Читать книгу An Impossible Thing Called Love: A heartwarming romance you don't want to miss! - Belinda Missen - Страница 15

I was awake.

I pushed the covers aside and wandered around our new bedroom. My suitcase still bulged by the window, and my passport had been placed on the bedside table next to me. Fresh clothes for work had been arranged over the back of a chair, shoes on the floor. Craig slept quietly, dark tufts of hair poking out above the duvet he’d cocooned himself in.

The world outside was still asleep, blanketed in the glow of orange street lights. Cars were parked any which way they landed, and the occasional wheelie bin had taken a drunken stumble across the footpath.

The world around me had changed so much in the last forty-eight hours and, while I could see, feel, hear, smell, and taste, my brain was still buzzing at what was happening. I wanted to get out and explore our new city. I didn’t care that it was too early, or that I had promised anyone I’d start work, I just wanted out.

Except life and her responsibilities didn’t work like that. I showered, arranged toiletries on our allocated bathroom shelf, and pushed a few books into my shelves. In the kitchen, I poured a coffee and enjoyed a few moments of peace.

‘Craig.’ I rubbed his shoulder gently. He barely stirred. ‘I’m going to work.’

‘Already? We just went to bed.’

‘It’s just gone seven-thirty.’

‘Explains why my bladder feels like a water balloon.’ He rolled onto his back and blinked up at me a few times. ‘You look so pretty.’

‘Thank you. Are we still treating our landlords to dinner out tonight?’

He nodded, yawned, rubbed at his eyes.

I kissed him, and his awful morning breath. ‘Okay. I’m going to work now. I’ll message when I’m on my way home.’

‘Good luck.’ He yawned. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you, too.’

As the sun tried desperately to peek from behind thick clouds, I pulled on a light coat and started my trip to work. Today had a nervous energy about it that swung from buildings like Spiderman and made you believe something incredible was about to happen. Or maybe that was the jetlag talking.

My walk to work was longer than it needed to be, not because I got lost, but because I was purposely slow. I was too busy drinking everything in as I went, making mental notes of what I saw. Rows of almost identical redbrick terraced houses, their tiny yards that were all so similar, but so distinct, each of them a personal expression of their owners. Last time I was in London, I’d barely scratched the surface, stuck to tourist attractions and sightseeing buses, so it felt a little unfair that I’d agreed to throw myself straight into work again. But there I was, standing outside Moyes Medical, a coffee in one hand, and a nervous heart full of hope.

Faded blue concrete walls met a gated carpark with zero signs of a garden. Well, there was one, but it was apparent it hadn’t been tended to in months. A letterbox slot sat in a front door of toughened glass, which was adorned with a reminder that drugs were not kept on the premises. Despite the fact the place looked empty, I tugged on the door. Locked. I knocked, this time rattling the door for full effect.

Still, there was no one here.

The email said eight o’clock. I checked it for the fourth time, but then gave up and leant against the wall. Each person that walked past could have been a colleague, but none of them made eye contact for long enough to make conversation. Just when I started getting jittery at the notion that maybe I’d screwed up, the shuffle of footsteps got closer.

‘Emmy! Hello.’

Turning towards the voice, I was met with salt and pepper hair and a gentle smile. My new boss. My shoulders slackened as tension unwound itself from around me. Shame about the early morning nervous sweating though.

‘Brian, hi.’ I shook his hand.

‘It’s good to meet you in person. Welcome.’

‘Finally. Thank you. Sorry, I think I’m a bit early.’

‘Better than being a bit late, right?’ he said. ‘Let’s get you inside and sorted out.’

One bay at a time, lights flickered on throughout the building, which smelled of pine floor cleaner and fresh carpet. I followed nervously, trying to take in all the little details: the empty rubbish bins, neat rows of seats that presented in the waiting room, and my new workstation. It greeted me with a scuffed laminate benchtop, a computer pre-covered in Post-its, a telephone and file stand. Like my job in Sydney, they seemed the essential ingredients of a medical receptionist.

‘How was the flight over?’ Brian hung his coat just inside his office door. ‘Not too awful, I hope?’

‘Ah … long?’ I said with a weak laugh.

‘I haven’t been your way in about five years, I think.’ He squinted. ‘Wedding anniversary trip. We were there thirty years before that for our honeymoon’

I covered my mouth and laughed. ‘I wasn’t even born then.’

‘Don’t say that out loud,’ he teased. ‘Ever again.’

‘Sorry.’

‘You landed yesterday, didn’t you?’

‘I did,’ I said, following when he motioned for me to join him.

‘That’s crazy, I can’t imagine doing that. Thank you.’ Another light switch revealed a staff room.

I expected the sink to be stacked with old coffee cups, a sugar encrusted counter, and the fridge to be filled with green food. Instead, surfaces were wiped down, bins were empty, mugs hung on hooks above the sink, and the refrigerator smelled of bicarb.