Men In Uniform: Mad About The Doctor. Natalie Anderson

herself she was being stupid, told herself she’d warned herself that this would happen.

      ‘Alison?’ Ellie was just dashing in before the start of her late shift, the surprise evident in her voice at catching her friend less than strong, because over the years she’d never seen her cry. ‘Are you okay?’

      ‘I’m tired,’ she admitted, because suddenly she was. ‘And there’s this poor man, he’s been shoved from pillar to post. He’s been here since two this morning and we’ve only just found him a bed, his daughter just went off at me—’

      ‘I know,’ Ellie said, because anyone who worked in Emergency did know that families sometimes took out their frustration on the closest target, and even if Vivienne hadn’t been that bad, some days it just hurt.

      ‘All okay?’ Sheila, the NUM, came in then and Alison even managed a wry smile that her escape to the loos had become so public and made a little note to herself not to go into meltdown till she was safely in a cubicle.

      ‘A relative upset her,’ Ellie explained.

      ‘It’s not just that,’ Alison admitted. ‘I don’t feel so great.’

      ‘You don’t look so great,’ Sheila said, and because it was Alison, who was always stoic, she knew it wasn’t an excuse. ‘Why don’t you take a half-day? What are you on tomorrow?’

      ‘An early.’

      ‘Go home.’ Sheila was firm and fair and knew how hard her staff worked. ‘If you don’t feel any better this evening, give us a call so we can arrange cover tomorrow.’

      Alison felt more than a little guilty as she collected her bag, because even if she was tired and teary, there was another reason for it. The bus took for ever, it just crawled along and stopped at every stop. Maybe she was more than tired, she decided, trudging up the street to her house. Maybe she was getting the flu or something.

      It was Tuesday, because the house smelt like beef stroganoff as she entered, though it smelt stronger today. Alison headed for her room, but the smell was in there too, permeating the whole house. She opened a window, swallowing a couple of times, and then fled to the loo, which was thankfully a lot quieter than the one at work.

      ‘No.’

      She actually said it out loud as she headed back to the bedroom, climbed into bed and very deliberately blocked that thought, and blocked it again when her mum came home and Alison had to fly back to the bathroom again.

      ‘I think I’ve got gastro,’ Alison said, and there were benefits to living at home, because she got some water, then tea and toast all brought to her, and her mum rang up Sheila to say that she wasn’t well and wouldn’t be in tomorrow.

       You okay? I heard you were sick.

      She read his text at ten p.m. and didn’t reply.

      Just turned on her side and tried to get to sleep.

      She truly didn’t know what to say.