggin’ ’oles.”
“Oh, right, sorry mate, didn’t realise it was so serious,” I said, aiming for authenticity in my tone.
“Yeah, same here Dick, what a bummer, hope it all turns out ok.”
“Cheers guys.”
“So, what you doing back here, come to get snipped anyway?”
“No need ironside, they whipped me veg away when they sorted me back out. I’ve got an appointment down the corridor with some cancer geezer. Wants to discuss treatment and shit.”
“Oh, right. Well good luck pal. Let us know how you get on, maybe we can get out for a drink when you’re back on your feet,” I said.
“Yeah, that’d be good, look forward to it. Take care guys.”
“See ya Dick.”
“Bye mate.”
“Fuck!” was all I could manage.
“Poor bastard,” was Harry’s offering.
The next four weeks flew by, and this time, Harry managed to reach the door before me, but only by a hair’s breadth. As I stood behind him, he waved frantically at the automatic door sensor, attempting to activate it.
“We’ll have to stop meeting like this, people are going to talk.”
“Bloody hell Tom, you half scared me to death. Can you get this damn door open?”
“Give it thirty seconds, they don’t care for early arrivals. If it says 9am it means 9am, not a second earlier, not a second later.”
Thirty seconds later we were in heading for our now familiar seats.
“Looking good Tom.”
“Feeling good thanks. So, this is it then. Last test and then you can screw to your hearts content without adding to the general population.”
“Yep, can’t wait, boy is she in for a treat tonight. How’s things on the home front?”
“Same old, same old I’m afraid. I know what I should do but just can’t bring myself to do it. Getting pressure from the bit on the side as well, he’s pushing me to leave her and set up with him. Some days I just feel like getting in the car and joining a monastery.”
“You know my feelings Tom, but only you can decide what to do at the end of the day.”
“Yeah, I know. Anyway, seen anything of Dick, did he ever ring you about that that drink?”
“Nope, never heard a thing, I’m sure he’ll call when he’s ready and can’t find anyone else to indulge him.”
“Yeah, I’m guessing we’re not at the top of his list of friends he’d want to spend an evening with. I see they listened to your suggestion and given us a TV though.”
“I doubt it had anything to do with me, probably been donated. Can you reach the remote, might as well see what’s happening in the world while we wait.”
“What do you fancy, the local news or politics live?” I said.
“Local news please, not in the mood for shouting at… Oh how did Dick put it?”
“The thieving self-serving pigs who call themselves politicians.”
“Yep, them.”
I flipped through the channels and stumbled upon BBC Look North amid a story that immediately caught our attention.
“…Thanks Alistair, it must have been very upsetting for the dog walker who found him. We can now go over to Grimsby where detective inspector Gordon Ives is about to read a short statement regarding the body of the man found dead on Cleethorpes beach in the early hours of Saturday morning.”
“We can confirm that the body of a man found dead on the beach on Saturday morning was that of Roger Whittington known locally to his friends and family as Dick. There are no suspicious circumstances, and we are not looking for anyone else in connection with the incident. A suicide note was recovered from the scene. We would just like to reassure everyone in the area, that this was an isolated incident and there is no reason for anyone to be alarmed. His family have been informed and have asked that their privacy be respected at this very sad time, thank you!”
“That was detective inspector Gordon Ives making a statement about the sad death of local man Richard Whittington. Now for the weather with…”
I switched off the TV, letting my gaze wander into the emptiness around me. Harry appeared on the brink of saying something, only to hold back at the last moment. I, too, teetered on the edge of speech before restraining myself. Suddenly, the tannoy shattered the heavy, stunned silence.
“Would Mr. Sharp please make his way to examination room four please.”
The End.
