Page 65 of The Elements

The bar is quite busy but, thankfully, Louise has reserved a private area for her retirement party.

I haven’t socialized with people from the hospital in years, and if this gathering was being held for anyone else, the chances of me being here at all would be minimal.

But Louise is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend at work, and it would be rude not to put in an appearance.

A curious thing happened on my way here.

While making my way toward the venue, I saw Hugh Winley on the other side of the street, my ardent admirer from my apartment building, sitting in the open window of a separate bar with a young man of around his own age.

I wouldn’t have normally given it a second thought, but as I glanced in their direction, they leaned into each other and kissed.

I watched for a moment, and when they separated, Hugh reached forward and placed his hand gently on his companion’s cheek with an expression of total adoration on his face.

Assuming he’s gay, or at least bisexual, why on earth is he spending so much of his time trying to convince me to go on a date with him?

I really don’t understand young people anymore.

I don’t know whether I admire their sexual fluidity or find it utterly narcissistic.

Glancing around now, I recognize some of my fellow doctors and surgeons, along with nurses and administration staff, and for a moment feel a twinge of envy that Louise inspires so much affection among our colleagues.

If I was to resign tomorrow, I can’t imagine anyone showing up to wish me well.

One day, of course, I will walk out of the hospital for the final time with two or three decades of empty days ahead of me.

Financially, I’ll be secure, but how will I fill my time?

It’s a thought not worth dwelling on right now, so instead I take a sip from my drink as I decide which group to join.

Before I can make up my mind, however, our hostess marches toward me, arms outstretched, a wide smile on her face.

“Freya,” she says, wrapping me in an embrace. When she pulls away, I notice that her pupils are a little dilated; she must have started early. “I was beginning to worry about you.”

“Oh, I’ve been here for ages,” I lie.

“See over there?” she says, pointing toward a table bearing the weight of dozens of gift-wrapped presents. “It’s like I’m getting married all over again.”

“Speaking of which,” I say, handing her an envelope that contains a gift voucher to one of the city’s most popular restaurants.

“You’re very good,” she says. “But I’ll open it later, if you don’t mind. You’ve written your name inside, so I know who it’s from?”

“Of course,” I reply. Seated on a banquette a short distance away, chatting to the head of HR, I notice her husband, Liam, a corporate lawyer who’s also due to retire soon; their plan is to backpack around the world together, an ambition that I rather admire.

I haven’t traveled enough in my life. Perhaps that’s something I could do when my time comes. “I’m going to miss you,” I tell her.

“Ah, you’ll have forgotten me by this time next week,” she says, slapping me playfully on the arm. I don’t know whether to be offended by this or not, although, if I’m honest, she’s not entirely wrong.

“And God knows who they’ll stick me with next,” I say. “We’ve worked well together, haven’t we?”

“We have indeed,” she replies. “We’ve always been very professional.

” I find this a rather strange response, but perhaps it’s appropriate.

So many times over the years she’s asked me about my life and my relationships outside work, and I’ve never been very forthcoming, which is probably why she eventually stopped.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take it out and look at the screen. Middlemarch , it says. We can all use codes to hide our secrets. Louise, looking down, sees the word and frowns.

“Middlemarch,” she says. “Who or what is Middlemarch?”

“Just a friend,” I tell her. “No one important.”

“Like the book.”

“Like the book,” I agree.

“And why do you call this friend after a book? What’s his name? Or her name?”

I wave away the question. There’s simply no way to explain.

“Have you got a fella at last, Freya, is that it?” she asks, looking giddy now, eager for gossip, and I look around in search of an exit. The music is too loud, and I feel claustrophobic. There are too many people here.

“What’s he like? Is he good-looking?”

“He’s no one,” I repeat. “Just an acquaintance, that’s all.”

“You’re a dark horse, I’ll give you that. I’ve often wondered what it is you get up to at night.”

“Believe me,” I say, “you don’t want to know.”

We chat a little more, but she’s the star of the night and it’s not long before others come over to offer gifts, wish her well, and buy her a drink, and I soon lose track of her, thinking that I could probably have one more and then slip away, my duty done.

I head toward the bar and am ordering a vodka and cranberry when I hear a voice call my name.

“Dr. Petrus!”

I look around and see Aaron seated in a corner booth next to a young woman I don’t recognize. He waves me over and, for want of anywhere better to sit, I decide to join them. Unlike the time we went for drinks together, he stands up and kisses me on both cheeks, as if we’re old friends.

“Rebecca,” he says to his companion as I sit down, “this is Dr. Petrus. My boss.”

She hesitates noticeably before saying, “Of course,” and extending a hand toward me.

She’s neither beautiful nor unattractive, a plain girl whose features would, I think, be difficult to remember afterward, and I’m a little surprised that Aaron is dating her.

Her dark hair is cut short at the cheekbones in an unfashionable attempt at a Louise Brooks bob.

Her eyes, however, are quite striking, and when they connect with my own, I feel as if she’s reading every thought in my head, which is rather unsettling.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she tells me.

“Dr. Petrus, this is my girlfriend, Rebecca,” adds Aaron.

“I told you,” I say. “When we’re not in work, you can just call me Freya. It’s nice to meet you, Rebecca. You don’t mind being dragged along to one of his work functions, then?”

“Not at all,” she says. “I haven’t met any of his colleagues until tonight, and he’s spoken so well of Louise.” A slight pause. “He’s talked about you too, of course.”

There’s an obvious distinction being made here, but I choose to ignore it.

He’s probably complained about my attitude toward him on numerous occasions and she’s decided to take against me.

Not that her opinion matters. I already feel a similar antipathy toward her and guess that she’s the dominant force in their relationship.

Aaron could do so much better. I drink my vodka more quickly than I should, and before I know it he’s taken a fresh order from both of us and disappeared into the crowd.

I follow him with my eyes, hoping it won’t take him long to be served as I’m not particularly interested in making small talk with this creature.

“So, tell me, Rachel,” I say, “what is it you do?”

“It’s Rebecca,” she says.

“Sorry.”

“And I’m training to be a pilot.”

“Oh yes,” I say, feigning interest. “Aaron mentioned something about that. I must admit I know nothing about that industry. Are there a lot of female pilots these days?”

“More than you might imagine,” she tells me. “When I started out, there were fourteen men and three women in the training program, and now, two years later, only seven of the men are left, but the three of us are still standing.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. It was the same in medical school. The dropout rate was much higher among the men than the women. Why do you think that is?”

“I couldn’t possibly begin to guess,” she says, which shuts that conversation down. Clearly we’re not going to bond over the staying power of the sisterhood.

“And was that something you always dreamed of doing?” I ask. “Since you were a child, I mean?”

“No,” she tells me, glancing at her watch. I consider just sitting back and ignoring her, waiting for her boyfriend to return, but I’m so irritated by her now I feel like this is a challenge that I want to rise to.

“A family thing, perhaps? Was your father a pilot?”

She laughs and shakes her head. The expression on her face is impossible to read. I’m considering asking whether she always behaves this rudely toward complete strangers when my phone buzzes again. I feel a stab of irritation as I take it out and look at the screen.

I want to come over.

Not tonight , I reply quickly. I’m going into surgery. My phone will be off for the next few hours.

“Something important?” asks Rebecca, and I shrug.

“Something I need to take care of, certainly,” I tell her. “I just have to figure out how.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“I’m sure I will. You have something between your teeth, by the way.”

She doesn’t, but I rather enjoy watching her suck at her gums, trying to extract whatever it is.

“Your accent,” I say. “You’re Irish?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know Louise before, then?”

She stares at me as if I’m the stupidest woman alive. “No, of course not,” she says. “There are five million people in Ireland. We don’t all know each other.”

Thankfully, before I can tell her to go fuck herself, Aaron returns and places the drinks on the table, glancing from his girlfriend to me and back again. It’s a strange moment. I almost feel as if I’m being interviewed to join a coven, or being told the reasons why I’m being excluded from one.

“I was just asking Rachel,” I say, “whether she—”

“Rebecca,” says Rebecca, for the second time.

Naturally, I know her name is Rebecca. I’m getting it wrong deliberately just to demonstrate to her how unimportant she is to me.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “Rebecca, of course. I was just asking Rebecca whether her father was a pilot.”