Again laughter.
‘On a more serious note, I’m sure you’re a strong woman. But if the pain’s too much, it’ll affect your rest. How’s your sleep?’
Hortensia rearmed herself. Doctors were not as bad as nurses, but still, you had to be wary. If he even so much as glanced at her in a …
‘Hmm?’
‘Pardon, sorry I didn’t catch that.’
‘Sleep, Mrs James.’
‘Hortensia, please.’
‘Hortensia, do you go for eight hours unbroken – seven at least?’
She laughed, this time with mirth. ‘I haven’t slept for seven hours straight since I was a design student. Come on, Doctor.’
‘Gordon.’
‘Gordon.’
‘Okay, well, we’ll need to do something about that, then.’
‘I won’t take sleeping pills.’
‘I understand, I wasn’t going to propose any.’
‘Good.’
‘Maybe some relaxing thoughts before bed? Do you find you sleep during the day?’
‘Sometimes. Not much else to do.’
‘Try and avoid this. I think of it as saving up the hours for the night-time rather than spending them in daylight.’
She smiled, a clean one with no malice.
‘I’ll also change your pain-medication. And I’ll prescribe some probiotics. Who’s been administering the daily injection – the Warfarin?’
‘Ah, highlight of my day. Carole showed Bassey how to do it.’
He nodded. ‘So, I’ll take these away …’ He juggled things, replacing bottles with bottles as far as Hortensia could tell. ‘You’ll keep taking it at the same times – here, I’ll leave you this label. I’ll explain to the gentleman before I leave.’
She’d never really looked at him. She was too busy being married to Peter. But there was something ‘messy’ about Dr Mama. It was strange because this was the last thing you might want in a doctor. Except what Hortensia detested most about those in the health industry was the way all the things they knew built up between them and you, like a mountain. Dr Mama – Gordon – had none of that. He seemed to somehow be a doctor by accident, as if it wasn’t his fault and he was sorry about it. He seemed helpless but intelligent all the same, nonchalant that he had happened to know some stuff, so they made him a doctor; he didn’t look like he’d ever have to shove that in your face. He was more the type to get you to forget.
‘Okay. Now, anything else? How’s the movement? – bowels, I mean.’
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘I understand. Just find a respectable way to let me know in the case of constipation, would you?’ He winked.
Hortensia relaxed some more but her guard wasn’t totally down.
‘I’m confused, are you my doctor now? Did the hospital send you?’
‘Not quite. I’m here as a concerned friend.’
‘Liar!’
‘Carole is your physio, am I correct?’
‘Ah, Carole. Good girl. Decent.’
‘She told me about you,’ Mama said.
‘Bad things?’
‘Not at all, but she did explain the “difficulties” they’ve been having with you at Constantinople. I agreed to … well, I said I’d come and see you,’ he smiled affably. ‘I think they hoped you’d like me.’
‘I see. And was all this at the secret doctorsect meeting?’
‘Still so funny, Hortensia. I remember you as being very funny.’
No one found Hortensia funny. Caustic, yes, but not funny.
‘And I also wanted to say: I’m sorry for your loss. I heard Mr James passed away some weeks ago.’
She reached back for her smile, her armour. Hortensia held her face. Holding was something she was good at. Holding was a way of staving off being ambushed by the kindness of strangers.
‘… you call me,’ he was saying.
Except Hortensia couldn’t work out if he’d just said she could call him for sex or if he’d asked her out to the theatre. She nodded.
‘Then there’s the final matter of the care-nurse.’
‘I can take care of myself, Doctor. Gordon.’
Dr Mama was buckling the brown leather bag he’d walked in with. For that bag alone, the elegant cut and the audacious red stitching, Hortensia felt she ought to kiss him.
‘I understand that, Hortensia. But there’s something about the care-nurse that wasn’t explained to you.’
She straightened up.
‘The care-nurse is something we doctors put in place that is not really for the benefit of our patients.’
‘What!’ Hortensia laughed in disbelief.
‘Well, of course it is to the patient’s benefit. But in cases like yours where a doctor cannot see you every day, cannot monitor you, that nurse is more for us than for you. He or she will help us ensure that we give you the best treatment possible. There are too many dangers otherwise.’
Hortensia had listened attentively. She liked Dr Mama, he had a soft way of talking. She realised he was only telling her what she needed to hear, but appreciated it nonetheless.
‘So you really think I need a nurse.’
‘Absolutely, Hortensia.’
She puffed.
‘I hate nurses.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
She looked out the window and got annoyed that her building works were on hold. Blast!