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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

The innuendo hangs in the air, languidly floating between our sterile masks and the beeps of the cardiovascular monitors. I want to ask him what else he does for pleasure and to tell him that, despite my baggy scrubs and awkward intern appearance and general daily misery, I’m capable of plenty of pleasure. I want to show him that, like the ancient Greeks, I know exactly where that pleasure is, and how to achieve it.

And how.

I don’t, of course, and instead avert my eyes and busy myself with looking focused.

Mr Wilde stirs.

Dr Prince puts his hand on his shoulder, and he settles.

‘It’s all right, John. You’ll be going to sleep now.’

Mr Wilde tries to speak, but I can’t make anything out. Dr Prince leans in slightly.

‘Try not to leave a bad scar,’ Mr Wilde whispers hoarsely, attempting a smile. ‘My wife won’t forgive you. She thinks I’m ugly enough as it is.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Dr Prince assures him, but Mr Wilde is now under a sea of Propofol and has no idea if his last request will be granted.

‘Stop making false promises, Jack,’ the anaesthetist, who is sitting behind us, pipes up. ‘You know you always leave ugly scars.’

Dr Prince is grinning so widely I realise they must be friends. ‘Thanks for that, James.’

I turn and smile vaguely at the tall man in the little blue scrub cap.

‘Kitty, have you met James Bond yet?’ Dr Prince is still grinning as he picks up the betadine.

‘It’s actually Lloyd Bond,’ the anaesthetist corrects him. ‘But Jack does enjoy his super-original joke.’

I’ve never seen Dr Prince interact so easily with a colleague, and I’m pleased to see that he does at least seem to have one mate in the hospital.

‘How’s Margie?’ Dr Bond asks as Dr Prince starts wiping betadine prep on Mr Wilde’s head. ‘I love that painting she gave me. I’ve got it hanging above my fireplace.’

I recognise the reference to Dr Prince’s wife and try to suppress the churn in my gut.

‘She’s having an exhibition in Hong Kong,’ Dr Prince replies, frowning down at the skin beneath him. ‘While we’re all here working she’s schmoozing big-time art collectors.’

‘Is your wife an artist?’ I can’t help asking.

He smiles. ‘She is. And she knows a lot more about it than I do.’

‘Jack’s wife is famous,’ Dr Bond chimes in behind me.

I force myself to smile, and try to drag my emotions into check. What exactly are these feelings? I ask myself as Dr Prince hands me the liquid to finish prepping. Envy? To be fair, who wouldn’t be envious of a famous artist who dashes off to Hong Kong to star in fabulous art exhibitions.