Clint was still half asleep as he stamped the rain off his boots and followed Pavel up the stairs the next morning. They threw the door open and flicked the light switch, and Clint was jolted into full consciousness at the sight of the orange cones and sawdust. A set of footprints, obviously from a pair of ladies' shoes, headed away from the site of the spill, fading as they weaved through the parked cars.
They both knew instantly that they had sent Melinda to her fate at the top of the stairs.
“Oh, crap,” was all Clint could say, with a slump of his shoulders.
“Don't worry, he didn't want to see her anyway,” said Pavel, patting Clint on the back. “But if you've got any chance of not getting the bullet, you'd better clean this up before he gets here.”
Clint knew Pavel was right, and set about the task with gusto. Pavel was checking the job sheets and planning out the day, but every now and again he'd drop by to see how Clint was going, bringing over something to help with the clean up or offering some advice.
The patch of floor was conspicuously cleaner than the rest of the workshop floor before Craig arrived, and the “incident” discussed directly again.
Melinda sat at her desk, greeting patients and watching the waiting room fill up with nervous and damp looking sick people. The rain had been falling since early morning, and it had been an effort to get there and not drown. What they didn't know was that the doctor was half an hour late arriving, and Melinda was about to ring her boss to suggest he come in through the back window rather than run the gauntlet of irate moistness that lurked in the waiting room, when her phone rang.
“Surgery, can I help you?”
“Mel, it's me. I've had a car accident, and we've been here with the police for a while.”
“Are you OK? What about the car?” she said with genuine concern.
“I'm fine. Car isn't so bad, but not drivable. I won't be there for another half an hour at least, so can you do some rescheduling.”
“What shall I tell them?” she said quietly.
“Make up something, will you? Oh, look, I've got to talk to the police again.”
“Where are you having the car towed to?”
“No idea. The towtruck driver who got here first is listing his options – would be great if he was listing mine.”
“Get him to take it to Advanced Smash Repairs in Crighton Road. They're brilliant.”
“Never heard of it. This is no ordinary car, I can't just take it anywhere.” There was some shouting at the other end of the line that Melinda couldn't make out.
“I'll sort things out here, get the car to Advanced Smash Repairs, OK?”
There was more shouting and what sounded like a scuffle. “OK. I'll be in touch.”
Melinda hung up, and hoped the waiting room hadn't heard the conversation with Dr Bedrosian. She took a deep breath, stood up and walked into the waiting room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I'm very sorry, but I've just had a call from Doctor and he is caught up with an emergency he was called to earlier.”
“You mean 'e's not even 'ere?” asked an old woman, who looked like she might live in a shoe. She certainly smelt like she did, or maybe it was just her raincoat.
“I'm very sorry. There are a few spots left this afternoon with Dr Bedrosian, and also some with our other doctor, Dr Smith. Come over and see me at the desk when you're ready.”
