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

There’s something very wrong with this woman, I text Max immediately as she walks away. I get that she’s a grade-A bitch, but do her putdowns have to be delivered with a big saccharine smile? She’s like a smiling assassin, delivering her poisoned barbs with an expression of serene happiness. To make things even weirder, she looks like a cross between a friendly librarian and the pretty girl next door. Today, her outfit consists of a short bright red dress, set off by sparkling layers of expensively highlighted hair. The perfect symmetry of the layers amazes me. It took me years to accept that I can only wear my out-of-control hair in a permanently messy bun.

The Joker, also blond and shiny and fake Bostonian, loves it. Now he has his perfectly layered comrade—the Smiling Assassin. I run my hand over my bun, almost subconsciously. Maybe I should try that keratin treatment Estelle swears by. When in doubt, sort your hair out, is one of her life mottos.

Bad hair day aside, they’ve left me with a mountain of tasks which I have only a few hours to complete. I know if I don’t get everything done there’s no way I’ll make it into theatre with Dr Prince. He seems genuine in his desire to show me the surgical ropes, and I desperately don’t want to disappoint him.

I rush through my tasks, and by quarter to twelve I’ve changed into my scrubs to be ready for the operating theatre. I’m about to leave the ward when Sally, one of the young nurses, approaches me.

She looks worried.

I immediately begin to feel worried too. If I need help, it’s far, far away. The Joker and the Smiling Assassin are both by now down in theatres, doing separate operations. The operating theatres are only two floors down but may as well be Siberia. A patient can deteriorate in five seconds; two floors away is as far as two light years.

‘Kitty, it’s Mr Waters … I think he’s sick.’

Not Mr Waters—anyone but Mr Waters!

Mr Waters, who has just undergone a major brain operation, is our number one, most important, must-be-kept-alive-at-all-costs, VIP patient. Both his daughters are physicians who work at the private hospital and they’re mates with the Shark. Lucy and Christine Waters come to the ward every day to ‘visit’ their father, which really means to supervise his medical care. I don’t blame them. If I was the doctor caring for my family I’d put myself under supervision too. I like Dr Waters and Dr Waters. I also like Mr Waters. I also want to impress the Shark, who as head of the neurosurgical department is essentially God on Earth. It’s only taken a week for me to start developing full-blown Stockholm Syndrome, which must all be part of the conditioning of a big teaching hospital.