by Holly Bell
‘Thank you, Damian.’
‘Sure we’ll all bump into each other. Bye for now.’
She walked off slowly towards the Astra. Ryan missing and Samantha missing. Hmm, thought Amanda.
Chapter 21
Appointments
Amanda looked at the body on the phone screen as she zoomed in.
How different it was when you had known the person …
***
Amanda reported to reception at 8.45 am on the day of her first appointment at the Marion Gibbs Asthma Research Centre. Letter in hand, she approached the counter. A tall, fit, broad-shouldered man, with a white beard and grey, slightly receded hair, sat behind the desk.
‘Hello there, lassie,’ he greeted her in a broad Scottish accent. ‘Yooor bright ‘n’ airly!’
‘Yes, it’s my first day, and I wanted to make sure I was on time,’ explained Amanda.
‘Vairy gude. What’s yer name?’
‘Amanda Cadabra.’
‘Really? I bet ya geht a reaction ev’ry time ye say that!’
She laughed. What a relief it was to hear someone come and out and say that. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘All right, wehll, I’ve got ye down here. You going ta be a regular, are ye?’
‘Yes, I hope so.’
‘In that case, I’m Bill, Bill MacNair. I’m security. So if you need me, you know who I am. I’m usually on nights, so this is the end o’ my shift. But I live on site. Gloria’s just gettin’ herrr coffee, then she’ll tek over.’
‘Thank you. Nice to meet you, Bill.’
‘You too, lassie. The waitin’ room is through those double doors, down the corrida, through the doors at the end. Opal waiting room. They’re all named after precious gems.’
‘Ok. Thank you, Bill,’ Amanda replied appreciatively.
She found her way and sat down on a mushroom-coloured sofa opposite the window. There was a pale young man on one end of it and, in a chair, a mother with a small daughter sitting listlessly on her lap. Amanda looked around for something to do, and investigated the children’s toy box with some success.
A dark cloud of curls, framing a square-jawed face and sharp grey eyes, appeared around the door that bore the name ‘Dr Schofield’.
‘Amanda Cadabra?’
The other patients looked up, wondering if they had heard correctly.
Amanda immediately put down the Sticklebrick boat she had been attempting to construct, and stood up. ‘Yes?’
‘Please come in.’
The doctor sat behind her desk, and gestured to a chair on the opposite side.
‘Please sit down. Welcome to the Marion Gibbs Research Centre for Asthma. We hope that we can help you.’
Amanda thought the woman sounded like someone reading off a screen at a call centre. The doctor was indeed looking at her monitor.
‘Let me just confirm some details.’ She checked Amanda’s name, contact information and date of birth.
‘So … Amanda. Is it OK if I call you, Amanda?’
Actually, Amanda would have preferred it if this woman called her Miss Cadabra, but she didn’t want to appear standoffish. ‘Yes, sure,’ she replied politely.
‘Your asthma began at the age of three?’
‘I think shortly before, maybe,’ replied Amanda.
‘Do you know for certain?’
‘No,’ she admitted.
‘Let's leave it at three then,’ said the doctor, with slightly laboured patience. ‘And you’ve been using inhalers.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you tried any … complementary therapies before?’ The expression seemed to bother her. That was strange because the appointment letter said that Dr Schofield was a homoeopath as well as a conventional doctor.
‘Yes, herbal. My grandparents treated me,’ added Amanda, then wished she hadn’t.
‘I see. And did it lead to any improvement?’
‘I am much better than I was when I was a child,’ was all Amanda could say.
‘But you are still restricted in what you can do?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have completely explored what mainstream medicine has to offer?’ The woman’s voice had an edge that was grating on Amanda.
‘Dr Schofield,’ Amanda replied firmly. ‘Hospital staff saved my life several times, and I am extremely appreciative of everything they have done. But if mainstream medicine had been able to effect a full recovery then I would not be here at the suggestion and referral of my GP,’ she ended crisply.
The doctor tapped away on her keyboard. Then asked, as though changing the subject, ‘What brings on your asthma?’
‘Exertion, stress, pollen, dust, dander, the usual things,’ answered Amanda.
‘I see that you are a furniture restorer.’ It sounded like an accusation.
‘Yes.’
‘Hardly ideal,’ commented the doctor.
‘I wear a mask, I vacuum, take precautions.’
‘Have you thought of changing your profession? It seems to me that if you were really serious about improving your health, then it would be something that you would be willing to think about.’
‘My work is not a problem,’ Amanda responded calmly.
Tap tap tap.
‘How about climate?’ asked the doctor.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Are you better in certain types of weather?’
‘Well, dry and warm are better, yes,’ Amanda responded.
‘Have you considered emigrating to a more suitable location? Spain, Italy, south of France?’
‘No,’ replied Amanda in surprise. This woman was certainly into drastic measures. What would she suggest next?
‘It’s something to think about,’ said the doctor, then opened a desk drawer, and took out an A4 sheet that she handed to Amanda. ‘Here is a list of complementary therapies. Is there anything there that you want to try?’
Amanda had expected the doctor to recommend one, and said so.
‘Very well,’ replied the woman. ‘Have you had acupuncture?’
‘No.’
‘OK, let’s try you on acupuncture. If you want to look in on a meditation group or yoga, you can do that too. There’s a map of Centre on the other side of the page. I’ll see you in six weeks.’
The appointment seemed to be over.
‘Thank you, Dr Schofield,’ Amanda said, civilly.
‘Goodbye, Amanda.’
She left the Centre in a state of shock and disappointment. It hadn’t been anything like she’d expected. What was with that woman? Change your job? Emigrate?
‘Well!’ commented Granny, as she and Perran appeared either side of their granddaughter. ‘I don’t think much of her!’
Amanda took a quick look round to check that no one was near, then agreed, ‘It’s like she didn’t care. In fact, like she had contempt for the Centre, and didn’t much like me either.’
‘What’s she doing there, then?’ asked Granny.
‘My question exactly,’ said Amanda.
‘What do you think about acupuncture, Ammy?’ asked Grandpa.
‘I don’t mind trying. It might help. As long as the therapist is nicer than she is!’
***
Within days, Amanda was back in a different waiting room to see the acupuncturist.
A medium-height, 20-something, white-overall-clad, attractive young woman with long brown wavy hair issued forth from a door to her left. She smiled with a white, perfect set of teeth.
‘Hiya. Amanda?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come in, I’m Charlotte Streeter. I’m going to be your acupuncturist today.’ Amanda felt like she was with a tour guide. Hold on. Streeter?
‘Are you related to Robin Streeter?’
‘Yeah, he’s my uncle,’ she answered. ’Have you met him? Lovely man, isn’t he? He just paid for my dental work.’
‘Oh, that was kind. Yes, yes he is,
’ said Amanda, glad that they had some common ground.
Charlotte checked details.
‘Soooo … you were referred by Dr Schofield.’
‘That’s right,’ said Amanda, coolly.
‘Yeah,’ said Charlotte, sympathetically, ‘I know she can come across as edgy, but it’s probably the effect of having to commute from Dover every day. Long drive. I think, it contributes. And this set up is a tad out of her comfort zone, but I’m sure you’ll get used to her if you give her a chance.’
Amanda nodded. ‘Sure,’ she conceded.
Charlotte read Dr Schofield’s notes. ‘You OK with needles? Or did Dr S ask you that already … I can’t see it here.’
‘Yes, thank you, I’m fine with needles.’
‘Good. Mind you, these aren’t like the ones when you have a blood test. They’re very fine, and you shouldn’t feel a thing.’
And Amanda didn’t. Charlotte was careful and gentle. At the end of the session, she asked her patient, ‘All right?’
‘I certainly feel relaxed. Thank you, Charlotte.’
‘Good. Well, I’ll see you next week then. And you can tell me how you’ve felt in the meantime,’ said Charlotte brightly.
‘Yes,’ agreed Amanda, rather dreamily.
‘Bye.’
‘Hm,’ said Granny to Amanda on the way through the car park. ‘Knows her job but has got all the intuition of a lamppost.’
‘At least she was nice. But I must admit, this isn’t quite the place I imagined, Granny.’
‘Why don’t you have a wander around, and talk to some of the other therapists?’ suggested Grandpa.
Amanda agreed, went back in and was given a pass by Gloria on reception. She met Jack, the healer, He was 80 years old, gentle and insightful. Nat, the Chinese medicine specialist, was 30 years younger but merry and wise. Joy who led the yoga and meditation sessions lived up to her name. Kathleen, who did reiki, and Melanie, who did aromatherapy with massage, had a depth and kindness about them that accorded with their professions. But they were all part-time staff. They had no permanent plaques on their doors.
The weeks passed. Amanda felt relaxed after each session, but there was no improvement in her asthma.
After the third visit to Charlotte, Amanda was walking from the café, where she’d stopped for hot chocolate, when she heard the doors behind her open and the sound of voices and laughter.
‘Teedle tiddle dum pom dum pom diddle.’ That could only be Dr Crossley.
‘Robert, why don’t you join us?’ Amanda recognised Damian Gibbs’ tones.
‘Sorry, I have plans.’
‘You always have plans on Tuesdays. And on Fridays. What is it that you do?’
‘I do have a wife, you know, Damian. You should try it some time.’
‘I think we all know what happened last time I did that,’ he replied sardonically.
‘Samantha’s not a total disaster.’
‘It’s kind of you to say that, Robert. She obviously hasn’t been making advances to you.’
‘No! Well, not exactly… she’s very young still.’
‘That’s what bothers me,’ said Damian, gloomily. ‘It means she has years to continue embarrassing me by systematically working her way through my friends.’
‘She’ll grow out of it,‘ encouraged Robin, ‘and, in the meantime, not every man falls for her charms.’
‘Thank you,’ said Damian slightly cheered. ‘I guess she’s just bored. Maybe she’ll find her niche in life and … oh well.’
Amanda wasn’t in the mood for a chat. She quickened her pace and exited to the car park.
Following Dr Schofield's advice, Amanda joined a kundalini yoga group at the Centre, and that helped with her breathing. However, during the meditation, her mind would often flash back to the memory of being in front of the portraits with the old woman. Then next she would be in retreat from Cardiubarn Hall, desperately trying to remember … something that had just happened … if only she could remember and tell Granny ….
Sometimes she’d be walking down stairs, her hand held by the old woman …walking down some stairs. Not the grand staircase … stone steps … a door …. It was agitating. She half-wanted to avoid the yoga sessions, half-wanted somehow to get closer to that one essential memory ….
Amanda noticed that two of the therapists, Melanie and Kathleen, were replaced by others. She asked where they’d gone. No one knew. They’d just left.
Amanda dreaded the six weeks being up and having to sit across the desk from the cold Dr Schofield again.
As it happened, she was to be spared.
Chapter 22
Toby
Amanda sat, once again, in the Opal waiting room, which seemed to have shrunk a good deal since her last visit. She was staring at the plaque on the doctor’s door in some trepidation when it moved, and a different face to the one she had been expecting showed itself: large, round, brown eyes, alive with curiosity and gentleness, and widely smiling soft lips. His hair was dark and wavy, topping a tall, fit figure in a white coat.
His gaze followed the direction of where she had been looking, and saw the sign with Dr Schofield’s name on.
‘Better change that!’ he said. ‘Amanda Cadabra?’
‘Yes.’
‘Bewitching name. And I’m sure that you are,’ he said with an inclination of the head. ’Won’t you come in? Please, make yourself comfortable. I am Dr Toby Sidiqi.’
‘Hello, doctor, … erm, what happened to Dr Schofield?’
‘Left. Maternity leave. Bed rest been prescribed. I’m sure we all wish her well.’
‘Hm,’ said Amanda.
‘On the other hand, it does mean that this amazing opportunity has come my way.’
‘Right.’
Amanda, truth to tell, was dazzled. She had always had a thing about attractive men in white coats. Amanda knew perfectly well why. It went back to when she was five years old.
***
Amanda was in Barnet Hill Hospital after an asthma attack that she had survived by only a hair’s breadth.
She had passed out and, as she regained consciousness, a dark, wavy-haired man with a smiling face had swum into view. He wore a white coat. Amanda knew who he was: the new medic, Dr Tahami. He spoke.
‘Hello, there. Nice to have you back with us.’
Amanda heard the wind of her breath whistling through her lungs. She recognised that she was in the intensive care unit.
‘Am I going to die?’ she asked, with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
He sat down on the bed beside her. ‘Not on my watch.’
Amanda considered. ‘I’m too big to … fit on your watch.’
‘It’s an expression. From the days of the old sailing ships. The hands, the members of the crew, used to take turns to work or stand lookout.’
‘For pirates?’
‘Any kind of danger. A man overboard, maybe.’
Amanda visualised this image. Then she said between shallow breaths, ‘That’s me when I have a bad attack …. I’m sinking under the sea, but it’s … a warm sea and cosy and quiet and … I’m going to sleep.’
‘Well, when that happens, Amanda, I want you to listen for my voice. And when you hear me calling, I want you to look up, and swim to the surface as fast as you can, and with all your might. Will you do that for me?’
Amanda thought. It seemed very important to him. ‘All right,’ she agreed.
‘Promise?’ His eyes were alight with kindness and concern.
‘I promise,’ she agreed, her little face solemn.
Three weeks later, Granny was in the kitchen making jam tarts. Amanda was barred because the flour was filling the air. She loitered outside in the hall being driven to distraction by the smell. Then … the garden door could be heard opening …. Granny must have gone to see Grandpa.
Amanda reasoned that, if the outside door was ajar it should clear the air. She open
ed the kitchen portal a crack. Granny had told her to stay in the hall but hadn’t said she couldn’t look into the kitchen. Amanda could see the tarts cooling on the table. She opened the door further. The breeze from the garden sent a current wafting the aroma of strawberry jam and warm pastry towards her, laden with fatal flour particles. Amanda inhaled.
The water was warm, rocking her from side to side as she sank deeper and deeper.
‘Amanda.’ The voice was distorted and far away but familiar … it was Dr Tahami’s voice … she remembered hazily making a promise … comforting as it was, she couldn’t stay down here … she had to swim, swim for the surface… swim with all her might ….
Amanda opened her eyes. There was the doctor, in his white coat, sitting beside her on the bed. But his legs were stripey.
‘Why are you wearing pyjamas,’ she asked breathily.
‘My ship’s watch started unexpectedly.’
‘I’m not going to die,’ said Amanda with conviction.
‘That’s right. You’re going to live for a long, long time.’
‘Happily ever after?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Amanda.’
A notion came to her. Spending a good deal of time in hospital, she had opportunity to observe the interactions of her carers. Amanda had noticed the susceptibility of both the doctor and the nurses, as well as his flirtatious disposition.
‘Are you married?’ she asked.
‘No,’ replied Dr Tahami, with smiling, carefree directness.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m waiting for you,’ he replied simply.
Amanda searched for the right phrase with which to reply. She recalled something she’d heard one of the nurses say to him. It seemed apt now:
‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘No, only you.’
***
Amanda had got better, especially once she started learning and practicing magic, and attended the hospital less and less. Dr Tahami moved on to another clinic, and faded in her memory. Yet she liked to imagine that somewhere, in some other form, he was waiting for her and one day would appear. He now seemed to have manifested himself in Toby Sidiqi guise.
