Chapters (70)
- COVER PAGE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- DEDICATION
- PROLOGUE
- PART I BIRTH
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- PART II LIFE
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- PART III DEATH
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I whimper. ‘What if he doesn’t reply?’ I feel the churning fear of anyone who’s ever sent a text message to someone they have a massive crush on. Even if the text is only work-related.
‘Of course he’ll reply,’ Estelle says dismissively. ‘It’s about boring research that he asked you to do. Don’t be ridiculous.’
My phone beeps, causing my heart to skip a beat.
‘It’s probably Max,’ I say, trying not to get my hopes up.
‘Nope, it says Dr Prince.’ Estelle looks excited. ‘I’m opening it.’
I don’t know what she was expecting, but she looks disappointed.
‘He didn’t even acknowledge the fun line about being in the country.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Do you reckon he ever goes to strip joints?’
‘Doubt it,’ I reply.
She sighs and sits next to me on the couch. ‘Old surgeons just aren’t what they used to be. Everyone is fucking PC now. It’s so boring.’
As Estelle raves about the good old strip-joint days, when surgeons were into champagne and cocaine rather than surgery, I open a new email and copy in the address Dr Prince has sent me.
Hi Dr Dietrich,
I’m Dr Prince’s surgical intern and he has sent me details of the paper I’m going to be writing. I’ll send you updates as I go for advice and feedback. Dr Prince mentioned that the paper will be presented in Sweden. I’d be happy to help present if you think it’s appropriate. Please let me know the deadlines etc. I’ll be on secondment at a rural hospital for the next 9 weeks, so I’ll have some time on my hands.
Best,
Katarina
Estelle suggests a wine, which I feel I deserve after going to all the effort of writing an email, and we leave Poo Palace for the bright lights of the backyard.
Estelle takes off her top and throws herself onto the grass, face first. Her breasts squash out to the sides and I bite back a laugh. She looks like a human pancake.
‘I should have put a towel down,’ she mumbles into the grass. ‘It’s really itchy.’
I take off my top as well and lie on my back, enjoying the liberation of being semi-nude outside in a place where no one can see us.
‘When we first met five years ago, did you ever imagine we’d find ourselves here together?’ Estelle asks. ‘Like, lying on this itchy grass, in forty-degree heat, in the middle of fucking nowhere while working at the worst hospital in the world as junior doctors?’
‘Nothing surprises me anymore,’ I say, looking up at the bright blue sky, tracing the marshmallow clouds with my finger.
‘Well, mate, there’s no one else I’d rather be having this glorious experience with than you,’ Estelle says formally, ‘my colleague and friend, the esteemed Dr Kitty Holliday.’