The Mistake I Made by Paula Daly Read Free Book Online

rather, Scott Elias.
    ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I called for an appointment earlier and they told me they had this cancellation. Were you hoping for a break?’
    ‘A break?’ I said, momentarily confused. ‘Oh, no, I don’t really get breaks. Wayne fills the cancellations with patients from the waiting list. I’m surprised to see you here, though. You must have jumped the queue.’
    Scott went sheepish. ‘I might have offered a little sweetener.’
    I smiled. ‘I won’t ask. Anyway, come on in. What can I do for you?’
    ‘My elbow? Remember?’
    I nodded. ‘Have a seat, and I’ll get your details down. Then I’ll take a look.’
    I busied myself as he took out his phone and car keys and placed them on the desk. I didn’t comment on the Ferrari fob, but I must admit it did stir my interest.
    Here’s something worth knowing about rich people, though, should you feel inclined to hang around them:
    They don’t give you any of their money.
    They pay no more for your services than any other punter, and the likelihood of them leaving you anything in their will is next to zero. I gave up thinking they were anything other than another patient years ago, because, as a rule, they were generally more hassle to treat. They expected their wealth to guarantee they would be seen fast but lost no sleep over missing appointments once they were back on the mend.
    I jotted down Scott Elias’s details, his past medical history, the particulars of his injury, and asked him about his job – he owned a large electronics manufacturing firm near Preston. Then I told him to remove his shirt and asked him exactly where the pain was.
    ‘Does this hurt?’ I said, knowing full well it did, as I could feel some thickening on the point of attachment of the extensor tendon. I asked just to break the silence.
    ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘how did you know where to press?’
    ‘Sixth sense.’
    ‘Do you think you can do anything for it?’
    ‘It’s easy to treat,’ I said casually. ‘Shouldn’t take long.’
    ‘What will you do?’
    ‘I’ll use a complicated medical procedure,’ I began, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. ‘First, I shall rub it like this. And then like that.’
    ‘That’s it?’
    ‘That’s it.’
    ‘Okay,’ he said, but he didn’t seem convinced.
    I spent the next few minutes breaking down the scar tissue that had formed around the tendon. As far as treatments go, this was a pretty mindless task, requiring negligible amounts of concentration. Over the years my thumbs had become attuned to the slightest changes, moving intuitively from healthy areas to damaged tissue without any real conscious thought on my part.
    ‘I told your receptionist we could go for a drive in the Ferrari if he slotted me in today,’ Scott admitted.
    ‘Wayne?’ I said, amused. ‘Don’t call him a receptionist. He won’t thank you for it. On second thoughts,’ I said, feeling mischievous, ‘make sure you call him exactly that.’
    ‘You don’t like him?’
    ‘I like him well enough, but let’s just say he could make my life a little easier if he wanted to.’
    Scott nodded. ‘That stings quite a lot,’ he said, gesturing towards his elbow, and I eased off the pressure through my right thumb.
    ‘Wayne’s really into cars,’ I said, ‘so you two should hit it off.’
    ‘You’re not?’
    ‘No.’ I laughed. ‘As far as I’m concerned, they’re all the same from the inside. Looking out through the windscreen you see the same as every other driver. Even when a car is bad, it’s good. It still gets you to where you want to go.’
    Scott Elias smiled mildly at my assessment.
    Of course, nothing of what I told him was actually true. I’d love a flash car. Who wouldn’t? But I wasn’t about to start gushing over his wheels. I did have some dignity.
    There was a lull in the conversation and I could hear the faint sound of Ken Bruce’s Pop Master drifting though from the radio in the waiting