S T Vasectomy Clinic - 10

 

Cece checked the time and rolled her eyes, it was almost time to return to work. The large bedroom window overlooked their back garden and she paused to watch her trees swaying gently in the wind. It had been a project of hers to plant several trees shortly after they moved into The Driffold; a small group of Silver Birch, all holding hands, a semi-circle of Japanese flowering cherry trees. She had envisaged that they would grow up side by side with her family and perhaps a dog too but it was only the trees that had lived up to expectations. They were like faithful friends watching over her, she’d told them all about the forthcoming arrival.

 

In fact, apart from Cece and St John, it was only the trees that knew. The couple's inability to produce children had been like a dirty secret which they never discussed with anybody else. St John said he didn’t want the medical community knowing all about their personal issues. Also their success everywhere else in life meant that they had always been optimistic that one day it would just happen naturally. Occasionally friends and family would enquire but the couple would always side-step the question with protestations about being far too busy yet to start a family. 

 

The years marched on and when Cece turned forty she became acutely aware of her diminishing chance at having her own biological child. She suddenly became desperate to try IVF but St John said it would be over his dead body and then the crucial years passed by and were gone for good. Yulia was probably their last hope.

 

The vasectomy clinic was a ten minute drive away or often much longer depending on traffic around the town centre. Cece’s black Mercedes always gleamed, waxed and polished like a mirror, it could be spotted from quite a distance, especially with the personalised number plate, “Vaz 66”. 

 

She was well known in the area and well liked but not loved. There was something in her eyes, a coldness which made her untouchable, the way she was always perfectly attired was sort of intimidating, it prevented anyone from getting too close. Wherever she went however people greeted her; the gym, the local medical facilities, the car dealers, the jewellers, the member’s club by the river and also the working men’s club since her father had instilled in her an appreciation of equality and respect for all. Cece Hughes was a judgemental woman but she was not a snob.

 

She pulled into her parking space at the front of the clinic, tutting at the smears on the glass door. It puzzled her why people always had such grubby, greasy hands. There were rustling sounds as the girls at the reception desk hid away their snacks and went quiet. One of them, Louise, coughed and smirked into the monitor. They were often gossiping about their bosses, they were clever and frequently bored. Elaborate jokes about their bosses helped to pass the time.

 

‘Everything alright in my absence?’ said Cece, sniffing the air.

 

‘Yes, all fine. Your consultation, erm, Mr…..’ Nina peered at her computer screen nervously. ‘Oh yes, Mr Alistair West, your seven o’clock is in the courtyard.’

 

‘Ok. Why does it smell of garlic in here?’

 

Nina looked at Louise who said sheepishly, ‘Satay Broad Beans, they’re all gone now.’

 

Cece removed a bottle of perfume from her handbag and spritzed the air several times. ‘I suppose it’s a long stretch from lunchtime until 8pm, I seem to manage it though.’ she said dryly.  

 

Once inside her office, she checked her reflection once again in the mirror, neatness and excellence were the things she found so very satisfying. It was difficult for Cece to comprehend why so many people were sloppy. The girls on reception annoyed her, especially Louise who was scruffy and overweight. The way the two young women had become friends irritated her too, it seemed detrimental to the clinic that they should get along so well. She had discussed the matter with St John and suggested they could make one of them redundant and it should be Louise but he argued that they both did their jobs well and they could easily do a lot worse.

 

She sat down at her desk, polished wood, neat piles of paperwork, a large crystal which she’d purchased on her honeymoon in Austria, she placed her hand on it, felt the buzz of energy in her fingertips. It had years of energy stored inside it, both good and bad.

 

The small courtyard garden at the rear of the clinic had been Cece’s idea. It was originally a junk-filled storage area and looked so awful that they had covered the windows with blinds so as to hide it from view. There had been an ongoing problem with nervous men smoking outside the front of the clinic ever since it opened. Cece wasn’t anti-smoking but she worried that it might be detrimental to the image of the business, she also happened to be an ardent believer in the benefits of outdoor space.

 

 

She’d commissioned a landscaper from the working men’s club to come and give it an overhaul. Then she got the local news reporter in to photograph the tranquil space designed to put patients at ease. Later she added a couple of small ashtrays to keep the smokers happy but out of public view.

 

 

The air had turned slightly chilly as Alistair sat with his arms folded staring at the reflection in the bird bath. Clouds raced across the sky. He thought about all the years he’d been a fertile man and how all but three or four minutes of them had effectively been wasted. 

 

He imagined Lynne at home with her face probably not so red, perhaps more of a rosy glow than a fried furnace. It seemed like the best thing now that he’d come alone. There would be no peace with her sitting next to him making comments about every inch of the place, fawning over Cece’s attention to detail, cooing over the ferns and the gravel. 

 

Cece had a view of the courtyard from her office window, she peered out and caught sight of Alistair slumped on the granite bench, his backside freezing and his mind racing. So that’s the husband of that stupid, suburban woman I bumped into, she thought. A textbook suburban husband, bit boring, grey, flaccid, downtrodden, conflicted about his needs, both physical and emotional, bit protective about his bits. She picked up the phone to reception. ‘Hi Nina, send Mr West in now please.’

 

Alistair rubbed his hands before knocking on the door, a manly knock, he made sure that the knocking was hard and confident, he wasn’t going to be de-masculated at the first hurdle. 

 

‘Come in please.’

 

He opened the door and walked in, avoiding eye contact and wearing an expression of defensive indifference. Cece had a tried and tested method of defrosting people, it started with a smile, a genuine smile because she enjoyed seeing the instant success of her charms, how people melted in her company. She didn’t get up from her chair but simply gestured for him to sit in the one opposite her and rubbed her thumb and index finger up and down her silver pen. ‘I saw you enjoying our garden,’ she said, reaching across to shake his hand.

 

‘Yes,’ Alistair nodded, he was slightly embarrassed about every single aspect of the situation including her attractive ways which, against his intentions, were affecting him.

 

‘It needs some attention. I must get someone out there to pick up the leaves. We did have a lovely water feature out there, it made a relaxing, you know, trickle but there’s a leak in the tank underneath. The girls keep filling it up but when you switch it on it runs fine for a minute and then...pah, nothing. You’re not a landscape gardener are you?’

 

‘No, no I work in pharmaceutical manufacturing.’

 

‘Oh how interesting,’ Cece crossed and uncrossed her legs. ‘I just thought you looked quite fit that’s all.’

 

Alistair found himself blushing slightly. ‘I am,’ he agreed. ‘My work is still physical, I’m on my feet all day.’ He grasped one hand with the other and then released it when he noticed her studying him. ‘I’ve just come from work actually,’ he said nervously, then wondered why exactly he’d said it at all.

 

‘Yes, that’s why we have a late night on Wednesdays, it’s for busy gentlemen like yourself. Well, can I firstly ask what made you choose us rather than the NHS?’

 

‘My wife, Lynne, bumped into you in Waitrose car park, she said you know each other from way back.’

 

‘I know a lot of faces around here, we’ve lived here for a long time, I couldn’t place her initially but she introduced herself, she has a good memory. She seemed to know all about us.’

 

‘Yes, Lynne doesn’t forget much,’ he screwed up his face, ‘something about a meat raffle?’

 

Cece shuddered. ‘I haven’t eaten meat for years, maybe she’s confused. Most people know where we are though, we try to get involved in our community.’

 

Alistair nodded. ‘Yes, she does get muddled sometimes.’