Page 1 of Plot Twist

1

Nothing quite like a smear test to start the weekend in style.

Said no one, ever.

‘Appointment time?’

‘Well, it was five minutes ago, actually. I’m so sorry I’m late, I couldn’t get a space and—’

‘Which doctor is your appointment with?’

‘The nurse,’ I said.

She sighed heavily and tapped on her keyboard for a moment. The phone started ringing but she ignored it. I noted her name badge. Moira.

You definitely wouldn’t fuck with Moira.

The silence hung between us.

‘Look, I was allocated a ten-minute slot so technically I still have five minutes left. I could just nip in really quickly. Whip my pants off. I won’t even have any small talk about how I’ve not shaved my legs. I promise.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’ She arched her eyebrow. ‘If you want to take a seat, I’ll see whether the nurse can still carry out the procedure. You may have to come back another day though.’

‘OK. Sorry, Moira.’

She didn’t even flinch at the mention of her name.

Why didn’t I listen to my own instincts? You clearly weren’t supposed to fuck with Moira.

I wondered where this little game of cat and mouse would take us as I moved over to the waiting area and took my seat amongst the row of people staring intently at their phones. Glancing at my watch, I stretched my legs out, hoping my punishment wasn’t going to last too long. Thankfully, I had another teacher lined up to cover my class in case I was late back. All arranged behind the Demon Headmistress’s back, of course. You don’t fuck with her, either.

I tapped a quick message out to Riley.

Me:Late for appointment. Fate now in the hands of Moira, the grumpyreceptionist. What’s agirlgot to do around here to get someone to collect cells from her cervix?

Riley:Slip her some bank notes over and see if it helps to ‘move the situation along’?

Me:I get the strong sense that won’t work in my favour. Clearly NTBFW.

Riley:NTBFW??

Me:Not To Be Fucked With. Thanks for your comments on my chapter, by the way. I’ll read through tonight. If all else fails, I could write a steamy romance featuring Moira the doctor’s receptionist?

Riley:Yes! Eyes meet over the huge plastic shield at the reception desk as Tom comes in to see the doctor about his piles.

Me:Not sure that would make the wedding speech but, y’know, it’s better than her ex, Eric with erectile dysfunction.

Riley:Poor old Eric. A stand-up guy, in all ways but one.

Me:Lol. How’s the writing coming along today?

Riley:Aaaargh, don’t ask. Going to try more yoga. Speak later. Happy smear test, by the way. If you get it.

Me:Thank you. Hope your writer’s dysfunction passes soon. . .

‘Becca Taylor?’

My name echoed through the hallway and I scrambled to stand up. Moira obviously hadn’t wanted to admit that the nurse was still free, so she’d got her to collect me rather than letting me off the hook herself.