“We’re going to visit three patients today. The first suffers from dissociative identity disorder, the second from Down syndrome and the third from Asperger’s. I’d like you to do a routine check on each of them, as you would as part of daily care. If you need help, raise your left hand. You’ve got ten minutes with each patient. Ready?”

“Yes.”

The woman he visited first was talking to herself, or rather to her other self. Her primary personality seemed agreeable but when the other one dominated, she turned rude and violent. Matt brought her dinner as the staff had banned her from the canteen due to a recent attempt at stabbing another patient with a fork. He set the tray on the bedside table and firmly asked her to sit up. She pulled down her bed covers and revealed her arms, covered in blood crusts, one of them fresh.

“Have you been scratching yourself in your sleep?”

“No. Only when I’m awake. I’ve got to bleed to heal.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, I’ve got bad blood. I need to heal.”

Matt chatted to her while keeping an eye on the clock. After nine minutes, he had carried out all the required health checks and had reassured her that she didn’t need to bleed to get better so he left. The examiner brought him to the next patient in silence.

The man, in his forties, sat in front of the TV, his trousers down. Matt covered his privacy with a towel and asked him what he was watching.

“Nice girls.”

“Do you like nice girls?”

“Yes. Nice, nice girls. You got one?”

“Yes, I have a girlfriend.”

“She’s a nice girl?”

“Yes, I love her.”

“Me too. Nice girl in room. At lunch here.”

“You’ve got a girlfriend here?”

“Yes. Nice girl. White clothes. She brings me empty bottles for my collection.”

The man farted and Matt rubbed his nose.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Good. TV, good. Sleep, good. Phone call, good.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling good. Let me do a couple of checks on you, then you can go back to watching nice girls on TV, OK?”

The man laughed. “OK.”

The last patient behaved in a typical way for an Asperger’s sufferer and as Matt had chosen this syndrome as his speciality subject, he dealt with him in a comfortable manner, within the required time limit. His examiner marched him back to the training room and congratulated him.

“I will give you an A for this. Well done.”

Matt thanked him and left the hospital with a huge grin on his face. As he waited at the bus stop, surrounded with people with broken arms, head bandages or a sad and worried face, he tried to contain his smile. Straight As! He stopped at Sainsbury’s on the way home and bought a bottle of real champagne and Charlene’s favourite cake, a strawberry and chocolate mousse.

As he arrived home, he shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

“I got an A! I’ve got straight As!

Charlene came down the stairs and shushed him.

“You mum is in bed with a migraine.”

“Is she OK?”

“Yes, she just needs to sleep.”

“OK, let’s go to the kitchen. I got an A baby! I’ve bought a cake and champagne to celebrate this.”

“Congratulations. Don’t take this the wrong way but I’ve got a bit of a headache. Would you mind postponing the celebrations until tomorrow night?”

“I suppose not. Are you OK?”

“Yeah, yeah, tired, that’s all.”

Charlene returned upstairs and Matt stored his purchases in the fridge and made himself a cup of tea.

***

Katie turned up right on time for her meeting with Aurélie at a new French restaurant on Greek Street in Soho.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not. I was early.”

“You know what, I thought I was on time but you know me, I can never be quite sure about that.”

Katie smoothed out a crease in the red and white plastic cover.

“Lovely place. They even got the table clothes right,” Katie said.

“Kind of.”

“What do you mean?”

“My grandmother had those but we don’t really have them anymore nowadays. They look so 50s.”

“Do they? I’m sure I’ve seen them in cafes in the south of France.”

“In touristy places?”

“Maybe.”

Aurélie laughed. “There you go.”

Katie rolled the salt shaker between her hands and they read the menus. Aurélie couldn’t make her mind up between two dishes and solicited Katie for her opinion. One question led to another and they discussed Airdrive School.

“I’m glad it’s going so well for you,” Aurélie said. “You look very happy, it’s nice to see you that way.”

“Did I look sad before?”

“Not sad, just normal. But now, you look much happier than most people. You look… radiant.” Aurélie blushed.

“Thanks. I feel happy. The last three months have gone so fast. I’ve worked very hard, I mean I barely have time to see Fiona nowadays, let alone my other friends, as you know. But I’m loving it.”

“It’s so cool. Maybe you can fly me to France one day?”

“Maybe I will.”

The two friends laughed and Katie deflected the conversation onto Aurélie. Her flatmate Emily had gone travelling, Silvia still challenged her authority at work, and she planned to head home for Christmas and the New Year because she missed her mother.

After the meal, they went to Retro Bar, a queer indie pub just off the Strand, and they sat at the only free table upstairs. A minute later, they understood why the table had remained available; its position underneath the fully blowing air-conditioning unit made it the coldest spot in the room.

“Why do they have that on at this time of the year?”

“I know, we need heating, not air conditioning. I’m keeping my coat on,” Aurélie said.

“Me too.”

Over a glass of Coke, Katie explained her housing situation and Aurélie invited her to stay at hers. She could use Emily’s room for a few weeks then transfer to the sofa in the back room. Aurélie figured that Gareth would agree to this as he had declared that Emily should sub-let her room to save herself some cash and he had mentioned that he considered looking for a tenant for the spare room because his mortgage repayments had increased due to the recent rise in the interest rate. After Aurélie quoted her own rent, Katie agreed.

 

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