Page 2 of Plot Twist

Well played, Moira. Well played. I followed the nurse down the corridor.

‘God, you know, I just hate these things. My hands are sweating and everything,’ I said, trying to build a rapport with the nurse so she didn’t take Moira’s side when they inevitably talked about me later.

‘I know, no one likes it, I’m afraid,’ she sympathised. ‘A necessary evil. Now, if you don’t mind, we actually have a student with us today. It helps with training and development if students can be involved and observe the procedure. If you’d prefer not to, please just let us know. You’re the only appointment this afternoon and it really would help with her practical experience. . .’

Ach, shite. I couldn’t say no now. Not after I’d kept them all waiting.

‘That’s fine, I guess. The more the merrier!’ My high-pitched laugh echoed as we entered the room.

‘We’ll be as quick as we can, if you just want to get yourself ready.’ The nurse smiled.

I always thought they should give more explicit instructions about these things: what exactly to take off and leave on.

My best friend, Rae, had seen it all. She’d trained as a beauty therapist while studying for her psychology degree. She figured she’d spend most of her wages on beauty treatments when she graduated anyway, so might as well learn how to do it all herself. Always planning ahead. Plus, she said it was the best insight into the female mind.

Rae giggled over the wax appointments gone wrong, like once when the customer got completely starkers, boobs out and everything, when she turned her back to get set up. The lady had only come in for an eyebrow wax. She quickly learned that the customer wasn’t always right.

I lay back on the thin sheets of paper covering the long, faux-leather bed, trying to think about something nice. Meeting Rae at the weekend. Focus on that. I was so desperate to see her, I’d managed to convince her to come home a week earlier than she’d originally planned. We’d spent the previous day planning where to meet and had exchanged several voice notes.

‘I’m going to find you a man this weekend,’ she’d vowed.

I’d rolled my eyes and reciprocated with a voice note: ‘Like I need any more hassle in my life. Thanks but no thanks.’

A response came back in record time. ‘You do realise you are “hesidating”. It’s a thing, you know. Google it.’

I snorted. ‘Also known as common fucking sense. With a side serving of “I can’t be arsed”. And anyway, since when were you Little Miss Relationship? You got something you want to tell me?’

Rae sighed on her next voice note. ‘Come on, Becca. You need to get out a bit more! What about that new dating app I sent you a link for?’

‘I am getting out. With you, this weekend, remember? All I want to do is sit in the sunshine with our gins in the air like we just don’t care and LAUGH. I haven’t seen you in forever.’

‘Me too! But I am on a mission. I’ll find you a Mr Right, or even just Mr Right Now, this weekend, if it kills me.’

I didn’t reply to her last voice note. When Rae got something in her mind, it was best not to argue.

It still amazed me how much we could chat and yet always have more to tell each other. And, for once, the Scottish summer was showing signs of actual beer garden weather. It was like all the stars were aligning for us reuniting.

I could hear the nurse explaining everything to the student as she went along. The words cervix and speculum floated around in the air. I curled my toes.

‘At least once it’s done, it’s over for a while.’ The student smiled at me. The Sadist.

Jesus, she must have been about twelve.

‘Yes. Great,’ I said. I wished I hadn’t agreed to the student thing. It was taking forever and a day, plus I really hadn’t shaved my legs properly, never mind anything else. I wondered if they’d talk about me when I left the room.

‘Now, that’s you all done,’ the nurse said eventually. ‘I’ll leave you to get dressed again. You should get a letter through in a few weeks.’

I wobbled, slipping my tights back on, before straightening my skirt and pulling back the curtain.

‘Brilliant, thanks. That’s the most action I’ve had in a while,’ I said. ‘See you later.’

The student opened the door to let me out without even so much as a smirk. Twelve year olds really were professional these days.

I checked my phone on the way to the exit, as my flat shoes squelched against the floor through reception. Seventeen missed calls from an unknown number. What the. . .squelch.

There were no voicemails, no messages. If it was one of those scam calls about being in an accident, I planned to give them intimate details about my smear test. That would definitely have me promptly struck off their marketing list for future calls.

My phone vibrated again, and this time I answered. ‘Becca? Is that you?’