Page 12 of Love or Your Money Back

CHAPTER

Dr Martin’s private surgery is conveniently located near the Little Voice office, which is, of course, the main reason I go there. I certainly don’t go for the windowless ambience or the many brown-green oil paintings of Dr Martin’s miserable-looking mother.

By the time I’m called into Dr Martin’s office, the pain in my face has subsided, but both legs are trembling and I’m using my folding cane to move.

I let Dr Martin take my temperature, observing that he looks more like the emperor from Star Wars every time I see him. It’s shocking that a healthcare professional can look so ill.

Eventually, Dr Martin falls heavily onto his seat, takes a swig of Red Bull, grabs a Maryland cookie from an open packet and announces: ‘It’s a pseudo-flare-up. Nothing to worry about. Your temperature is a little high. I’ll prescribe you a broad-ranging antibiotic.’

‘Brilliant!’ I crumple with relief. ‘I love it when you can fix me with pills. How soon can I get hold of the antibiotics? I have a lot to do today.’

‘I have some around here somewhere.’ Dr Martin chomps on his cookie, then rummages in a desk drawer. ‘Ah! A month out of date, but they’ll do the job. Oh, and some codeine! Do you fancy a spot of that too?’

‘Why not?’

‘And how about some steroids?’ Dr Martin keeps rummaging. ‘You haven’t had a full relapse for a while, have you? Which means you must be due one soon.’

‘Not necessarily.’ I grab my cane and try to stand. ‘Actually, I don’t plan on having another relapse ever again.’

‘That’s unrealistic –’

‘Right! I’d better get back to the office.’

‘Surely, you’re not going back to work? Your legs –’

‘I have my cane.’

‘And you also have a temperature. You should rest.’

‘I will rest in my grave.’

‘Yes. You certainly will. Ten years earlier than average, if the data is anything to go by.’ Dr Martin looks rather happy with himself for remembering that statistic.

‘Thank you, Dr Martin.’ I snatch up my medicine. ‘I hope I won’t see you again soon.’

Dr Martin lets out a long, world-weary sigh that smells of cigarettes. ‘You will.’ He lumbers to his feet with some effort and holds the door open for me. ‘It’s inevitable. That’s why they call it relapsing, remitting MS.’

‘They might find a cure for MS before I have another relapse,’ I say. ‘Type 2 diabetes was incurable not so long ago. Now it can be cured with diet.’

‘Nutritional quackery.’ Dr Martin shakes his head and swigs his Redbull.

As I say, I visit Dr Martin for geographical convenience rather than sound medical advice. I turn to the waiting room, leaning heavily on my cane.

‘You’re giving medical advice to a doctor now, darling?’ says a horribly familiar voice.

Oh god. My stomach drops. ‘What are you doing here, Freddy Stark? I should have you arrested for stalking.’

‘Nice walking stick.’ Freddy perches on a plastic, waiting-room chair in his black suit and shiny oxblood shoes. He looks like champagne in a McDonald’s cup. ‘Is it yours?’

I redden, hiding my cane behind me. ‘I asked my question first. What are you doing here?’

‘We were supposed to be having a marketing evaluation, remember? Your team told me you were here.’

‘I can’t do the evaluation. I need to get back to the office.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Of course I’m not. I’m in a doctor’s office.’

‘It’s amazing anyone could practice medicine here.’ Freddy eyes up the boxes of duty-free cigarettes by the door. ‘It looks like a dock worker’s overnight accommodation. Do you need help walking?’

‘No.’

‘But you’re using a cane,’ Freddy points out. ‘Unless you’re carrying it for someone else –’

‘No-it’s-mine.’ I say the words all in a rush.

‘I looked up your illness,’ says Freddy. ‘Relapsing-remitting MS, right? Sometimes you’re well, sometimes you’re not. It makes sense. The up and down sales figures. Little Voice’s reputation for missed print and delivery deadlines. I’m guessing sometimes you can walk well, sometimes you can’t.’

‘Good research. I would raise my eyebrows in surprise if my face didn’t hurt.’

‘Let me help you –’

‘You can’t help me raise my eyebrows. I’m fine. Really.’ I make jerking movements across the waiting room.

Freddy holds open the door for me. ‘So, about this marketing evaluation –’

‘You can’t market a broken product.’ I head out onto the street at maximum speed. Which isn’t very fast.

Freddy catches up with me. ‘You’re not broken. Listen, you might think I’m shallow –’

‘Yes. I do.’

‘But my job is to see the benefits in everything. And I see the benefits in you, Katerina Friedman, whether you can walk or not.’

I stop walking and lean on my cane. ‘You see benefits in a cripple?’

Freddy stops too. ‘First off, don’t ever use that word about yourself or anyone else.

And second – yes of course I do. You might think marketing is shallow, pointless and consumeristic.

But a marketer’s job is to see value where no one else does.

You are a successful, intelligent, beautiful business woman who is strong enough to deal with chronic pain.

A sparkling jewel that, when packaged, presented and promoted correctly, every man in London will fall madly in love with. ’

I stare at Freddy for a moment. A long moment. Then I say: ‘Freddy Stark. I would like to do my marketing evaluation.’