Out in the corridor, Susan stared at Esther’s door, then at Daisy’s, before retiring back to the safety of solitude and a sarcastic skeleton.

Hey, EG. I need to ask a favor.

Anything.

Would you come with me to Vectra’s gig tomorrow?

Well, I did say “anything” . . . but can we please not call it “Vectra’s gig”? With 13 bands, that seems like a bit of a misnomer.

Sure. You’re a good friend, Ed.

That’s very nice of you to say.

11
BARRY MANILOW SINGS

“Did you see that Grace is back?” Kully asked when he and Susan were coming out of Anatomy.

“Hadn’t noticed she’d gone.” Susan’s stride was heavy, heart so leaden, that it felt as if she was trying to drag an unconscious rhinoceros around. In a lecture, or a tutorial, or dissecting a pancreas, there was something to focus on. It was during this dead time, after one session was over and another about to start, that discontent leaked in.

“Yeah, well, she was. Now she’s back. Saw her in lectures this morning.”

“Keep her away from me, or she’ll bugger off again because I’m so mean and hateful.”

Kully stopped in his tracks to give her a startled look. “Will she?”

“Of course. That’s how I drive all my friends away, apparently.”

“Not this one.” He flashed out his hand and ruffled her hair none too gently.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry.” The hand retracted.

It was as if she couldn’t help it. “See? Mean and hateful.”

Out in the stairwell, Susan left Kully behind the way she always did during a break. Normally she bolted for fresh air and the promise of nicotine, but her rhino-shaped heart made everything sluggish. By the time she actually got outside, Susan doubted there was time for a full cigarette before she’d have to make her way back for whatever integrated learning activity she had next. It had just tipped into December and was still dark when she’d arrived that morning. The night had long since closed around the hospital building, darkness pooling in Susan’s spot by the bins. She’d just lit up, head back, eyes closed, back braced against the wall, when she heard someone say her name.

Kully was standing at the corner, a steaming cup in each hand and a bright red scarf looped elegantly around his neck as a nod to the cold that Susan could feel gnawing at her knees and creeping beneath her clothes.

“You moved fast,” Susan said, almost impressed.

“Don’t get too excited. These are from the vending machine in reception. Here, twenty sugars, right?”

Susan took the cup with a grunt of gratitude. “Why are you bringing me coffee? What is it you said? ‘Smoke clings to cashmere like snot to a toddler.’”