BooksBarbecue
Back Going Under
Chapters (70)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART I BIRTH
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EIGHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. PART II LIFE
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. TWENTY-ONE
  28. TWENTY-TWO
  29. TWENTY-THREE
  30. TWENTY-FOUR
  31. TWENTY-FIVE
  32. TWENTY-SIX
  33. TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. TWENTY-NINE
  36. THIRTY
  37. THIRTY-ONE
  38. THIRTY-TWO
  39. THIRTY-THREE
  40. THIRTY-FOUR
  41. PART III DEATH
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. THIRTY-EIGHT
  46. THIRTY-NINE
  47. FORTY
  48. FORTY-ONE
  49. FORTY-TWO
  50. FORTY-THREE
  51. FORTY-FOUR
  52. FORTY-FIVE
  53. FORTY-SIX
  54. FORTY-SEVEN
  55. FORTY-EIGHT
  56. FORTY-NINE
  57. FIFTY
  58. FIFTY-ONE
  59. FIFTY-TWO
  60. FIFTY-THREE
  61. FIFTY-FOUR
  62. FIFTY-FIVE
  63. FIFTY-SIX
  64. FIFTY-SEVEN
  65. FIFTY-EIGHT
  66. FIFTY-NINE
  67. SIXTY
  68. EPILOGUE
  69. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  70. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

‘How are you feeling about everything?’ I ask.

Estelle looks at me, and laughs. ‘Which part of my disastrous life are you referring to specifically?’

I shrug. ‘You know, the inquest. Or anything. Our shared reliance on alcohol?’

I don’t want to sound too serious, but I am worried about Estelle. I’ve been texting her daily to see how she’s coping and I know she’s struggling.

‘Well, the inquest is in two months,’ she says, staring into her wineglass. ‘I spoke to the lawyer, and he said I’ll just have to wait it out. He seems to think I probably won’t lose my registration, but it’ll be stressful. I’ll have to appear in court to answer the coroner’s questions.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ I say.

Estelle smiles sadly. ‘Thanks, mate. But I don’t think I want anyone there. I don’t even really want to talk about it, to be honest. It’s not like I’m trying to be brave, it’s just with the hours on surgery and this hanging over my head, if I don’t compartmentalise the fuck out of everything I think I’ll go under, know what I mean?’

Doctors, I am realising, have to be extremely good at compartmentalisation. I’m not that great at it. My brain is like a big airy house with no doors between the rooms. Other doctors, I think, picturing the Smiling Assassin, seem to have brains with millions of little locked panic rooms, and staircases and dungeons and attics. Although, recent events considered, it’s probably time for me to get good at compartmentalisation quick smart.

‘Yeah, I understand that,’ I say.

‘Anyway, tell me what the fuck is going on with you. What happened with the dinner party?’

I take a deep breath. ‘Dr Prince had a heart attack today and is in intensive care. He nearly died twenty-four hours after kissing me.’

Estelle is so startled she starts to laugh uncontrollably. ‘I know it’s not funny,’ she keeps repeating, gasping for air. ‘Don’t think I’m laughing at him being sick, I’m not, I’m not. But, Kitty, you actually have the kiss of death!’ She is still in hysterics.

‘Yes, thanks for that.’ I can’t help grinning a bit. It’s so good to see Estelle laughing. ‘But I mean—a heart attack? I just can’t believe it. I mean, can you fucking believe it?’

Estelle, still giggling, assures me that no, she can’t fucking believe it.