bizarre reason I can’t fathom.
Plates were cleared, puddings were chosen and the subject changed. Molly and Will were hiring a villa in Sardinia over the summer and did Zac want to join them at all? And then Will started talking about work and his nightmare boss. And Molly started telling Zac about Juliana.
‘She was young,’ Zac said, slightly absent-mindedly, ‘late twenties? Something like that. You could see how hard she was working; how she was tuning herself totally to the needs and quirks of each kid she sat with. She was great.’
‘Who? Juliana?’ Molly asked, very confused and a little drunk by now.
‘No, the clown,’ Zac said, ‘the one who treated Tom today.’
‘Clowns give me the creeps,’ said Will, asking for the bill.
‘I’ve never found them particularly funny,’ Molly said.
‘I found them pretty scary,’ Zac repeated, ‘when I was a boy.’
Zac dreamt of Dr Pippity a couple of nights later, which he found odd, having not thought about her since the day at St Bea’s. The dream oddly disturbed him, though it was completely out of context – no Tom, no hospital. Dr Pippity had no make-up, no clothes defining her as a clown. In fact, she had no clothes on at all. She didn’t speak with a zany voice, she didn’t speak at all. But she did perform the most amazing trick on Zac. Her mouth, his balls. Zac awoke with a hard-on that required urgent attention. He went to his bathroom to clean up and caught sight of himself, sleep bleary, in the mirror.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he chastised himself, ‘I thought clowns scared me – they’re not supposed to seduce me!’
I must need a shag or something. About time. Ah well, the luscious Juliana, considerately lined up for me by Molly.
He couldn’t get back to sleep so he went through to the living-room, flicked on the television and lounged in his banana chair, zapping channels and settling on MTV. Soon enough, the vacuous pop tunes irritated him, though the volume was low. He went to the kitchen for a glass of water and was momentarily bemused by the sight of the fridge. Dr Pippity, meticulously coloured in by Tom with his new crayons, grinned back at him.
He wanted to see her again. And he knew how simple that could be.
‘Billy’s party! I just phone and ask my sister-in-law for the entertainer’s number. Pretend it’s for Tom or one of his friends.’
Momentarily, he was quite excited about how easy this would be but soon enough, this disconcerted him. So he turned his back on the picture and took his briefcase to the bedroom.
Why on earth am I still thinking about her – let alone dreaming of her? She’s a bloody clown – she probably hides behind her make-up and is a total social imbecile underneath it. Or irritatingly zany. Or just plain weird.
You liked her legs and can see that she’s pretty even in preposterous pigtails and pan stick.
God, all she did was visit me in a wet dream and now I’m telling myself I want to see her again. I must be overdue a shag, that’s what it is.
Zac fell asleep, sitting up in bed, the lights on, papers strewn all over the duvet.
Zac met Molly’s friend Juliana. She was sexy in a sophisticated, cool way. Zac decided he could forgo a sense of humour for such seductive eye contact. However, before he called her, there was something he needed to qualify first. The next Thursday, Zac told June he’d take Tom to hospital for his creams. June was pleased – she could have her wedding-dress fitting in peace, she told him. The clowns were there, but this time both were male. They were great and lifted Tom’s spirits. It helped him enormously, his mind was taken away from his physical discomfort and he had a balloon in the shape of a parrot to take home. Though Zac knew all along that was the point – the clown doctors were not for his benefit but Tom’s, of course – he couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed not to see Dr Pippity.
His disappointment did, however, make him feel a little foolish. He sat Tom down with a drink and a biscuit when they arrived back in Hampstead.
‘I’m just going to make a quick call,’ he told his son. Tom was happy to munch and sip.
‘Juliana? Hi there, this is Zac. We met at— Oh! Sure. I’m fine. Are you well? Great. I was wondering if you had plans tomorrow night? Shall we go out to play? Cool. Super.’
The lovely Juliana. Why on earth I was disappointed not to see Clowngirl again, I don’t know. Hot date tomorrow – what could be better?
SEVEN
Zac has had no further dreams, wet or otherwise, featuring Pip. Which is just as well, really. Firstly, it wouldn’t have been fair on Juliana, who Zac has been seeing for a good few weeks now. Secondly, it would have made it just a little more awkward and loaded when, the next time they did meet, Pip was to run her fingers through his hair, fondling his ears in the process.
Dr Pippity frequently ruffles the hair or tweaks the ears of patients’ parents and siblings. She’s been trained to. It’s part of her job. It serves a twofold purpose. It’s another way of eliciting laughter from the sick child, plus an important part of a clown doctor’s work is to treat the family of the patients because they’re often suffering, too. Clown doctors aim to lighten the load; to help diminish the burden carried by patients and their families in some small way, however temporarily. A minute spent grinning, laughing even, is a veritable tonic. It is also a minute when pain subsides and worry is sidetracked.
However, Pip has never had her handling of a parent backfire. Sure, sometimes her jokes and tricks have fallen flat – the parent perhaps feels awkward or reluctant due to desperately concealed stress and worry. But the patient has always enjoyed the tomfoolery and Pip knows, and the parent knows, that that’s what matters. For Pip, though, to be hit on by the father of a patient, in front of the mother, too, is a situation wholly unexpected and for which she’s had no specific training.
June, Tom’s mother, hadn’t intended to come to the hospital that day. She was up to her eyes preparing for her wedding that weekend and Zac had said he’d take Tom for his appointment.
‘It’s guilt,’ Zac had teased her gently, when she had phoned to say that she’d come to the hospital. ‘You running off on some glorious Caribbean honeymoon, leaving your son behind to fend for himself.’
‘Bastard!’ June had cursed in her defence, but fondly. ‘He’s not fending for himself, he’s staying with you!’
Zac gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘Dicey,’ he warned, ‘leaving him with me – well, that’ll be fending for himself, all right.’
‘You are a sod,’ June laughed, ‘and anyway, you cad – it’s not as if you ever took me on a sumptuous honeymoon.’
‘Well,’ said Zac, ‘that’s because I never married you.’
‘Bastard in capital letters,’ June jested. ‘I’d’ve declined even if you had asked me on bended knee with a rose between your teeth and a fuck-off diamond ring. I’m late. We’ll see you in Out-patients at 3.00.’
I didn’t ask her to marry me. It didn’t cross my mind. Or hers. And, if I had, she’d have said ‘no’ anyway and thought me insane. It wasn’t an issue. The only issue was to be good parents to a child born to two people who were strong friends and had been having good sex for quite a while.
Zac, wouldn’t most people define the ultimate relationship to be one where friendship and good sex prevail?
Now, yes. At my age now – yes. Though the two never seem to go hand in hand nowadays – not that I’m complaining. Juliana is fabulous in bed, but neither of us is pursuing this even for friendship, let alone intimacy. And lovely lovely Lisa – one of my closest friends but the thought