Pairing: cardiac!surgeon!Harry Styles x escort!Reader
POV: text messages, reader's POV
Setting: London, first contact
Warnings: none
Summary: Harry is used to keeping people at a distance. You are used to being paid to understand boundaries. So when he hires you for one wedding and a perfectly controlled lie, neither of you expects it to become anything more.
Summary: You end up in hospital with suspected endometriosis and Harry is the doctor on hand to help you.
Pairing: Doctor!Harry x Reader
Word count: 2,988
A/N: this was a request from a follower who suffers with endometriosis, from researching this topic I've released what a horrible condition this is and I hope I've done it justice! Hope you enjoy. As always, feel free to send in any requests!
Ever since you were 14 years old, you had suffered terribly with your periods. It would start with pain in your lower back, then the sickness would hit, then the intense cramping and your periods would be so heavy you had to change tampons every 30-60 minutes.
Despite multiple visit to the doctors, everyone assured you it was normal. You knew it wasn't normal, your friends never suffered as badly on their periods, they never had to cancel pains because of pain and they weren't sick because of stomach cramping.
It wasn't just when you were on your period you would have these symptoms. The back ache, the cramps were part of your daily life for most days of the month. Taking painkillers twice a day had become normal for you.
No doctor had ever taken you seriously, always claiming “it’s not uncommon for women to have cramps on their period” which enraged you more and more each time a doctor told you this.
You weren’t stupid, of course women suffered from cramps with their periods but your cramps were unlike anything you had read was normal. Your periods were more than just heavy, you would pass out on the first day you were on because of the amount of blood loss.
Despite previously advocating for yourself and asking for further tests as you'd always suspected it was endometriosis but your doctor refused as there 'wasn't enough evidence of the disease', funnily enough, your doctor was an old man in his 60's.
Tonight was one of those nights where you were having a severe flareup. You were doubled over in bed with pain, you had thrown up 3 times and your flow was the heaviest its been in a long time. You had already taken 4 ibuprofen over the course of 4 hours and it wasn't touching the pain.
You moved into the bathroom where you were you were sick another 2 times and you started to feel dizzy and lightheaded. This usually never ended well when you felt like this. You knew this wasn't good so you called your friend, Sophie to ask her to grab you some anti-sickness tablets from the shops and to come over to help you.
When she arrived, she only had to look at you to realise it was serious this time. "Y/N, we need to get you to the hospital"
"No Sophie I'll be fine I promise" you let out a scream in pain but you were not going to the hospital for another doctor to tell you it was "just period pains again".
"Y/N you can barely look at me or stand up without screaming in pain"
"Sophie please" you winced in pain as another shooting pain went up your abdomen. It felt like it was on fire.
"I'm really worried about you, if you won't go for you, go for me. I'll drive you. What if it's something serious?"
Another wave of nausea and intense pain made you give in and nod to her in agreement. She helped you get up and changed into leggings and a sports bra and into the car.
The sickness had stopped thankfully but the pain felt like it was intensifying with every minute that passed, so much so you were now in tears as Sophie drove to the hospital.
When you arrived, it was an agonising 2 hour wait in A&E until a nurse called your name. She asked questions about your symptoms and you explained you suspected you had endometriosis. She did some basic tests, gave you some more pain medication and left to get the doctor.
When the doctor came, he repeated the same questions, did an examination and ultrasound of your stomach and ordered you some stronger medication. "Your stomach feels completely normal, your blood pressure is high but that's most likely due to the pain and your temperature is raised slightly as is your heart rate. I'll give you some morphine through an IV which should help reduce the pain and some paracetamol for the high temperature. I've ruled out appendicitis, gallstones and a stomach ulcer so I'm going to ask the Consultant Gynaecologist to come and examine you further as it does sound like you're experiencing symptoms of endometriosis"
Finally someone who understood, but apparently it was a busy Thursday night in Gynaecology as it was 3 hours before anyone from that department came to see you.
"Hi, I'm Harry Styles I'm the consultant Gynaecologist this evening, Y/n isn't it?" a doctor in navy blue scrubs with tattoos down his right arm said to you, as he walked through the door with a clipboard.
The first thing you noticed about him was how attractive he was, and his hair. It was dark brown and was clipped back with a black claw clip, he had a slight moustache but you could tell it had recently been trimmed as it looked almost too neat but it made him even hotter. This was not the time or the place to be looking for your next boyfriend, the pain in your abdomen reminded you why you were here in the first place.
"oh hi, yeah I'm y/n. Nice to meet you Dr Styles"
He grabbed a seat and brought it next to you and sat down on it, well, more like straddled on it which made you feel some kind of way. "Please, call me Harry. Nice to meet you y/n, I hear you're not doing too well. What's been going on?"
You told him all your symptoms and how long they had been going on for, to which he wrote some things down. He looked concerned as you went through them, raising an eyebrow at the more worrying signs like the fainting spells and extreme heavy periods.
"Why haven't they sent you for further tests? "he asked once you had finished giving him your history. He looked concerned which gave you hope that he might actually be willing to help you.
"My doctor says it's normal, I've tried to push for more tests but he says all women get cramps on their period"
He rolled his eyes before realising you had seen him do it "Sorry that's unprofessional of me, it’s just frustrating when healthcare professional dismiss issues like this, but don't worry Y/N, we'll get to the bottom of it for you" he smiled reassuringly at you.
He seemed genuine, kind and empathetic, something while previous doctors haven't been to you.
"Do you mind if I do a quick exam? I know you're in pain right now so I'll be as gentle as I can" he asked and you nodded. He got up and sanitised his hands before asking you to lift up your top to reveal your stomach.
You felt a little anxious as he rubbed his hands together to spread the sanitiser on his hands "Sorry my hands might be cold" he smiled warmly to you which revealed his perfect white teeth that made you blush a little.
“I’m just going to lightly press on a few areas, let me know if anywhere is worse than others”
You winced in pain a few times as he was doing the exam, him apologising each time.
After the exam, he sat back down "I'd like to do a laparoscopy as soon as we can, it's small operation to look inside your tummy to determine what's going on. It's keyhole surgery so you wont have a a large scare. An ultrasound doesn't always pick up endometriosis as it can develop behind organs so in order for me to give you an accurate diagnosis, this would be the best way. Does that sound okay?"
"Y-yes, I guess so. Do you think it is?"
"It could be, it would explain your symptoms but as I say, I can't know for sure without having a look internally. Don't worry it won’t take long, maybe 30-45 minutes. I’ll have a good look and then depending on what I find, we can discuss the outcome once you come round. Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah that’s fine” you replied, you didn’t have much else to say, you were too overwhelmed with the whole situation.
"Good, I'll go and speak to the team and get you up to theatre within the hour. Someone will be in to talk you through everything. I know things are moving fast but I want to get to the bottom of this for you tonight" he put a hand on yours to reassure you and smiled.
He stood up to leave the room. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“What if I do have it? What happens then?” You asked.
“So as I mentioned we’ll do what’s called an exploratory laparoscopy first which is just to see what’s going on. This doesn’t involve the removal of cells or anything, however if we confirm it is endo you have, then we’ll make a plan on the best way to move forward. That might involve surgery, it might not. It just depends on what I find” he smiled at you reassuringly.
“Okay, thanks. That’s all I think” you told him.
“No problem y/n, I’ll let the team know to get you prepped and I’ll see you in a bit” Harry told you as he stepped out the room.
Sophie was holding your hand for support. You were so nervous. You had never been put under before and you weren’t sure what to expect.
“What if something happens Soph, like what if there’s a complication or something?” You turned to her, immediately panicking about going under general anaesthesia.
“you’ll be fine y/n, they’ll look after you really well and I’ll be here when you wake up. The doctor said it wouldn’t take long. It’ll just be like taking a nap” she said trying to convince you that everything would be alright. Which it would be, you trusted Dr Styles, you were just overthinking everything.
Over the next hour, various nurses came in to help you get prepped for surgery. With every passing moment, your heart rate was increasing with anxiety and before you knew it, it was time for the surgery. You said goodbye to Sophie and she wished you luck.
You were wheeled through to the theatre where you just about shit yourself with all the medical staff and equipment.
“Hey y/n, how you doing?” You heard the familiar doctors voice from before behind you.
You looked round to see Dr Styles now with a scrub cap and gown on, but still looking attractive.
“I-I’m okay” was all you managed to get out due to nerves.
“I know it’s scary being in here with everything going on but we’ll take good care of you, I promise” he smiled to you and you believed him. Just being in his presence made you feel safe.
You nodded your head and he smiled “Dr Styles you’re needed over here” a nurse called on him.
He looked back at you “I’ll let the nurses look after you now, I’ll see you when you’re awake okay? Trust me, you’ll be absolutely fine”
He smiled reassuringly to you and dashed off to wherever he needed to go and you were left feeling anxious again. The nurses helped get you ready for surgery and before you knew it, you were being put to sleep.
*A few hours later*
“Hey sweetie, you’re all done. How are you feeling?” A nurse asked you as you were coming round from the anaesthesia.
In all honesty you felt like you had been hit by a bus. You felt exhausted, nauseous and you were in pain again, which you were sure was from the surgery.
“Let me get you some water” she said, noticing your pale complexion.
You looked over and seen your friend Sophie sitting by your bedside holding your hand, she smiled at you. “You okay?” She asked and you nodded in response.
The nurse who had introduced herself as Annie handed you some water and you took a sip of it, mainly to satisfy her. You just wanted to sleep.
“Everything went well, are you in any pain and I can give you some more painkillers?”
You nodded and she gave you more medication through your IV to help.
You sat up in bed, with the help of Annie and Sophie and you felt a little better.
“D-do I have it?” You asked the nurse sheepishly.
“I’ll let the surgeon know you’re awake and he can come talk to you” was all she said with a smile before leaving the room.
You turned to Sophie “What do you think that means? Have they told you anything?”
“No they haven’t said anything to me, she probably just wants you to hear it from the doctor himself”
A few minutes later, you heard a knock on the door and seen Dr Styles popping his head in.
“Hey, can I come in?” He asked and you nodded.
“How are you feeling?” He asked closing the door for privacy behind him. He grabbed a chair and sat beside your bed with some paperwork in his hands.
“I’m okay, a little sore and tired” you told him.
“Have you had anything to help with the pain and nausea?” He asked, sounding concerned as he picked up your chart and started flicking through it.
“Yeah they’ve given me medication” his face softened into a small smile.
“Good, it should kick in soon. It’s good that you’re awake now, see I told you you would be okay!” he joked and you laughed slightly.
“I’ll get straight to it as I know you’ll be eager to hear how things went. So overall it went very smoothly, as I mentioned it was exploratory keyhole surgery just for us to have a look and see what’s going on.
When I first went in, everything looked absolutely normal which I thought might be the case because your ultra sound was clear. However, when I went a little deeper it was apparent that the cells that cause endometriosis were present behind your bladder” he paused to let you take the information in.
“The good news is, the cells have only regionalised in that one area so it's only affected the one area. It does mean you officially have a diagnoses of endometriosis and it now allows us to deal with it. How do you feel about that?” he asked.
“I’m- I can’t believe it” you stuttered, not quite believing that after all these years, someone had finally listened to you.
“I understand it’s overwhelming when you’ve been dealing with this for a number of years, it’s good news in a way because it means now you have some answers” Harry said to you.
“Yeah it is, I’m so pleased. Thank you so much for listening to me”
“It’s no trouble at all, I’m just doing my job, I’m happy to help” he smiled before continuing on.
“So the next step is to map out a sort of treatment plan, there is no direct cure for endometriosis as you may already know but there are things we can do that can relieve the symptoms. What I would highly recommend in your case is to have surgery in which we go in and remove the deposits of endometriosis. This would mean a few days recovery in hospital with continuous follow up appointments with myself for a few months but I’m almost certain that this would be the best chance for relieving your symptoms. Everyone is different but the surgery should stop your periods from being so heavy, help with the cramping and the general feeling of being unwell during your period. You don’t have to answer now, I’ve got some leaflets here on the surgery which you can read over and have a think about if it’s something you want to go ahead with or not”
“I want to do it. I’ve read online about the surgery and I want to have it” you said, not even having to think about it.
“I thought you might say that” he laughed “I legally need to explain the procedure, risks/benefits etc to you but after that if you’re happy to go ahead with it then so am I, I really think it’s your best chance”
“Yeah I want to go ahead” you confirmed.
“Okay, let me run through everything with you and then we can get a bit of a plan put together” Harry then spent the next 15 minutes explaining the ins and out and the procedure and making sure you understood the risks associated with it.
Once he was finished, he gave you some leaflets “have a read over these as well, mainly so that my arse doesn’t get kicked by management for not giving you them” he winked to you as he laid them on your bed.
“I’ll be back in to check on you in the morning and if everything looks good, you’ll be able to go home. If you need anything at all, press this button and the nurses will be able to help you. You look like you need a nap so I’m gonna go and leave you in peace. I’ll see you later”
You laughed at his comment “Thank you so much for your help, it truly means so much to me” you thanked him once again.
He smiled and winked at you before leaving the room. You blushed and felt butterflies in your stomach. Sophie winked at you once he was gone "only you would come into hospital and make a doctor wink at you" she joked and you laughed.
You couldn’t believe you had been diagnosed with endometriosis after years of advocating for yourself. It took just one understanding doctor like Harry to listen to you and help you get the diagnosis you needed and it helped that was really wasn't bad looking either.
paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.
warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.
Harry
“Move your car, please!”
“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”
“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”
I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.
The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.
I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.
“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.
“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”
“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.
Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”
“Do we like Rufus?”
“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”
I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”
Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?
After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.
There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.
Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.
A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.
“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.
“I am.”
“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”
Like I said, it’s a different land here.
“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.
“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”
A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.
“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.
“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”
Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.
“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.
“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”
“I’ll go if I have to.”
I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.
“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”
“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”
***
Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.
Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.
Speak of the devil.
“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”
“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.
See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.
Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.
I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.
“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”
“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”
“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”
“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”
“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”
“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.
***
The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.
“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.
The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.
This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”
His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.
“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.
“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.
“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”
“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.
She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”
She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.
Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.
“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”
“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”
“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.
“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.
“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”
“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”
A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”
I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”
“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”
“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”
“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”
The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.
I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”
Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.
“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”
I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.
“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”
I smile. “Go on.”
“And then my heart started running.”
“You mean racing?”
He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.
“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”
His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.
Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.
“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”
Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.
His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.
“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.
“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”
She smiles, nodding.
“Did you have any other questions for me?”
She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”
I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”
“He doesn’t know?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”
“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”
***
“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.
“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”
I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”
She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”
We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.
“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”
“Alright.”
I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.
It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.
Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.
“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.
“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”
She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”
***
“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”
“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.
“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.
“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”
Two uniformed minions appear.
“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”
They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.
“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.
This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.
“Red, please.”
We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.
The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”
I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.
“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.
“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”
My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.
“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”
Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.
I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.
I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.
“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.
My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”
“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”
Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.
I ask her. “Is it free?”
“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”
See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.
“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”
“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”
Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-
“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”
I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.
“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”
“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”
“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.
“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”
Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”
***
“I swear your daughter, Styles.”
We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.
“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”
I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.
“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”
“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For being a Styles.”
“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”
“What?”
“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.
Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.
“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”
The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.
“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”
She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.
“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”
“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”
“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”
“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”
“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”
“Ikea.”
“Fuck.”
“Meatballs.”
“Billy Bookcase.”
She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.
“Viggo Mortensen.”
“Isn’t he Danish?”
“Tomato, Tomahto.”
I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.
But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.
Being the new kid in school is never easy. When you’re in elementary school, it’s exciting. Everyone wants to know you and be your friend, but in middle school…the kids judged you on day one. Orla Murphy and her family moved to Boston halfway through fifth grade. It would have been one thing if it was summer, she’d be able to slide in undetected. She could just pretend she was from a different elementary school and be done with it. But no, her father got offered a new job in the big city that he couldn’t turn down. Orla’s an only child, so it wasn’t even like she could mope and complain with a sibling. It was just her and her parents, and even though her mother was a bit more sympathetic to her daughter’s misery, it didn’t make Orla feel better.
So, here she is, on her first day of school on February 1ststanding in front of a classroom of kids she doesn’t know, being forced to introduce herself and where she’s from.
“Go on, Orla, tell us a little about yourself.” The teacher says with a warm smile.
“Um…I’m Orla Murphy, I just moved here from Vermont. I’m from a small town where the whole school is the size of this classroom.” She looks down at her snow boots before looking up at the teacher.
“Wow, this’ll be quite the adjustment. What do you like to do for fun?”
“I draw and listen to music. I play Barbies, um…that’s all I can think of right now.”
“That’s fine, thank you, Orla. You can have a seat now.”
Orla goes back to where she was sitting before she got called up to introduce herself to her home room. She slumps down into her seat and listens to the morning announcements. The bell rings and it’s off to math. The class goes across the hall to the other teacher.
By the time lunch rolls around, Orla isn’t feeling much better about her new school. She had brought lunch, and wasn’t sure who to sit with. Her class has two assigned tables, but she doesn’t want to take anyone’s usual seat. She contemplates going to eat in the bathroom until someone taps her on the shoulder.
“You can sit with me and my friends, if you want.”
She turns around to look at a boy with a mess of chocolate brown curls on his head, a pair of round glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, and braces gracing his smile.
“Oh, um, thanks.” Orla blushes and follows him to one of the tables.
“I’m one of the few people that brings lunch too, everyone should be over soon. I’m Harry by the way.”
“Hi.” She says shyly.
“What kind of a name is Orla?” He asks, biting into his apple after they sit down.
“It’s Irish…”
“Cool! Does it mean anything.”
“Golden princess, or something like that, I don’t really know. My dad’s Irish and I guess his grandmother’s name was Orla so they named me after her.”
“That’s really cool. My mom just liked the name Harry, and now that’s my name.” He shrugs. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No.” She says, and pulls her sandwich out of her lunchbox. “Do you?”
“Mhm, I’ve got three older brothers, I’m the youngest. My oldest brother is a senior in high school, isn’t that cool? He’s going to college next year.”
“Does he drive you places?”
“Yeah! And sometimes he lets me sit in the front seat without my mom knowing. He’s the best.”
Orla felt like she was finally starting to open up, but Harry’s friends joined their table and took over the conversation. They acknowledged her, but didn’t make any effort to pull her back into the conversation. Harry noticed this and didn’t like it. She excuses herself a few minutes before the bell rings to go use the bathroom. There’s a study block after lunch where all of the kids in class could get a jump on homework, or read.
“Okay, everyone!” Mrs. Sampson, the teacher, cheers. “We’ve got a very special treat today. It’s Harry’s birthday, and his mom sent him in with cupcakes for the whole class!” Harry stands up and smiles as Mrs. Sampson places a birthday crown on his head. “Harry, would you like to pick someone to help you pass out the cupcakes?”
“Sure.” He nods and looks around the room. Many kids raise their hands with excitement. He spots Orla looking out the window with her chin resting on her fist. “I pick…Orla!”
Her attention snaps over to Harry while everyone looks at her. She stands up and walks over to him and takes a tray of cupcakes to help pass them out. Once everyone has their cupcakes, and a carton of milk supplied by Mrs. Sampson, the kids are allowed to sit with their friends and chat. Soon, some of the girls start talking with Orla, and it helps her feel more welcome.
By the end of the day, all of the kids are dismissed to go to their lockers and grab their backpacks before getting into their bus lines or go wait for their parents to pick them up. Orla sees Harry at his locker and she works up the courage to go talk to him.
“Hey, um, why’d you pick me earlier?” She asks him.
“Huh? Oh…I don’t know, I didn’t like that my friends were ignoring you at lunch. So, I just thought if you passed out the cupcakes with me more people would talk to you.” He rubs the back of his neck and grabs a card out of his locker. “Listen, I’m having a birthday party this weekend at Roller World, you should come.” He hands her the invitation. “The whole class is coming, it’ll be fun.”
“I’ll, um, I’ll ask my parents…thanks, Harry.”
“Don’t mention it.” He smiles. “Are you taking the bus home?”
“Yeah.”
“What number?”
“Eleven.”
“That’s my bus! You weren’t on it this morning.” He closes his locker and they start making their way to the auditorium where the bus lines are.
“Yeah, my mom wanted to drop me off this morning to walk me into the office so I could get my schedule and stuff.”
“Cool, where do you live?”
“I’m the second to last house on the left of Langston Ave…number twenty-four.”
“You can’t be serious. That’s literally right across the street from where I live! I was wondering who moved into that house. I’m number twenty-seven.”
“Whoa, that’s freaky.” Orla blinks.
“Well, at least you know you have a friend close by. We can wait at the bus stop in the mornings together if you want.” The two go into their line and wait as the teacher on duty keeps them at bay. “Do you wanna sit together?”
“That’s okay, I’m sure you have other friends you usually sit with.”
“Yeah, but none of them are new and exciting.” He scoffs. “Unless…uh, if you don’t wanna sit with me that’s totally fine.”
“No, I do! I just didn’t want you to think you had to offer.” She blushes.
“You’re funny, you know that?” He gives her shoulder a nudge with his hand, and the teacher lets the kids know they can go to their bus.
Orla follows Harry outside and onto bus eleven. He grabs a seat in the middle of the bus and sits down. Orla sits down next to him and smiles. The two talk the whole way home. Harry listens as Orla explains what her dad does for work and why they had to move.
“You’re gonna like living closer to the city, I think. It’s really fun to ride the trains and stuff.” Harry tells her.
They get to their stop and make their way off the bus. Orla’s mom is waiting outside on their front steps for her with a smile on her face.
“Um, thanks for being so nice to me today.” Orla says to Harry.
“You don’t have to thank me. Don’t forget to ask your parents about coming to my party on Saturday, okay?”
“Okay, bye.”
“See you tomorrow.” Harry smiles before crossing the street to his house.
“There she is! How was your day? Was that a new friend?” Orla’s mom gives her a big hug and kiss.
“Mum, stop!” She pushes her mother off of her and they both go into the house. “I got invited to a party on Saturday, can I go?” She hands her mother the invitation Harry had given her.
“Sure! I think I can make this work. I knew you’d make friends right away.”
“I didn’t make friends, I just made one. His name is Harry.” Orla sits down at the kitchen island while her mom makes up an after school snack for her.
“One is still good, Honey. I know this move hasn’t been easy for you, but I’m so proud of you for making it through your first day.” Mrs. Murphy sets down some peanut butter covered celery sticks in front of Orla. “Were your teachers nice?”
“Mhm, Mrs. Simmons is my homeroom teacher, and she’s my English and Social Studies teacher. Mrs. Rayburn is my math and science teacher from across the hall. We had a study block after lunch and we had cupcakes cause it’s Harry’s birthday. Tomorrow we have art after lunch.”
“That’ll be fun.” Mrs. Murphy smiles. “Wait until Dad gets home, he’ll be so happy to hear how your first day went.”
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