Page 11 of Gideon (Finding Home #3)

I laugh and he edges closer. “It’s nice to see someone my own age on here. I thought the trip was going to be very boring.” He shrugs, running his eyes over my crotch so thoroughly that I feel like cupping my groin to protect it. “We’ll have to get together and have a drink sometime.”

“Maybe,” I say noncommittally. “It’ll depend on my patient, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoes with no conviction at all. He looks idly at Gideon and then stands bolt upright as if he’s been shocked. “That’s Gideon Ramsay,” he whispers.

“No, it isn’t,” I say immediately. He stares at me and I slump. “Okay, it is him. But you need to not mention that,” I say firmly. “He needs peace and privacy.”

“I think he’ll be fine,” he says, his eyes running avidly over Gideon. “Considering the age range of people on here, they won’t know him unless he was in a film with Charlton Heston in his pre-NRA days.”

“Hmm.” I don’t like the way that he’s looking at Gideon, so I edge forward slightly, blocking his gaze in a protective manner.

I wonder where that’s coming from but dismiss it in favour of moving us away.

Noticing that the steward has stopped talking, I disengage the brake on the wheelchair.

“Well, we must be going,” I say cheerfully.

“We’ve got some stuff to do, haven’t we, sir? ”

“ Have we?” Gideon sounds astonished but he catches my glare and subsides, though not before shooting me an incredulous look. “Sir? Well, Eli, that’s very polite of you.”

I shake my head. “We should be going,” I murmur.

He obliges with a slightly suspicious manner, raising the lady’s hand to his mouth to kiss and saying goodbye in a low voice.

As we move away he twists to look at me. “Is there a reason why we’re leaving them like they’ve got the clap in a brothel?”

An older lady passing us gasps and I send her an apologetic look. “Sorry,” I mutter. “He’s not well.”

She shoots him a look like she’s expecting him to combust and scuttles off.

“The other nurse recognised you,” I say as I wheel him through the crowds milling outside the shopping area.

“So? That happens all the time.”

“I know it does – for you – but you need peace to get well.”

He shoots me an inscrutable look. “That’s very nice of you but there’s no need, Eli. It’s part of the business. There isn’t much peace.”

He faces forward and conversation lapses. I wonder if I’ve done wrong but dismiss it. I don’t believe in looking for problems. If I’ve made a mistake, I’m sure he’ll tell me. I wheel him determinedly towards an expensive-looking menswear shop that he points out like a very grumpy captain.

Two hours later I drop down onto the sofa in the suite and groan. “Jesus, that’s two hours of my life that I won’t get back.”

He lowers himself onto the other side of the sectional. “I thought you’d have more stamina.”

I open one eye. “For surfing, running, or dancing I have lots of stamina. Shopping, not at all.”

“Yes, I got that with the constant sighing. It got so bad the sales assistant thought a window was open.”

My lips twitch. “I just can’t understand it,” I admit, rolling onto one side and finding him looking at me.

“Shopping?” I nod and he smiles. “I like shopping. Particularly for clothes.”

“I don’t mind it, but I tend to get everything from Top Man.”

Gideon makes a moue of disgust as if I’ve admitted shopping in a shithole.

I open my mouth to say something else but my phone buzzes. I look down at it and sigh. “My mum. Is it okay if I take this?”

He looks amazed. “Of course it is. You’re not a prisoner of my whims.” I raise my eyebrow and he grins. “Okay, you might be a bit.” He waves his hand. “Go on and answer it. I’m going to ring for a drink and sit outside.”

“No alcohol,” I say, hesitating over my still-ringing phone.

“No, of course not. It’s like sharing a suite with the Salvation Army.”

I nod and, palming my phone, I move into my room and shut the door. “Hi, Mum,” I say.

“Eli, how are you? Where are you?”

“Well, I’m currently onboard a cruise ship travelling around Italy and I’m fine. How’s Dad?”

“He’s busy. I haven’t seen him in a couple of days. He’s been sleeping at the hospital.”

In any other marriage that might have been a cause for concern, but my parents are both surgeons and totally married to their jobs even though they love each other.

I’d grown up knowing very firmly where I stood in the pecking order.

First was patients, second was my mum and dad’s relationship, third was appropriate schooling for me, fourth was the managing of their expectations of me, and finally fifth would be me.

Maybe. At the end of the day. If there was a window of opportunity.

I don’t want to sound bitter because I love my mum and dad. I had a very lovely childhood and wanted for nothing. But still, all our interactions were clouded by the weight of their expectations. Everything was about getting me into the best schools and socialising with the right people.

My strong desire to do the exact opposite of what they wanted every time bemused them, and needless to say when I left medical school and enrolled in a local nursing college it had come as a complete disappointment to them, to the extent that my dad refused to pay for my tuition fees any longer if I wasn’t going to be a doctor.

But I’d been determined and had managed to work two jobs while attending nursing school. Even then he’d somehow seemed to view my actions as being purely an opportunity to thwart him and embarrass him in front of his high-achieving friends.

As if on cue, my mother says blithely, “Before I forget, I met Alan Fraser at a party the other night. His son Robert is in his second year of med school. He’s hoping to specialise in orthopaedic surgery.”

“Well, he’ll never be short of patients,” I say cheerfully while sighing inside.

I wander over to the window and peek out on my side view of the deck where I can see Gideon dressed in the khaki shorts and chambray short-sleeved shirt that he just bought.

He’s basking in the sunshine with a very expensive pair of Ray-Bans perched on the end of his long blade of a nose.

He also appears to be looking at some papers which flap blindingly white in the sunshine.

I make a mental note to whip them away if Frankie gave him some work.

He’s supposed to be having a complete rest.

My mother hesitates and I rub my nose, waiting for it. “You know, Alan said he could find you a place. He’s on the board.”

“Is that how Robert got in? Because I remember him in anatomy, and his complete ignorance of the human body might be a teeny problem if he’s operating on someone’s hip thinking it’s their foot.”

He couldn’t find my prostate with a map and a torch either, but I keep that information to myself.

“Oh, Eli, don’t take the mickey. Robert is a lovely young man. Very ambitious.” Unlike my son is the unspoken narrative.

“Well, I wish him all the best,” I say lightly. “I’m sure he’ll turn out just like his father.”

It definitely isn’t a compliment, but my mother of course takes it as one. “I hope so. Alan is so proud of him.”

Unlike my father, who hasn’t spoken to me in six months and shows no sign of having any desire to break this run.

“Well, it was lovely to talk to you,” I say brightly. “But I’ve got to go, Mum. My patient needs me.”

“Oh really.” She laughs dismissively. “What is it this time? Another celebrity recovering from an overdose or someone taking a fat cure?”

“Mum, they may not have the same needs as your patients, but they are still human beings.”

She laughs. “I’ll take your word for it. Now, what are you doing for your birthday? I know it’s a few weeks away, but we could have a party for you at the club.”

“I’ll be working,” I say quickly. Or cutting my toenails. Either seems more important than attending their tennis club.

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll ring in a few days.”

“Love you,” I say, knowing she’ll forget and suddenly call me in a few months when she remembers. It’s been the constant theme of our interactions.

I end the call and walk outside, happier now that it’s done.

It’s hot outside, but the sea breeze is refreshing, and I note with satisfaction that Gideon has some colour on his thin cheeks. His skin looks the type to tan easily, but I still point at him. “Have you got cream on?” I say.

“Yes, Mother,” he says irritably. “I’ve also moved my bowels and wiped my nose.”

“Hope you washed your hands in between.”

He snorts and shoots me a lightning-quick glance. “You okay?”

“Yes, why?” I ask, amazed.

He shrugs, looking slightly awkward. “You look a bit tense.”

“I do?” I immediately want to check my reflection in a mirror because usually I cover everything up with a professional manner.

“Your shoulders are tight,” he says dismissively. “I’m an actor. I read body language.”

“I’m a nurse. I do it too. For instance, you have very much wanted to tell me to fuck off every time I’ve told you not to do something over the last two days.”

“That is not reading body language. It’s just listening to me because I very clearly have actually said fuck off.”

“Silly me,” I say, slinging myself down into the chair next to him and tilting my face up to the sun. “Can’t keep a thought in my head for more than a second.” I shoot a glance at the jug of clear liquid on the table next to him, which is frosty with condensation running down it. “Is that vodka?”

He laughs. “How very fortunate that this thought was the one that bucked the trend. No, it’s fucking water, Mary Whitehouse, because Peter seems to be obeying all your orders now.”

“As he should,” I say comfortably. “Give in to my authority, Gideon. You know you want to.”

He shakes his head, and the papers on his lap flap in the sea breeze as if the wind wants to snatch them away and only the firm grasp of his long thin fingers is stopping it. “That had better not be work,” I observe.