you want to work with older people?”
He explained how he’d wanted to do something worthwhile, how Mary had shown him the newspaper articles after he’d come back from Africa. “It seemed to come under the heading of worthwhile .”
“And has it been?”
“No, not in the sense I was thinking. Your hospital seems to be a model of how such places should be run.”
“Thank you, kind sir. Would you like some coffee?”
“Please. I’ll try to savour it a bit more this time,” he added.
She laughed as she got up to make it.
He looked around. She’d managed to make the two parts of the room, the functional and the leisurely, distinct from each other, and yet somehow to blend together. Perhaps it was the pictures she’d chosen – yes, they were all on a theme of domesticity … his mind turned back to her mother’s painting …
“D’you have any other pictures by your mother?”
“No, I don’t.”
She had her back to him as she spoke, but he knew somehow she was lying ... Why , he wondered?
“Did she paint for a living?” he asked.
“No.”
Knowing she didn’t want to talk about it, he said anyway, “I’m no expert, but I think she could have done.”
The silence hung for a moment, then she said, “I think she’d have liked to.” She brought the coffee to the table.
“How old were you when she died?”
“Very young. Six. Hardly old enough to remember her, really.”
“That’s sad,” he said, certain that she was lying again.
“As I said, it was a long time ago. What about your parents? You’ve never said anything about your family.”
He allowed her to change the subject as she clearly wanted and told her how his own father had died and his mother had brought him and his brothers up on her own. “Not the easiest thing to do in Rutherglen …”
“It’s that bad?”
“It was when I was a bairn. I was regarded as an academic star because I managed to become a lab technician.”
“How did you get into med school?”
“With a little help from some friends ... ” He told her how his boss, Dr McCloud had helped him become a doctor.
She listened, leaning her chin on her folded hands, looking at him so demurely from under her eyelashes that he leaned over and kissed her.
“D’you want to go upstairs?” she whispered.
At the top of the stairs, he said self consciously, “I’ll – er – just use – “
“There,” she said, smiling and pointing – “No – “ as he tried a door that was locked, “That’s the junk room. The next one.”
Why lock a junk room ? he wondered idly.
Her bedroom was light and fresh, cream on cream, duvet cover on carpet. She pulled the curtains.
He undressed her slowly. Her skin was smooth, supple, lightly tanned, her body ripe. She lay on the bed with one knee bent, her arms above her head so that the contours of her breasts were barely discernible, yet somehow more desirable.
“You look really good,” he said.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said.
He’d intended taking things slowly, to make up for last time, to savour her, but to his surprise, she made it clear she didn’t want to tarry. She came quickly in a series of gentle gasps and he found himself left behind.
“Why don’t you stay tonight?” she said later.
He pressed his lips together, said, “I can’t. I need time and space around me at the moment…” God , that sounds pretentious , he thought…
“I understand,” she said.
*
He was walking back from the Social Club the next evening when they came out of the shadows in front of him. They were always going to be bad news for someone but by the time he realised it was him, it was too late…
“Got a light, mate?” Four of them, their faces hidden by hoodies, only their eyes gleaming faintly in the lamplight … he had to stop because the speaker had planted himself in front of him.
“Sorry, don’t smoke.” He stepped to one side but the speaker stepped with him …
“Well ya fuckin’
He explained how he’d wanted to do something worthwhile, how Mary had shown him the newspaper articles after he’d come back from Africa. “It seemed to come under the heading of worthwhile .”
“And has it been?”
“No, not in the sense I was thinking. Your hospital seems to be a model of how such places should be run.”
“Thank you, kind sir. Would you like some coffee?”
“Please. I’ll try to savour it a bit more this time,” he added.
She laughed as she got up to make it.
He looked around. She’d managed to make the two parts of the room, the functional and the leisurely, distinct from each other, and yet somehow to blend together. Perhaps it was the pictures she’d chosen – yes, they were all on a theme of domesticity … his mind turned back to her mother’s painting …
“D’you have any other pictures by your mother?”
“No, I don’t.”
She had her back to him as she spoke, but he knew somehow she was lying ... Why , he wondered?
“Did she paint for a living?” he asked.
“No.”
Knowing she didn’t want to talk about it, he said anyway, “I’m no expert, but I think she could have done.”
The silence hung for a moment, then she said, “I think she’d have liked to.” She brought the coffee to the table.
“How old were you when she died?”
“Very young. Six. Hardly old enough to remember her, really.”
“That’s sad,” he said, certain that she was lying again.
“As I said, it was a long time ago. What about your parents? You’ve never said anything about your family.”
He allowed her to change the subject as she clearly wanted and told her how his own father had died and his mother had brought him and his brothers up on her own. “Not the easiest thing to do in Rutherglen …”
“It’s that bad?”
“It was when I was a bairn. I was regarded as an academic star because I managed to become a lab technician.”
“How did you get into med school?”
“With a little help from some friends ... ” He told her how his boss, Dr McCloud had helped him become a doctor.
She listened, leaning her chin on her folded hands, looking at him so demurely from under her eyelashes that he leaned over and kissed her.
“D’you want to go upstairs?” she whispered.
At the top of the stairs, he said self consciously, “I’ll – er – just use – “
“There,” she said, smiling and pointing – “No – “ as he tried a door that was locked, “That’s the junk room. The next one.”
Why lock a junk room ? he wondered idly.
Her bedroom was light and fresh, cream on cream, duvet cover on carpet. She pulled the curtains.
He undressed her slowly. Her skin was smooth, supple, lightly tanned, her body ripe. She lay on the bed with one knee bent, her arms above her head so that the contours of her breasts were barely discernible, yet somehow more desirable.
“You look really good,” he said.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said.
He’d intended taking things slowly, to make up for last time, to savour her, but to his surprise, she made it clear she didn’t want to tarry. She came quickly in a series of gentle gasps and he found himself left behind.
“Why don’t you stay tonight?” she said later.
He pressed his lips together, said, “I can’t. I need time and space around me at the moment…” God , that sounds pretentious , he thought…
“I understand,” she said.
*
He was walking back from the Social Club the next evening when they came out of the shadows in front of him. They were always going to be bad news for someone but by the time he realised it was him, it was too late…
“Got a light, mate?” Four of them, their faces hidden by hoodies, only their eyes gleaming faintly in the lamplight … he had to stop because the speaker had planted himself in front of him.
“Sorry, don’t smoke.” He stepped to one side but the speaker stepped with him …
“Well ya fuckin’
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