Desperate Measures - [9]

Chapter 7

Norma lay on the bed. She wanted to turn over and open her eyes, to see Don there, solid, real. To make that real, not this. Not this appalling thing they had told her. Forty-four years together and now she was alone. would snap under the pressure, that her bones would crack like twigs and her head burst and her heart collapse. She had heard the adage that a woman had to be twice as good as a man to do half as well and here it was writ large. The lecturers, from the most junior to the professors, treated her in one of two ways: either she was invisible, ignored when tasks were allocated or opinions invited; or she was a dolly-bird for them to leer at or fondle. The first time her anatomy tutor slapped her bottom she felt a rush of shame followed by a sting of anger but all she did was giggle like some character in a Carry On film. And on the rare occasion that Professor Malkin spoke to her, he stared at her breasts all the while. She hated it but had to put up with it. She’d have been blacklisted if she’d tried to object or complain.

By the summer term of the first year she was close to dropping out. No matter how hard she studied, how many hours she spent reading in the library or memorizing schema and lists until the words danced and blurred on the page and her neck was locked stiff and her headache grew more nauseating, she was never more than mediocre in her tests and essays. She feared she would not get through her exams.

It was then, at her lowest point, that she first met Don. She was on campus, unlocking her bike ready to go home. It was windy and her hair was whipping in her eyes. She climbed onto the seat, pedalled a few yards and felt a jarring sensation. A puncture. She burst into tears, feet planted either side of the bike, hands covering her eyes. Then she heard him. ‘Give it a good kicking. That’s what I do.’

She didn’t know him, he wasn’t in her intake. She sniffed, wiped her face. Said nothing.

‘Or maybe not in those.’

Her shoes were open-toed. She wore flatties for rounds but kept decent shoes in her locker.

‘I can offer you coffee?’ he said.

She was about to refuse, not knowing if he would expect something in return.

‘Or bus fare home?’

‘I’ve got bus fare,’ she said.

‘Coffee then. Come on, it’s bloody freezing.’

She went with him, wheeling her bike, to the Italian coffee bar around the corner.

‘I’m Don,’ he said, on the way, ‘third-year medicine.’

‘Norma,’ she said, wondering if her mascara had run. ‘First year, but probably not for much longer.’ She meant to make a joke of it but it sounded like she was whining so she added, ‘Sorry, awful day… week.’

‘I could tell you it’ll get easier,’ he said, holding the café door open for her, ‘but I’d be lying.’

She groaned.

Settled with their espressos, he offered her a cigarette. She took it, grateful to have something to fiddle with, she felt so awkward.

He chatted away, making her laugh with his comments on the teaching staff. He seemed so confident, not at all ill at ease given he’d just seen her bawling her eyes out. He just seemed to believe everything was basically all right.

His company, the cigarette and the coffee, the warm fug of the place helped her to relax so that when he finally said, ‘So what’s the hardest thing?’ she could answer without welling up. ‘I can’t sleep,’ she said. ‘It just keeps going round and round and then I’m simply exhausted. And I get these blinding headaches. I’ve tried Pro Plus but I can’t see that it’s helping.’

‘You need a doctor.’ He smiled. He’d thick fair hair, just touching his collar, a slightly ruddy complexion like someone who enjoyed the outdoors. A hearty look. He didn’t walk her home but he did invite her to the pictures the following week. And when they met he brought with him something she could use for the headaches and something for sleeping.

Those heady days when they were first in love, when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. She’d tried the birth control pill but the side effects, the bloated feeling, the tension and PMT were dreadful. At the family planning clinic they said she could use a different brand or the Dutch cap but she thought that was just too messy, and she didn’t want to stop each time and put it in, so eventually she opted for a coil. It would allow her to be spontaneous, just as the pill had, to respond whenever he reached for her.

She passed her exams, just, and made it through to the second year and she’d moved into a room in Don’s shared house. It was a way of living together without upsetting their parents.

Don was right, medical school had not got any easier, but the painkillers sorted out her headaches and she was sleeping better, she was less anxious. Sometimes it was still hard to concentrate but she didn’t get all in a state about it. They were both working flat out but there were always uppers available if they needed a kickstart for a party at the end of a long week.

Don had the constitution of an ox, no matter how much he drank or what he took, he’d wolf down a full English breakfast and coffee and aspirin and be ready for anything. Norma couldn’t stomach food on those mornings, she would take more tablets and drink some water and do her best to sleep the day away. If she did try and face the world she felt queasy and shaken as though some terrible thing had happened and she was partly to blame. It fuelled her anxiety so it was best to hide away. She would emerge at teatime, finally ready for a plate of macaroni cheese or liver and onions or whatever Don had thrown together. Usually Norma cooked, her mother had taught her, though it was important to make things she could do quickly with the burden of work still so heavy. And they could only afford cheap cuts. Don had a full grant, Norma’s parents gave her a modest allowance and they tried to live within their means.