The Mistake I Made by Paula Daly Read Free Book Online Page A

area.
    To be frank, Scott was in fairly good shape for fifty-four. He obviously took care of himself, did some resistance training, as he still had a bulk to his musculature, more typical of a guy in his thirties. His frame –and I refrain from using the term ‘physicality’ here, as it is currently so overused, and I’m not even sure it’s a proper word – his frame evoked vigour. Sure, he had slight inelasticity of the skin and the forward protrusion of the abdomen that comes from being fifty-four. But you would look twice if you were, say, poolside, pretending to read a paperback, and he was to walk past.
    ‘I’ll put some strapping on this,’ I said, retrieving the five-inch Fixomull from the shelves. ‘It shouldn’t bother you. You can get it wet, but dab it dry afterwards. It’s breathable, so it shouldn’t affect the skin.’
    As I laid the tape across his elbow, I sensed Scott surveying me closely. It was quite unnerving, as usually patients were so interested in what I was doing (everyone loves a bandage, after all) that I wasn’t used to it.
    ‘There’s something about you,’ he murmured softly.
    I didn’t look up.
    ‘You’re very attractive,’ he said.
    ‘You’re a married man, Scott.’
    ‘I’m not coming on to you.’
    ‘Oh, well, that is a relief.’
    ‘Okay, maybe I am, a bit,’ he said. ‘But not in the way you think.’
    ‘There is more than one way?’ I said, and I made one loud, final snip with the scissors.
    ‘What is it about you?’ he asked playfully.
    I rolled my eyes and packed away the tape. ‘Move your arm around and see if it feels okay. Check the bandage isn’t nipping your skin at all.’
    ‘It feels fine.’
    ‘Put your shirt on then.’
    He didn’t move.
    ‘Since Friday night,’ he said, ‘ever since I—’
    I held up my palm. ‘Please don’t.’
    ‘Hear me out.’
    ‘No, Scott. This is my place of work. I have other people to see and, while you seem like a perfectly nice bloke, please don’t compromise my position here. It makes things incredibly awkward when men start to—’
    ‘You get this a lot?’ he asked, and suddenly a shadow fell across his face. I could see instantly he was put out.
    ‘It happens,’ I said quietly.
    Truth be told, it did happen quite regularly. And not because I’m some sort of goddess. Far from it. I have the sturdy physique of a lady golfer, straight dark hair and an unremarkable face. But it did happen.
    Cast your mind back to that period when every single woman had a girl-crush on Sarah Jessica Parker. Her style, her general flamboyance, bewitched women the world over. At the time, though, men appeared thoroughly perplexed by this. They would scratch their chins, frowning, as if to say, D’you know what? I just can’t see it myself.
    Well, I have something akin to that.
    I am not good-looking. My body is neither madly sexy, nor neatly packaged, but men do seem drawn to me, for reasons I can’t fathom. Perhaps it’s because I don’t care any more. Perhaps, because of Winston, and all that happened, I exude an attitude of not caring and men are intrigued by that. Who knows?
    ‘Your shirt, Scott,’ I repeated. ‘I have another patient waiting.’
    He slipped off the bed. Pushed an arm through a sleeve and began clenching his fist repeatedly. ‘The elbow feels really good,’ he said. ‘Remarkable, really, after just one session.’
    I wiggled my fingers and said, ‘Magic,’ my tone deadpan.
    He offered a rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, holding my gaze. ‘I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It was silly of me, and I apologize.’
    ‘It’s forgotten,’ I said.
    I made a few short treatment notes: cross frictions, strapping applied, advised him to use an ice pack and rest his elbow, and while Scott was tidying himself up I straightened my desk. I returned the tape and scissors, moved the stool against the wall so I didn’t trip over it. Then I got on with laying new couch roll along the