it was me,’ the other one, called Kathy, said in a tone that suggested she was waggling her eyebrows.
I tried not to eavesdrop but my ears were out on cornstalks.
The girls must have sensed my interest as they turned to me, where I was tidying up my equipment. ‘Who do you think it is, Bertie?’
‘Why would you think I would know?’ I sounded a bit defensive. Way too defensive.
‘Someone said he’s seeing a married woman and she works at St Iggy’s,’ Kathy said.
‘That’s just malicious gossip and you shouldn’t be spreading it,’ I said. I immediately regretted it. I saw the way their eyebrows went up in unison.
‘Touchy,’ Leanne said.
‘Anyway,’ Kathy pitched in, ‘why would you be so worried about what’s said about him? Isn’t he going to pull the plug on your research?’
I tried to keep my composure cool and indifferent but I could feel a hot tide of colour sweeping up from my neck to my face. ‘Not if I can produce results.’
‘You’d better watch out, Bertie,’ Leanne said. ‘If it’s true Dr Bishop has a thing for married women, you might be his next target.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said. ‘I’m not—’
‘Interested?’ Kathy said. ‘Come on, you might’ve just got back from your honeymoon but you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t find him attractive.’
I could have told them then and there. I’m not married. But I could just imagine the fallout. The news would spread like wildfire. I would be the topic of every locker room and staff tearoom conversation. Everywhere I went people would give me those looks, the looks I’d faced for most of my twenty-seven years. Pity. Ridicule. Mockery.
Just as well I got a call about a patient in Recovery. I made good my escape and left.
I went to ICU after I finished in Recovery to check on Jason. His wife, Megan, was there, his parents having gone home after spending most of the day with him. She looked exhausted so I sat with her for a while, just listening as she told me about the plans she and Jason had made. Their excitement over finding they were to become parents, how they had chosen names and decided against finding out the sex of the baby, as they wanted the thrill of the surprise.
She even showed me the ultrasound images. Seeing a baby in utero in 3D stirred my own maternal longings in my body. I had squashed them down for years as I’d concentrated on my career, but now, as I got closer and closer to the big three-oh, I was hearing some very loud ticking.
Andy hadn’t been so keen on having kids straight away but, like a lot of women, I’d assumed he’d change his mind once we were married. It was only when I saw him with that girl that I realised he wasn’t mature enough to be a father. He was too selfish to want to give up his freedom and take responsibility for someone other than himself.
I berated myself for being so blind about him. I had let the years roll on, reassuring myself things would get better when they had got progressively worse. Why hadn’t I acknowledged it? Why had I let it get to the night before the wedding to see my relationship with him for what it was?
Once I was sure Megan was comfortable with a fresh glass of juice and some sandwiches from the doctors’ room—I was bending the rules, but the ones in the relatives’ room weren’t as nice, in my opinion—I left the unit.
Matt was coming out of his office as I was coming along the corridor to leave for the day. I’d thought of nothing else but him ever since I’d left his great-aunt’s house the night before. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to explore the amazing chemistry we had together. My body was still aware of him. It still tingled every time I thought of the passion we had shared.
He stopped in the process of closing his door, pushing it open instead and indicating with his head for me to come inside. ‘Got a minute?’
I walked past him in the doorway, my body zinging with awareness as one of his shirtsleeves brushed me on the way past. I turned and faced him once he’d closed the door. It was hard to read his expression. I wondered if he was regretting last night. I wasn’t his usual type. But, then, I wasn’t anyone’s usual type. Maybe he was regretting making love to me now he was over his bug. Maybe I’d caught him at a weak moment. Maybe he didn’t even like me. See how insecure I am? It’s ridiculous.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked lightly.
‘Good. You?’
‘Great. Fine. Peachy.’ I always go overboard when I’m feeling nervous. I wasn’t sure how to handle the morning-after routine, especially in the context of our relationship. I wasn’t even sure what the context was. I couldn’t have a proper relationship with him while I was pretending to be married, but what was he offering if I came clean? Hadn’t he said he wasn’t interested in anything lasting? He was too busy with other priorities or some other get-out clause he’d used.
He leaned back against his desk in his usual manner. ‘That was the best chicken broth I’ve had in a long while, perhaps ever.’
‘It’s my own secret recipe.’
‘I could tell.’
I wasn’t sure we were talking about chicken broth, especially the way he was looking at me. I tried not to blush but all I could think about was how his body had felt inside mine. ‘So … what did you want to see me about?’
‘I suppose you’ve heard the gossip?’
I chewed at my mouth. ‘Yes.’
‘Any more thoughts on coming clean?’
I crossed my arms over my body. ‘No.’
His eyebrows drew together. ‘Even after last night?’
I affected a casual look, as if I had amazing, mind-blowing sex with men all the time. ‘Why after last night?’
He looked at me in a frowning way. But then he closed off his expression. The screen came up and I was locked out. Something pinched inside my stomach. ‘So you’re still determined to run with this crazy charade,’ he said.
I sent him an intractable look. ‘I’m not ready to have my private life the subject of everyone’s amusement.’
His brow furrowed back into a deep frown. ‘Do you really think people will find it funny that you were jilted?’
I jerked up my chin. ‘You obviously did. Stringing me along for three flipping weeks, asking all those stupid husband and honeymoon questions.’
He let out a whooshing breath. ‘I suppose I deserve that.’ He scraped a hand through his hair again, before dropping his hand back down by his side. ‘Look, I wasn’t really laughing at you. I was amused by the lengths you were going to when all you had to do was tell everyone the truth. People go through break-ups all the time. Relationships either work or they don’t.’
I glared at him again. How absolutely typical to dismiss the emotional turmoil of what a break-up like mine had entailed. Easy come, easy go was obviously his credo. Well, it certainly wasn’t mine. I was the one who’d had to face all those guests. I was the one who’d had to endure all those looks of abject pity. I was the one who was still trying to pick up the pieces of my life.
‘I was twelve hours away from my wedding,’ I said. ‘The wedding day I’d been planning since I was a little girl. I’d been going out with Andy for five and a half years. We’d been engaged for eighteen months. That’s a little different from being dumped after a lousy date or two.’
His expression stilled with seriousness. ‘I know how hard a break-up is. But it’s not as if you were in love with him.’
My eyes rounded in affront. ‘Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on my feelings, are you? What gives you the right to say such a ridiculous thing? Of course