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Back Going Under Save as PDF
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

I nearly laugh. Yes, me, the absolute epitome of sensible.

I walk him to the front of the house, topless, in my stockings and high heels. We kiss at the door, and he pushes me against the wall. This goes on for a while.

‘I really would love to have sex with you,’ he says, pulling me towards him. ‘You drive me fucking crazy. You always have.’

‘Some other time.’

‘Some other place.’

We look at each other. We’ll meet again, I think to myself. The looking-glass shimmers at me. Serendipity, fate, words we use to explain things that can’t really be explained. Like Latin medical terms. Or miracles.

Maybe nothing’s ever really over. Maybe we all just ride the carousel, and when it stops we think that it has stopped forever, but then the music starts again and we find ourselves flying past things that we thought we’d already left safely behind.

He kisses me slowly.

‘So, you want to be a writer,’ he says to my surprise.

I don’t ask how he knows. I probably told him when I was at peak intoxication at dinner, based on previous behaviours.

‘Yeah, I do.’

He runs his long fingers down my face. ‘Of course you’re a writer,’ he says. ‘What do you write about?’

I look into his brown eyes, admiring the way they catch the light. ‘Moments like this,’ I tell him truthfully.

He laughs and opens the door. ‘Can’t wait to read it.’

I smile. ‘Well, you’ll definitely be a chapter.’

He smiles back. ‘You know what you are, Dr Holliday?’ he asks.

I raise my eyebrows in query.

‘You’re a panacea.’

Dr Lucas Lang, the flawed hero from a book I’m yet to pen, vanishes into the night.

I close my eyes. When I open them, I’m still standing there with my hand against the door. For once, I haven’t even been dreaming.

Before I go to sleep I look up the word panacea. It is, I learn, a solution or remedy for all difficulties or diseases. A heal-all, nostrum, magic bullet, elixir.

Panaceas are an impossible fantasy in medicine, but that night I’m his, and maybe he’s mine. Miracles, different from the ones he performs every day, sometimes actually happen.

FORTY-SIX

forty-six

I wake up on Monday morning and remember that I’ve finished my emergency term and am back to neurosurgery. I feel instantly relieved then immediately nauseated. Again, I berate myself mentally for begging for two neurosurgical terms at the beginning of the year. Although, I comfort myself, I could hardly have known how bad it would be. And I won’t even have Dr Prince around to protect me.