One Month to Tame the Surgeon
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Carol Marinelli
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17
PROLOGUE
PIPPA WESTFORD HAD learnt to make the school library her haven.
Here she could catch up on her homework or do some uninterrupted study.
She didn’t make friends easily.
Well, as a little girl she had, but her family had relocated so many times that by the age of sixteen Pippa was used to being the new girl—and always the outsider.
She had vague memories of nursery and infant school in the small village in Wales where she’d been born. Then they had moved to Cardiff, to be closer to a major hospital. As her older sister Julia’s condition had deteriorated, they had moved again, to make the endless appointments in London more manageable. Then, when Julia had been placed on the transplant list, they had moved again, to ensure the tight four-hour window to get her to the hospital should a heart and lungs become available could be met.
Now, with Julia’s transplanted heart failing, the library felt like her only refuge.
The chairs were heavy and comfortable, and there were lots of little nooks in which to hide. It was May—not that you could tell. The library had small, high windows that let in little light, and dark mahogany furnishings. Though the table had lamps, it felt as if it could just as well have been midwinter rather than approaching summer.
Pippa sat in a small recess, coiling her dark curls around her fingers as she read the sparse notes she’d made with the careers counsellor.
Hearing the thump of a bag, and someone taking the seat opposite her own, she took a calming breath and didn’t look up. The peace she’d come here to find had been broken.
What did she want to do with the rest of her life?
Removing her fingers from her unruly hair, she picked up a pen, determined to tackle the blank form that had plagued her for weeks. She filled in her first name in full—Philippa—and then sighed—at only sixteen years of age she felt more than a little overwhelmed at the prospect of choosing the A level subjects that would shape her future.
The careers counsellor and her teachers had all said that the decisions she made, though important, could be changed, depending on the results of her GCSEs.
Pippa was rather certain that the results were not going to be the ones she hoped for.
She turned to the front page of her school diary and looked at the study schedule she’d meticulously mapped out when she’d started the new school year at her latest school.
Her hand tightened on the pen she was holding and she was tempted to scribble angrily all over it, or simply tear the pages out, because she’d barely managed to meet a quarter of the hours she’d allocated.
There was always something...
‘Pippa, can you stop at the shops...?’
‘If you can meet us at the hospital and bring in Julia’s dressing gown...’
‘Go and talk to your sister, Pippa. She’s been home alone all day...’
Somehow she’d managed to work around all that, and then the news they’d been waiting for had come.
‘There’s a donor!’
Was she the worst sister in the world, because she’d sat in the waiting room with her parents as the hours had passed, wishing she’d brought her homework?
Mrs Blane would understand if her homework was late. Pippa knew that. She wouldn’t be in trouble. Just permanently behind....
And now, as hope faded for her sister, Pippa felt as if her own heart was in decline. Far from being jealous of Julia, she loved her more than anyone in the world.
She wasn’t just losing her sister; Pippa was losing her best friend.
‘Having trouble deciding?’
Pippa looked up and blinked when she saw that it was Luke Harris sitting opposite her and, what was more, he was asking her a question.
She tried to think of something suitably witty but only said, ‘A bit.’
It was hardly a dazzling response, but it was all her sixteen-year-old voice knew how to say when she was under the gaze of his brown eyes.
Everyone had a crush on Luke.
A slight exaggeration, perhaps, but certainly amongst Pippa’s peers he was the most popular boy in school. Two years older than Pippa, Luke Harris was the one they all cheered on at school sports day or whispered about in assembly if he gave a speech or some such.
He was good-looking, with straight hair that was a softer shade of brown than his eyes, and he was good at everything. He had the Midas touch and, really, he was just...gorgeous.
‘How did you decide?’ she asked, both curious and wanting to prolong this small conversation.
She expected to be fobbed off, or given some vague answer, but Luke really seemed to consider her question before responding.
‘I think it was decided for me, before I was born,’ he said with an edge to his tone.
‘You’re going to be a doctor?’ she asked, because she had watched the senior school’s Speech Night online with Julia, and his father had presented some awards.
‘A surgeon,’ he corrected.
She finally looked up and saw his red eyes in the lamplight. For a stupid moment she thought that Luke—effortless Luke—had been crying, but then she realised he’d probably just come from the pool. Naturally he was good at swimming too.
Then, embarrassed to be staring, she dragged her eyes from his and saw a little graze on his strong jaw. It made her smile just a little that perfect Luke must have cut himself shaving.
He returned her smile, though his was a curious one, as if wondering what might have amused her. ‘I’m Luke,’ he introduced. ‘Luke Harris.’
‘I know,’ Pippa said, smiling. ‘I do pay attention in assembly. Well, sometimes...’
His smile widened and her heart seemed to do a small somersault, almost escaping the confines of her chest.
He looked at the upside-down form she had started to fill out. ‘Philippa?’
‘Yes, but—’ She’d been about to tell him she usually went by Pippa, but then found she didn’t want to get into names.
Especially if it led to surnames.
Westford wasn’t a particularly unusual name, but there was just one other at their school.
Julia.
And in that moment Pippa didn’t want to be recognised as Julia’s sister.
They looked nothing alike—Julia was petite and blonde, with huge blue eyes, whereas Pippa was all wild, dark curls and more sturdily framed. As for her eyes... Well, last week’s art homework had been to find the closest hue to your eyes on the colour chart. Try as she might to match something wonderful, like jade or malachite, Pippa’s had discovered that her eyes were plain old army-green.
And even more awkward than comparing their looks, whenever anyone found out who she was there was always an uncomfortable pause, a flicker of sympathy, a particular weighty hush or an enquiry as to how Julia was doing.
Always.
Luke was in the same form as Julia, and even if she had been too unwell to attend much school this year, he’d know her.
He would also know, as everyone did, that Julia had cystic fibrosis and that her heart and lung transplant hadn’t been the success everybody had hoped for, and he would naturally enquire how she was...
Pippa knew she was the lucky one.
Sometimes, though, all she felt was invisible.
The one who could take care of herself. The one whose problems really didn’t matter.
What was a pair of broken glasses when your sister had been admitted to hospital that very day? What was getting your first period when your sister had just been given the news that she’d been placed on the transplant list? And why on earth would you cry over a few spots, even a face full of them, when your sister was dying?
Pippa had felt guilty, rubbing in the cream she’d bought to try and get rid of the spots. She’d clearly used far too much cream, because the peroxide had turned the long strings of brown curls on her forehead into an odd shade of orange.
Though she didn’t want to admit to being Julia’s little sister, Pippa loved her very much, and was terrified at the thought of a world without her. But Pippa had no one to go to with her fears, because her parents were consumed by enough fears for all of them.
It was nice, for a moment, to sit in the quiet library and talk about herself.
‘The careers guidance wasn’t much help,’ Pippa admitted.
She had tried to discuss it with Julia, who had been happy to do so, but her mother had ushered her away and then scolded her in the kitchen.
‘Have some tact, Pippa,’ she’d told her, reminding her that Julia didn’t have the luxury of planning a future.
And so another topic had been added to the forbidden conversation list. She certainly hadn’t felt able to ask her parents about subject selection, and the fifteen-minute interview with the careers counsellor had been confusing rather than enlightening.
‘What GCSEs are you taking?’ Luke asked, and Pippa told him.
‘I like French,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think I could make a career out of it.’
‘So you’re not looking to be a translator?’
‘Gosh, no. I think I’ll just save it for holidays.’ Pippa smiled. ‘It’s the same with art,’ she admitted. ‘I like sketching and ceramics—’ she chewed on her pen for a moment ‘—actually, I love art. Well, I did until last week...’ She suddenly smiled.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing. Just...’
‘Just what?’
He persisted, and it felt new and unfamiliar to have someone persist, to have someone other than her sister truly wanting to know her thoughts, or wanting to know the reason a smile had flickered across her face.
It was so pleasing that Pippa readily told him about the homework assignment, and the rather disappointing conclusion that the colour of her eyes was army-green.
‘It’s not very exciting.’
‘Better than brown,’ he said. ‘You clearly enjoy art.’
‘I do, but...’ She shrugged tightly in a manner that usually would have closed a conversation, and yet he waited...waited for her to elaborate. ‘It’s the same as French, though: I can’t see myself making a career out of it...’
‘You could always combine the two and be a pavement artist in Paris...’
Pippa laughed at the very notion. ‘I think I’d feel ripped off if I was in Paris getting my portrait done and I got me as the artist.’ She realised that probably didn’t make sense, and began to explain better, but he just smiled.
‘Anything?’ he asked. ‘If you could be anything?’
She turned the question to him, ‘What would you be?’
His head moved to one side, as if he’d never actually considered it.
‘Anything?’ she insisted.
‘Rock star,’ he grinned.
‘Guitar?’
‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head. ‘Drums.’
‘Drummers are the wild ones,’ Pippa mused. ‘Can you play the drums?’
‘I’ve never tried,’ he admitted, and Pippa started to laugh.
‘Shh!’ they were told by the librarian.
Luke came around the table and sat beside her. She could feel him next to her, reading through the notes she’d made during the career counsellor’s session.
‘The police?’
‘Detective.’ Pippa pointed to the clarification. ‘That was her suggestion,’ Pippa said. ‘I stay calm in a crisis and I’m big on trust.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s me, though...’
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘No,’ he agreed.
‘You have to be in uniform first, and I can’t run.’
‘You can’t run?’
Pippa shook her head.
‘Can’t or won’t?’ he asked.
‘Both,’ Pippa admitted, and then watched as he went back to the odd little notes she’d written.
‘Cake?’ He frowned at the single word. ‘Are you into baking?’
‘No.’ Pippa shook her head. ‘It was just... I was explaining to the careers counsellor that I’d thought about nursing.’
‘But what does that have to do with cake?’
‘I just...’ Her voice trailed off.
Pippa knew she couldn’t tell him without sounding a little selfish. She hadn’t considered nursing for altruistic reasons; it was actually because of something nice that had happened. On the day she had been turning seven she had woken up excited, yet when she’d gone downstairs it had been a neighbour in the kitchen who had explained that Julia had been taken ill in the early hours.
That evening Pippa had been taken to see her sister, who by then had thankfully stabilised. Pippa had hugged her, just wanting to climb in bed beside her, but it had been all masks and gowns for adults, and she’d been told to stay well back.
Pippa had felt guilty for her own disappointment that nobody had even wished her a happy birthday, but then a nurse had come into the side ward, carrying a cake. Everybody had sung ‘Happy Birthday’ and for a short while she had felt remembered.
‘Why does nursing appeal?’ Luke persisted, dragging her back to the present.
Pippa realised then that it wasn’t just his dark good looks that made him popular—he listened, and he engaged with people—with her—fully.
‘I just think it’s something...’ Pippa didn’t really know how to elaborate—and not just because she didn’t want to mention Julia. That nurse had made such a difference. Had made her feel like an important part of the family, even if just for a little while. ‘Something I might like...’
‘So what do you need for that?’
‘Two or three A levels, one in science. I know I want to do biology and English...’ Pippa spoke in a low whisper and thought how nice it was to actually talk it through with someone. ‘I really want to do art, but...’ She shrugged.
‘But...?’
‘I don’t think I’m that good.’
‘My mother paints. She’s dreadful at it...’ His voice faded, as if he was lost in thought for a moment, but then he quickly regrouped, and his gorgeous brown eyes were back on Pippa. ‘You really enjoy it?’
‘Very much,’ she admitted. She’d been taught to hold in her emotions, or to handle them herself, but in art class she felt she could let them slip out. ‘I find it peaceful. Ceramics especially...’
‘Then do it.’
Their heads moved closer together and she expected to smell chlorine, given that he’d just been at the pool. Or rather, given that his red eyes had made her assume he’d been swimming.
She looked up and in the lamplight saw again his reddened, slightly swollen eyes. She swallowed.
He had been crying.
Was it possible that Luke Harris was also hiding from the world in the library?
Just as she didn’t want to reveal her surname, Pippa knew he wouldn’t want her to probe.
Still, she did enquire a little with her eyes.
There was just a moment when each stared at the other, and Pippa forgot about the tape on her glasses and that her fringe was streaked with orange.
It was as if both knew that behind the smiles and easy chatter there was hurt.
‘Don’t give up art if you enjoy it,’ he said, still staring at her.
‘It might be a waste. Maybe I should just focus on two...’
‘But it’s your favourite subject.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘It’s really relaxing. It’s not like being in a class.’
‘Then don’t let it go.’
Pippa knew he was right—knew he was confirming what she’d wanted to hear, that she should do a subject she enjoyed—and so she nodded. ‘I think I will do it.’
‘Good.’
But now her dilemma was a little more solved, Pippa found that she didn’t want to leave the path of his gaze. His eyes were more than chocolate-brown. She wanted to go back to her colour charts and try to identify it. Yet, despite their beauty, she could not ignore the redness of the whites and the slight puffiness of his heavy lids.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
He didn’t answer straight away. Nor did he query why she might ask such a thing.
People were packing up, the end of lunch bell was ringing, and activity was all around. Yet for a moment they remained there, her question still hanging in the air between them.
‘I will be,’ he finally said, and then gave her a sort of downturned smile.
‘Can I help?’ Pippa asked, and then blushed. Because as if she could offer Luke Harris advice on anything! ‘I just—’
‘I’ll be fine.’ He stood up. ‘Better get back. What have you got now?’
‘Double art,’ Pippa said, and his smile turned a little upwards. ‘You?’ she asked as they walked out of the library together.
‘Double sport.’
Her art class flew by, as it always did, and as well as glazing a pot she’d made Pippa worked on a little ceramic heart to go into the kiln.
‘Is that for Julia?’ the art teacher asked, because she often made little ornaments for her sister.
Pippa didn’t answer.
She walked home, stopping to pick up the new pair of glasses she had ordered, and also to get some groceries her mother had asked her to fetch. And then she went on to the chemist to pick up the special lotion Julia needed for her skin, now that she was spending most of her time in bed.
All the while, though, Pippa was replaying her time in the library with Luke, and then, as she turned into her street, she found herself in a daydream. One where the bell hadn’t gone and she and Luke had been locked in the library for hours, days... A convenient siege situation or a blackout or something. And, given it was her daydream, she’d been a year or two older, and not wearing taped-up glasses with flares of orange in her hair. But what about the loo...? There were none in the library!
That tripped up her fantasy, but she decided to ignore that issue for the moment. She returned to her daydream.
When she got home, Pippa thought, Julia could give her the inside gossip on him. Perhaps she could work Luke into the conversation and find out more about him? Or even tell Julia that the totally normal crush she’d had on Luke had been massively upgraded to full-blown infatuation...
She took a breath before she turned the key in the front door. It was something she’d only recently become aware of: a certain nervousness as to what she might come home to.
‘Hi?’ she called out, and then saw her mum coming out of the kitchen. ‘I got the shopping.’
‘How was school?’
‘Good. We had to think about A-level subject selection—’
‘That’s nice.’
‘I’m thinking about—’
‘Julia’s got something exciting to tell you,’ her mother interrupted, without waiting to hear any more about Pippa’s day. ‘It’s good news!’ She prompted an appropriate response as Pippa put down the groceries. ‘But I’ll let her tell you herself.’
‘Sure,’ Pippa said, and then headed up the stairs.
‘Hey...’ Pippa knocked on the open bedroom door and smiled at her sister, who was sitting propped up in bed and just finishing a nebuliser. Pippa took the mask, and was hanging it up when Julia’s breathy voice came.
‘Guess what?’
‘What?’ Pippa asked, and sat on her sister’s bed.
‘Luke called. He’s finally asked me out.’ Julia smiled. ‘Luke Harris!’
It was selfish, Pippa was sure, to have such a painful sinking feeling...to be jealous of her sister’s happiness when she had so little in her life.
‘We’re going to the school dance,’ Julia elaborated and lay back on the pillow, her cornflower-blue eyes shining and a smile on her dusky lips.
‘He just called,’ their mum said, coming into the bedroom, all smiles. ‘Said that he’d missed seeing Julia at school.’
‘Oh.’
For a few seconds it was all Pippa could manage. She’d known, deep down, that he’d just been being nice this lunchtime and had never been going to ask her out. But it was such a painfully abrupt end to her daydream, to her little escape.
She forced out a more suitable response. ‘That’s brilliant.’
Luke came to the house a couple of times, although Pippa stayed in her room. But at school Luke looked straight through her the one time she passed him in the hall. She consoled herself with the likelihood that he was either going in or coming out of an exam.
On the night of the school dance she helped Julia with her make-up, and thought her big sister looked gorgeous in her pale silver dress.
‘You look beautiful,’ Pippa said as she added a little more blusher. ‘Are you excited?’
‘Nervous,’ Julia admitted. ‘But excited too!’
It had taken weeks to get Julia well enough to attend the dance. Her medications had had to be tailored for this one precious night, and there was oxygen set up in a private room at the hall should she need it. But for now she looked simply perfect.
‘He’s here!’ Their mum came in. ‘Dad will carry you down the stairs,’ she asserted, ‘so you can save your breath for dancing.’
‘I don’t want Luke to see me being carried,’ Julia warned.
It was Julia’s night, so Pippa stayed upstairs as her sister was carried down. She knelt on the bed, fiddling with the little ceramic heart she’d made on that special day, now on the window ledge. Since then it had been fired, and she’d painted it the closest shade she could find to match Luke’s eyes. The next week she’d glazed it and it had been fired again.
Now she watched Luke walk Julia to the waiting car and felt guilty for wishing that she was the girl on his arm.
For the first time ever, she wished that she was Julia.
