Page 35 of The One Day You Were My Husband
“Carrie,” Yanika hissed. She funneled me into a corner where the ward linen was kept. “Can you please pull yourself together?”
But that was the problem. I didn’t know how to. I hadn’t been able to for six days. I should never have allowed myself to get into a relationship.
“Carrie, talk to me.”
After a few moments, I said, pathetically, “I’m having relationship trouble.” Tears dripped down my cheeks and onto my scrubs.
She looked surprised. “I’m sorry to hear that. But—Carrie, that’s not good enough. I don’t want lovestruck teenagers on my team. I need adults who carry out their responsibilities and don’t just burst into tears when they mess up. I’m embarrassed for you.”
I was embarrassed for me, too.
Yanika’s phone rang and she left. I went to the toilet and washed my face, patting it dry with an abrasive blue paper towel. I looked even worse.
Just as I re-emerged into the ward, Johan finally called.
I tried to end our relationship. There, on the phone, before he’d even had a chance to ask how I was. It just burst out of me, as if it were the only sane and sensible thing to say.
I told him that I’d been thinking about us and that it was probably just too much for me at this stage of my career. I liked him, I said, but I just wasn’t sure I could give us the attention and focus we needed. Just today I had made a big mistake and the patient could have ended up with an ADR, maybe even died. I needed to focus just on one thing, and that thing needed to be my job.
I talked until I had nothing else to say and then ground to a halt, even more ashamed.
Johan listened to my whole speech and then said quietly, “Carrie.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. Tears waited, stinging, in my eyes.
“Carrie…” he repeated. “Is the patient OK?”
“She’s OK. They didn’t actually give her the antibiotics,” I admitted. “But I made other mistakes. They’ve been noted. It’s not good.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Johan said. “And I’m glad it’s all OK. But I don’t need to know anything about medicine to know that you’re great at your job. It won’t have been anything more than a moment of madness.”
“Mmm.”
“But that does not sound like a reason to end our relationship.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.
“This is because I didn’t call, isn’t it?”
“No.”
He waited patiently.
“Yes.”
I had never felt more ashamed.
“The oil rig didn’t have Wi-Fi, and the fixed computer terminals were in use all evening for the rig staff. They don’t get to see their families for months on end; I didn’t get a look in. I got hold of a sat phone to call the office just that one time, but they wouldn’t let me use it for personal calls. Carrie. Carrie?”
“Mmm.”
“Carrie. I’m finally back on the mainland and the first thing I’m doing is calling you. And I warned you this might happen. Please stop thinking what you’ve been thinking.”
I still couldn’t speak. It was rising up in me, now, the great fear of losing him. The terror of it. I hadn’t known it was there until he’d gone away and my judgment had vanished.
The first tear fell, and with it an old window opened. That first surreal, heady day after Mum had officially moved out. Me, running like the wind from Jilly’s car into her house. Jilly, who lived in our village and famously owned twenty guinea pigs, was to pick us up from school each day now. And even though Jilly had bought Smarties for me and Maya to soften the blow of our new lives, I’d ignored the chocolate, the guinea pigs, everything other than Jilly’s phone, because Mum was going to call.How was school?she’d ask, like anyone else’s mum would. I was going to tell her a funny story about how Debbie had fallen off the vaulting box in PE and landed straddled on my back as if I were a horse.
No call came. I transferred my vigil to our own phone when Dad picked us up later on.
