The Reason Why

Norbert

Chapter 6

The Reason Why

Finally, the woman I’ve gone to all this trouble for, the love of my life, walks in.

On her first visit two months ago, Felicia Storm-Tempest (or Storm Temptress as I call her) had a bandaged thumb, the result of a cucumber slicing accident. I was forced to move round to the other side of the chair and prick her right thumb. Like many first time patients, she stiffened and leaned forward as I took hold. The gown gaped open to reveal a delicate sheen of nervous perspiration on the swell of her pale unblemished loolybells. They wobbled deliciously as she reacted to my prick. Her exotic perfume (unlike the ubiquitous Twinkle Twat) intoxicated me. She had long shiny auburn hair, meticulously brushed, and unlike most of the patients on a routine antenatal visit, she wore make-up. Even in a St Kylie’s towel bathrobe she looked like a movie star. I took my time demonstrating the difficult technique of holding a lump of cotton wool on your thumb and explained the importance of monitoring haemoglobin levels during pregnancy (without, I might add, having to resort to football analogies). She seemed genuinely interested in the cause and effect of iron deficiency anaemia. Usually, the only feedback I get is incessant moaning about how taking iron tablets makes you constipated and turns your turds black. I fell instantly and irrevocably in love. I could think of no one else. She banished the bottom half of Nurse Blethyn from my dreams. All my bunnyhorns were for the Storm Temptress. I had to see more of her luscious loo-loos, and if that meant turning to a life of crime, so be it. 

She climbs onto the chair, smiles and sticks out her left thumb. ‘Look, nearly healed.’

I rub a forefinger over the scar and feel a delicious tingle all the way down to my socks - all three of them. (I have replaced the three handkerchief logistical nightmare with the three sock logistical nightmare. Spurting in a sock solves the problem of inadvertently tasting cream pie, but it plays havoc with rotation, as all my socks are different colours and patterns. Auntie won’t buy me socks all the same colour because she is fastidious about uneven wear and tear.) Obviously I don’t wear a sock on bendy bunny every day, but knowing I would be seeing the Storm Temptress today, I wasn’t taking any chances.

‘Looking good,’ I say, ‘but I’ll stick you in the other thumb again.’

‘Do you enjoy being a vampire?’ she asks, as I move round.

If I am sucking on the mouthpiece when this question is asked I just grunt in reply, otherwise my stock answer is: “If I had a pound coin for every time I’ve heard that one, I’d currently have forty-seven pounds.” Because it’s Felicia, I say: ‘If opening your robe, biting into your delectable neck and sucking the lifeblood from your jugular would make you mine for all eternity, I would be the happiest vampire in the court of Count Dracula.’ This is in my mind. Out loud, I say: ‘I won’t be doing this forever. I have ambition.’

‘What’s stopping you?’

‘Loyalty, I suppose. I was orphaned as a child.’ I hold up a hand. ‘Please don’t ask. The memory of the accident still gives me nightmares.’

She reaches for my trembling hand and her gown slips open. I almost swoon. I am looking at the Holy Grail, the world’s most perfect loolybells. I inch closer and keep my eyes downcast; the better to ogle her charms but give the impression of demure sadness. How I manage to speak, I’ll never know.

‘Rather than go for adoption I was taken in by an aunt and uncle. My aunt is the Sister in charge of this clinic. She got me this job.’

‘I’m sure she wouldn’t stand in the way of your ambition.’

I can now make out the faint brown outline and protuberance of her nipples through the transparent white lace of her bra. All the trouble I’ve been to and the risk has been worthwhile. This is the most erotic moment of my life. I didn’t know sexual stimulation could be this intense. I almost fill the sock.

‘Uncle is very fond of me and he isn’t well,’ I stammer. ‘I’m not sure he could handle my leaving.’

‘I understand, but it’s your life. You have to put yourself first.’

‘You’re right, I know, but it would be a big wrench.’

(The truth is it’s a big, bad world out there for people like me and I couldn’t face it. Here, at least, I know what to expect and I’ve more or less learned to cope.)

‘Do you have any other family here? A wife or girlfriend?’

‘I could never marry. I couldn’t face the long hours, and I get eczema on my ring finger.’

She withdraws her hand as though a frying pan has spat at her. But she chuckles. ‘That’s the best excuse for avoiding marriage I’ve ever heard.’

(It isn’t an excuse, it’s a fact. I also get it on my elbows and buttocks, the bits I sit on and lean on. Drives me mad. I carry two tubes of cream in my emergency first aid kit.) 

Auntie pokes her head round the arch. ‘Is there ANOTHER problem?’

‘No.’

‘There are patients waiting. You’re holding everyone up.’

‘It’s my fault,’ says Felicia. ‘Norbert was telling me how grateful he is for all you and your husband have done for him.’

Auntie places her hands on her wide hips and pouts, like she is trying to figure out my motive for lying. She steps closer. ‘Where is the cord for your robe, Mrs Storm-Tempest? Has it fallen out?’

Felicia looks down, realizes she is unveiled and covers up. ‘I don’t know.’

‘None of the robes have got cords today,’ I put in helpfully. ‘I thought it might be something to do with management spending cuts.’ I point to the empty dispenser by the sink. ‘Like the lack of paper towels.’

‘You won’t get any more towels until you apologize to the domestics. Mopping up blood is not part of their job description. And from what I’ve seen today, blood is probably not the only bodily fluid to be spilt in this room.’

‘Their attitude to cleaning is slipshod by any standard.’ I lift a dead moth by the wing from the bench behind Felicia. ‘This has been here for six days.’

Auntie sees the number 6 written on a white board beside the archway. ‘You keep count?’

Felicia coughs discreetly.

Auntie gets back on track. ‘Are you saying that all our bath robes are minus their cords?’

‘All the ones I’ve seen this morning have been, yes. It’s been frightful.’ I stare adoringly at Felicia. ‘Present company excluded, of course.’

Mrs Storm-Tempest pulls her robe tighter and blushes.

‘It partly explains the earlier misunderstanding.’

Auntie sighs and runs a hand through her short greying hair. ‘It looks like something was stolen in the break-in after all. I hope the police are still here.’

‘It’s too trivial a matter to bother the police with, surely? And why not steal the whole garment?’

‘They’ve got our name stitched on them for one thing.’

‘It doesn’t make sense, unless it was the kids who threw batteries in the bucket because Security left the door unlocked.’

‘Gideon would never do such a thing.’

‘Seems a more logical explanation than terrorists, don’t you think?’

Auntie turns to leave. ‘Hurry up and bleed this lady. We’re falling behind.’

‘What happened?’ Felicia asks, sticking out her thumb once more.

I can’t speak and suck at the same time, so I lie whilst waiting for the sample to lyse and as I read the result. ‘Your haemoglobin has fallen below ten,’ I conclude. ‘Have you been taking your iron tablets?’

She places a hand on her tummy. ‘They don’t agree with me.’

What did I tell you? Felicia is a proper lady. No mention of black turds.

‘Tell the doctor. He’ll switch them to a different kind.’

She gets up to leave, tossing her cotton wool into the bin provided. Something else the grannytickling cleaners won’t empty.

‘There’s one more thing, Mrs Storm-Tempest. Do you intend to breast feed?’

She instinctively wraps her robe tighter. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, it’s part of a study I’ve been asked to participate in, to do with cross-placental immunity. Very highbrow stuff.’

‘Yes, I will be.’

‘Excellent, I’ll enrol you in the trial. And I look forward to seeing more of you in due course.’

Still turgid and further stimulated at the thought of the Storm Temptress’s bloated and lactating mammaries (I can already taste the thin milky colostrum dribbling from her engorged nipples) I stick up my “Back in 5 minutes” sign and rush to the toilet to sock one off. It only takes 88 seconds, by far my best time this year.