by Anna Bloom
“Probably not,” Flynn snorts. “Bigger problem is will our advertisers?”
I rub at my forehead. At least I hadn’t thought of dying for two hours. Plus points and all that.
A cold cup of coffee is sat in front of my computer. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Desk partners sat opposite one another, we’ve created our own little hot drink gang. Doing a drink run for the whole team took far too long, so about three years ago when he started we set ourselves apart on an island of Nescafe.
“You’re welcome two hours ago.”
“I’m away this Friday too. How the hell do I get her not to press anything while I’m not in the office?”
“Another Friday? I’m beginning to think you are going away for dirty weekends.” He wiggles his fair eyebrows at me. “Are you? Should I be jealous of someone who isn’t your cat?”
I stick my tongue out. “Leave Barney out of this.”
“What? I’m being serious here. I should know if I’ve got to share you with anyone else other than your feline housemate.”
“You,” I wag my finger at him. “Aren’t sharing me with anyone.”
The loud but undeniable sound of someone breaking wind across the office halts our conversation.
“I hate this place,” I mutter under my breath.
Flynn grins and it’s so damn smug. “You don’t. You love us all, otherwise you would have left years ago when Glamour magazine tried to headhunt you.”
“Believe me, I’m still ruing the day.”
“Remind me again why you didn’t take it?”
I lob a ball of Blu Tac at him. It will be back on my side of the desk later in a never-ending game of catch we’ve been playing. He doesn’t know why I didn’t take the job. No one does apart from Rebecca.
She did me a solid back then and I will be loyal to her until my dying day.
So not long then.
Unless we fold before then.
Right as I think it, I have the blinding idea. I’m going to make it my dying wish to get this damn place online. Leave them with a legacy that will live on.
Ignoring Flynn and his achingly punchable face, I boot my laptop and pull it closer.
Right. How am I going to do this?
First things first though, I’d better do something about this American disaster.
“Juliette? Anyone know a Juliette?” Ray is shouting through the office. It’s dark outside, half-five and I really want to go home.
Rebecca lied when she said everyone would leave on time.
Lied.
Instead, they are sitting around chatting about the Premier League and every time I happen to give them a glare, they all put their heads down and start working again.
“No women here, mate,” heckles Alan. “Oh sorry, Jules, I’d forgotten you were a girl, what with the trousers you’ve got on. Did you get them from a special uniform outfitter?”
“Fuck off, Al, shame you can’t make your column as funny.”
His smile drops and I smirk.
All of these guys are too long in the tooth. Relics from a previous life when sexist jokes weren’t just politically correct but actively encouraged. Probably part of the hiring process even: Give us your best one liner… there were two blondes and a lightbulb.
Flynn and I are the youngest blood, and I’m nearly thirty for God’s sake.
“So, no Juliette?”
Is Ray taking the piss? It’s only been the six of us for years now.
Oh. Wait. Wasn’t I Juliette on Friday…?
No. It can’t be.
My legs knock under my desk despite me sitting down. Flashes of long fingers and warm skin heating my face.
“Where did it come from?” I ask, getting up, unsteady and trying not to show it.
Ray peers at the label. “Hell, if I know.”
“Not where it actually came from, you bloody idiot. Do you have X-ray vision? I mean who delivered it?”
Was he beautiful with midnight eyes and talking eyebrows?
“Dunno, courier on a bike.”
Before he can resist, I snatch it from his grasp. “I’ll make sure it gets sent back to wherever it came from.” The label really does only say Juliette. No surname.
Ray snatches it back. “No problem. I’ll just bin it.”
I watch in horror as he tosses it in the trash bin under his desk.
“Right. That’s today done, everyone home!” I shut my laptop without closing it down properly—I’ll pay for that tomorrow—and pick up my purple coat off the back of my chair. “Come on, guys, I want to get out of here.”
I’m met with a load of groans and general unwillingness but eventually I herd them all out of the office.
Once we are outside and I’ve waved Flynn off from offering to wait and walk with me to the Tube, I dash back inside.
The dark building is scary as shit at night, but I run straight for Ray’s desk and grab out the small brown-paper wrapped package.
Call me crazy but I’m sure I’m Juliette and I’m sure this package is for me.
A pull in my gut is telling me so.
I slip back out into the January dark, contraband tucked under my arm.
Only when I’m home, kettle shooting smoke signals into the sky do I open it up.
It is for me.
My mystery-one-night-only-no-names-man remembered the one thing I told him about myself. I work for a satirical newspaper on Fleet Street.
The only satirical newspaper on Fleet Street.
Inside is a beautiful hardbound copy of Romeo and Juliet. No note.
It makes me grin, heat flooding over me.
Carefully putting it on the side away from the kettle, I go and grab my diary and add to my list of yearly goals.
Read Romeo and Juliet instead of pretending I have.
10
B Negative
“Dr Simmonds won’t be long,” the secretary behind the wall length counter says. “The nurse will be with you in a moment to do your checks.”
Liv squeezes my hand tight, and I clutch it back while I try to look around the waiting room at the other patients. Are we all waiting for hearts? All of us cooling our heels in a waiting game.
And it is a waiting game.
So far, for me, nothing has changed. Every morning I wake up feeling roughly the same, the more convinced I’ve become that they’ve made a mistake.
It happens.
“How you feeling?” Liv whispers.
“Fine.” I look at an older man, probably mid-fifties. His wife is holding his hand. Every so often he pats it absentmindedly. I wonder if he’s been waiting long, or if this is his first time here too. His wife rests her head on his shoulder and wraps her arms around him like she’s worried he might disappear.
“Julianna?” I turn at the call of my name to where a nurse with peroxide hair and a wide smile is holding my file.
“Hi.”
“Want me to come with you?” Liv asks.
“So you can see how much I weigh? Not a chance.” I grin down at her, hiding the pound of my heart behind my smile.
“I already know how much you weigh.”
I pull a face and turn for the nurse. “Hi.” My voice wobbles, uneven.
“Don’t worry, this is just standard stuff.”
I nod, not clear on what standard stuff is. I follow behind her into a room where she closes the door. “Simple checks, Julianna.”
“Jules, please. It’s a mouthful otherwise.”
She smiles and motions for me to sit, logging into her computer. Why do they have paper files and computer files? That seems a waste of time and resources to me. Glancing quickly at the screen, she opens the file and then hammers her pen open with a resounding click.
“Bloods first. I can get them sent off and the results should be back before you leave.”
“What are the tests for?”
“Just checking inflammation levels, iron, general things like white blood cells etc.”
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nbsp; I nod. “I’m B negative.” I tell her, mainly just to show that I do know something, anything.
Her face flickers but she keeps on the smile. “That’s always good to know. You’d be amazed the people who don’t know their blood type.”
“I didn’t, I have to admit.”
“So quick blood test, ECG, then we will put you on a running machine to check your oxygen use during physical activity. Swiftly followed by an MRI.”
“MRI,” my mouth falls open. “Today?” Then I focus on what else she’s said. “Running machine?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t worry, you don’t actually have to run, just walk.”
I glance down at my shoes and she follows my gaze. “We really should tell people to wear trainers.”
My heels are black today, a statement piece.
“I can take them off.” I frown at the fifteen denier tights I’ve got on. They have to so much as be in the same vicinity as a rough surface and they run with an instant ladder. I’m spending more on tights the last month than I am dinner. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. I hope you brought snacks.”
“My sister needs to collect my niece from nursery at two thirty.”
The nurse tilts her head from side to side. “It could be done that quick, but honestly I doubt it.”
“Why is everything done today?”
Her smile stretches, commiserating and sympathetic. “If you’re a straightforward case, you should know today whether you go on the list or not.”
“Really? Today?”
“We do try to. It’s nice for people to leave with a positive outcome.” Her gaze drops to my notes again and that little flicker sets her lips straight at the edges. “Right, come on then. Let’s get going and get you on the scales.”
“Do we have to start with the scales?”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “That’s what everyone says.”
Back out in the waiting room, I flop down next to Liv. “We are going to be here hours. You need to go and get Paige.”
She scowls at her phone in one of her hands while the other rocks Lenny’s buggy back and forth over the shiny floor. “I’m trying to get hold of Darren.”
“I don’t want you asking him for help, just because of me.” I fold my arms, the bit of sticky tape in the crease of my elbow pulling on the fine hairs. “I’ve got to have an MRI yet.” I swallow hard. “Apparently they do everything in one day and then tell you if you’re eligible or not.”
“He’s her dad. He’s supposed to help with things. I’m not leaving you.”
“Do you know how long an MRI takes? Forever.”
“I know. I was with you last time you had one.” She shoots me a shut the fuck up glance, but I’m not going to be put off.
“I’m a big girl.”
“I’m your sister.”
“Exactly. And you’ll still be my sister later when I get to your house and you pour me a nice glass of wine.”
Liv shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Yes.”
“Nope.”
“Miss Brown.” We both look up at the towering Roman God standing before us in a doctor’s coat, stethoscope hanging around his neck.
We both inhale a collective breath. I’m thinking more Men’s Health Magazine cover model than heart transplant surgeon, but either works for me.
Yep. Either.
I glance at Liv who I think has something in her eye she’s blinking so fast. “Miss Brown?” he asks again, looking between us.
“Yes,” we both answer at once and he grins wide. More blinking from Liv.
“Which one?”
“Sisters.” I point between us. “But me.”
He comes closer and crouches down in front of us. Jesus, Doc, we aren’t five.
“I heard you had to rush off to get your child from nursery. I thought I could do,” he looks at me… just about noticing my existence. Hello! I’m the one who needs a heart! “Your sister’s appointment in reverse.”
“That is so kind.” Liv’s hand flutters to a blotch of flushed skin at the base of her throat. “But doesn’t she need to have all her tests?”
Dr Dreamy straightens from his crouch. “Come with me.”
We both stand to follow, like sister like sister, neither of us looking at anyone else in the waiting room.
He motions us into a bright room, warm sunlight slanting through blinds. “Please sit.”
Two arses hit plastic chairs.
“Please don’t worry. We run a very fluid clinic. As I’m sure you can imagine we get a lot of people in various states of health. Some of them we see on wards, those that are too ill to make it to consultation.” He smiles, gaze darting at Liv. “But you, Julianna, are lucky that you haven’t got that far yet.”
Lucky?
He peers at my file, flicking through the pages. “I spoke to Dr Francis last week on the phone. Can you give me a quick rundown?”
Ah, the please tell me in your own words just how shit it’s all been.
“I had meningitis two years ago.” I shrug. “The heart problems started quite soon after. I had trouble feeling like I was getting enough air. The doctors who treated my infection were stumped so I eventually got sent to the heart team. There they found out the meningitis had caused…” I try to say the word, almost feeling Liv roll her eyes next to me.
“Cardiomyopathy?” Dr Francis suggests.
“Yes, that. You’d have thought I’d have got something I could actually say.” I smile rubbing at my hot neck.
“And your symptoms now?” He flicks to another page. “How have you been the last couple of weeks?”
“Fine, all good.”
Liv elbows me and his smile flickers in her direction. He’s a beauty to look at, blonde and blue-eyed, and I know Liv will be coming to every appointment from now on if he’s the one sitting in the doctor’s chair.
She giggles.
I’m dying here. Now is not the time for flirty giggles.
“Sorry.” She pulls the neck of her jumper away from her throat, that flush burning up her skin, “She lies. She will tell you she’s fine when she really isn’t at all.”
I elbow her back. “Cheers, sis.”
Dr Simmonds chuckles. “It’s okay. Our tests find most things, even little white lies.”
I scrunch my face. “Okay, so the breathlessness is getting a little worse, nothing I can’t handle though. The irregular heartbeat is more frequent too.”
He nods.
“But really I don’t feel too bad. I think Dr Francis made a terrible mistake with my diagnosis.”
His smile drops. Ah, it’s time for the sympathetic look. “He didn’t, Julianna, but...” He flicks through my file again, scribbling something with the nib of his fountain pen. Liv clutches my hand sensing this is the moment. “If your tests come back positive, which I think they will, it doesn’t sound like your further organ damage has spread too far. Although we will be looking at your lungs, there is no reason why you can’t go on the list. I’ll confirm later on.” He smiles widely at Liv. “But you can go on the school run now knowing the news looks positive.”
We both sag, relief rushing through my veins, making me feel lightheaded, in a good helium sucking way.
“However.” My stomach lurches. No… no however, no caveats, no if’s… “Julianna, you have one of the least common blood types. Not rare that it doesn’t happen, but rare that your wait might be longer.”
“How long?” My question is a breathy little gasp.
The answering shrug is not what I want to see. “We really don’t know.”
“Dr Francis said I only had a year left.” And there’s that sentence again that sounds so ridiculous to say.
“Then it will be your job to keep yourself in optimum of health. Our job is to get you that heart as quickly as possible if and when one becomes available.” I don’t like the IF word. It should be banned from the dictionary.
“That’s good news right, Jules?” Liv turns and grasps my hand, a light shining in her eyes I don’t want to put out.
“Yeah, that’s good news.” I swallow hard. “Right, can you go and get my niece, and I’ll see you later.”
“You sure?” Another squeeze of my fingers.
I nod. My throat too tight to talk.
It’s almost dark by the time I’m ejected from the hospital. I’ve been prodded, scanned, and made to runthe nurse lied.
Good news. All my organs are doing what they are meant to do.
Bad news, I got the distinct impression they didn’t plan to see me again anytime soon. Still, it’s okay. I’ve only done one of my remaining twelve months. There is still time.
Time.
I trudge through Waterloo under the big clock, feeling it echo in my bones. Tick and a tock. Tick and a tock.
Most women my age are starting to think of their biological clock, maybe hearing it start to speed slightly. The only clock I can hear is the mechanical one inside my chest, winding and cranking.
Stupid fucking heart.
“Juliette!”
I keep walking, head down. I need to get home. Need to put my pyjamas on. Need to Netflix.
Denial comes in the form of compulsive binge watching.
Dawson has been up the Creek without a paddle; The Queen has held onto her Crown; all the Vampires are dead, well the ones I like anyway; and I’ve jumped off the Bridge of Ton.
“Juliette!”
A pressure pulls on my sleeve and I whirl around ready to sock the person daring to touch me. It might be busy in the station but there is no accounting for weirdo’s these days.
Ooooh.
I stare straight up into deep navy. Wide and sensual lips curve down at me as my mouth gapes open.
“Juliette!” It’s him. Mr-One-Night-No-Names. Mr All the Feels.
Oh, good God. It’s him. Stealer of dreams and Pornoland’s lead star.
“You ran away.” Zhuuu raaaan awaaay. That’s his opening line? Did I do him a favour or is that displeasure in the turn of his mouth?
My heart races, a little flutter that doesn’t feel all that bad. My stomach tightens as memories of moonlit skin on skin play front of house in my brain. “I’m sorry.”
