Chapter 5: The First Night

The barman came over and I ordered a lager because I couldn't think of anything else.

James didn't look up from his phone.

I sat with my hands around the glass and let the football play on the screen above the optics.

I'd never done this before.

I'd spent nine years in operating theatres where I knew exactly what to say and when to say it.

In a bar I had nothing.

"Sorry," James said suddenly, and put the phone face down. "Work."

"That's alright."

"You here on your own?"

"First week in London," I said. "I don't know anyone."

"Where from?"

"Manchester. I did my masters there."

That was in the file Martin had built. I'd read it four times in the flat.

"Manchester's alright," James said. "Grey, though."

"Very grey."

He laughed at that, and it was a real laugh, short and surprised.

"I'm James."

"Lucas."

We shook hands across the corner of the bar.

His hand was dry and warm and his grip was ordinary, and I hated how ordinary it was.

"So what do you do, Lucas."

"PhD. Surgical sciences. I start at UCL next month."

James put his pint down and turned on his stool to face me properly.

"Surgical sciences. So you're not a proper doctor."

"Not yet."

"Good. Proper doctors are miserable people."

He said it with a grin, and I made myself grin back.

"You're one, then."

"Registrar. Cardiothoracics."

"Where."

"City Wellness. Out east."

I took a drink and let the glass sit in front of my mouth for a second.

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