Doctor Perry Read online

  After escorting Clarita to door, Doctor Perry returned to his desk. And in the upper right-hand corner of the file, he added a small red circle with his special red pen. A circle no bigger than a newborn’s tiny fingerprint.

  Clarita Swann left the doctor’s surgery after making another appointment with the receptionist. She’d felt fine coming in, apart from the ugly rash on her hands, but since the nice doctor had mentioned her stress levels, she remembered noticing fine lines round her eyes and a sprinkling of white hairs at her temples this morning, and other mornings if she was being honest. They’d terrified her, but having just moved into town, finding a hairdresser and a beautician were the least of her concerns.

  If it was stress causing the rash on her hands, it was a relief the doctor had prescribed something natural to help. She hated quacks who wrote out scripts for antidepressants at the drop of a hat. She had a good feeling about this one.

  Doctor Perry handed Molly the Swann folder to file. The appointment had again showed he could shave a minute off each appointment. He’d track it for another week, keeping a record of the potential time savings, then he’d instruct Molly to amend the appointment scheduler. Evidence. Medicine was all about evidence.

  He checked his watch — one minute before his next appointment, enough time to go to the toilet and wash his hands. Washing hands was such an important part of good health and it was a shame more people didn’t subscribe to that belief. But then if they did, half of them wouldn’t be sitting in his waiting room.

  Ready for his next patient, he plastered a professional smile on his face and began his usual interrogation. Doctor Perry liked asking the questions first and never invited the patient to say what their complaint was until he’d run through his own set of questions — questions vital to tracking the health of his clients. After all, he was the doctor, and knew best.

  And so the day progressed, patient after patient. A scheduled lunch break of twenty minutes, enough time for a chicken salad, two cups of peppermint tea, and a slice of cake.

  6

  The orderlies had dragged Johnny Paulson down the hall and out of sight, leaving behind a foul puddle of urine on the old carpet, a carpet which crackled underfoot with age. The nurse called for another orderly to clean it up but until then, the wet patch mocked the residents as they filed past to morning tea.

  A subdued atmosphere lay heavily on the residents as word of Paulson’s episode made it around the Rose Haven faster than a bout of dysentery. By the time the rumour reached Elijah’s table, Paulson had been fighting three nurses and was brought down with a tranquilliser gun. Elijah had seen what had subdued Paulson — the embarrassment of wetting himself in public. So much for a healthcare system designed to protect the elderly. Instead it subjected them to a fate worse than dying in a pensioner flat, bodies gnawed on by a menagerie of cats drowning in their own faeces.

  Elijah drank his tea and ate his biscuits quietly as he remembered hearing Johnny begging to get up, swearing he was only looking for the toilet, that he’d got confused and had gone into the wrong room. Elijah knew it was easily done, the corridors all looked the same — insipid beige avenues where even the pot plants in the halls were identical — plastic ferns covered in decades of dust. There was a sense of unease in the dining room over what had happened and even though he didn’t want to get involved, Elijah wouldn’t forget the anguish on Paulson’s face nor the venom in the voice of the nurse as she’d instructed the orderlies to take him, no, to drag him, to the sick bay.

  As always, Elijah rebuked all efforts at conversation, refusing to be drawn into any discussion about Johnny. He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to die.

  Elijah finished his tea and hurried from the room as best he could on arthritic knees. He should have had knee surgery when he’d had the money but it was too late now. He could have had top of the range titanium knees, but he’d been too scared to go under, he’d seen so many surgeries go wrong. Now there were knives under his kneecaps, in his fingers, his shoulders, his hips. He was a living Freddy Kruger instead of the Bionic Man.

  Back in his room, he twitched at the curtains. He wanted nothing to do with any living creature, but once a day, well…once a day there was a tiny moment of joy. Every day, regardless of the weather, a woman would jog by, a creature of habit like him. He had his habits, even in this early grave he was living — wake up, breakfast, shower — if it was a day he was allowed his allocated time under the lukewarm water. Federal prisoners were treated better than pensioners although he didn’t deserve the luxury of prison. This life was punishment enough for being alive.

  Hands on the fabric arms of the chair, he breathed through the minutes, isolating the pain in his hands and putting it away. He’d allow himself to feel it later but for now he’d savour the simple pleasure of watching a woman jogging by, lycra-clad legs sculpted from shiny black marble.

  And there she was, legs moving rhythmically along the footpath, her top a kaleidoscope of geometric colours, a long ponytail swinging behind her. His youthful self imagined it loose across his pillow, although not across the pillows at the Rose Haven Retirement Resort, where the industrial cotton pillowcases were rendered as dry as the Sahara by the harshest of washing detergents. Elijah laughed at the absurdity of his thoughts — the thoughts of a decrepit old man imprisoned behind glass.

  From the corner of his eye he noticed the Rose Haven Retirement Resort van backing out from its position in front of reception. He’d never had the privilege of travelling in the van, a sign-written vehicle the Rose Haven’s advertising literature said was used for taking happy residents to the theatre, the casino and on vineyard tours out of state. As far as he knew, the only people who used the van were staff on emergency runs for cigarettes and candy — luxuries forbidden to the residents. Today, Johnny Paulson was in the back of the van and their eyes met.

  Elijah turned his attention back towards the jogger, earphones snaking into her ears, her head down as she fiddled with her phone. Changing the music? Checking a message? Whatever, it meant she wasn’t looking. He turned back to see Johnny hammering on the windows of the van, screaming, distracting the driver.

  The driver was the orderly known as Smokey, Bart Stubbs - a man who spent more time smoking in the courtyard then he did carrying out his duties, rain or shine, night or day. Today he was driving and smoking and yelling at Johnny, and the jogger never stood a chance.

  The sign-written Rose Haven Retirement Resort van backed right onto the woman, jackknifing her in the middle, her black legs swallowed by the white van.

  As if in slow motion, Elijah lunged at the window, pressing his hands against the glass, trying to push the woman out of the way, through the transparent barrier.

  The jogger lay motionless on the sidewalk.

  Doors opened and slammed and voices tainted with fear filtered in through the window. No double glazing and the cheapest seals on the market allowing the noise to leak into his room. Elijah wanted to go out but had nothing to add, no skills to assist. What use was he anyway? He was a useless old man. A burden. Better not to get involved.

  A wail of sirens joined the voices on the sidewalk. Nurses and admin staff circled the van, like sharks around a lone surfer. Someone finally turned the van’s engine off, which was worse as the engine had been drowning out Paulson’s manic screams.

  The ambulance arrived with medical staff on board who showed more professionalism than all the Rose Haven’s nurses and orderlies put together. The paramedics had the woman on a stretcher and into the back of the ambulance faster than he’d thought possible. Before the doors closed, Elijah saw a flutter of the jogger’s hand — the smallest of movements but enough to lift his heart. She was alive.

  Elijah pushed off from the window as the ambulance sped away, its lights flashing in concert with the waves of pain coursing through every one of his arthritic fingers. She was alive but he doubted she’d be running anytime soon, which turned Elijah’s world a little greyer. The dis
appointment nudging death a little bit closer.

  7

  Doctor Perry ran his eyes down the patient list with a widening smile as he reached the final name — booked in for a double appointment. His special patients needed a longer time so he always scheduled those for last thing in the day. On those nights he’d send the receptionist home early, promising faithfully to tidy and lock up the place behind him.

  In neat cursive he made a small notation in the margin, his smile playing on his moist lips until the ink spat out from the nib of his fountain pen leaving a small blot of red ink on the pristine appointment schedule. No matter, a few more of these appointments and he wouldn’t need this schedule for much longer, it was almost time to move on. He’d tell his patients he was retiring, that the clinic was closing down as he didn’t want the bother of selling it. It was prudent to quit when things were going well. There were still a few more late night appointments ahead of him, patients whose treatment regimes he wanted to complete. Slow and steady won the race, but experience had shown it was important to quit when you were ahead. Not long now.

  Recapping his fountain pen, he slipped it into his breast pocket. It was time for the first patient of the day.

  Molly showed the patient in, blushing at the banter from the man — his dark hair lightly salted and the beginning of fine lines giving him a touch of George Clooney-type magic. Doctor Perry’s receptionist cast an appreciative glance at the patient before closing the consulting room door. Yes, Molly would have to be dealt with soon. It didn’t pay to let the staff get too close to the patients.

  “Don, I’m surprised to see you again so soon. Joint pain again?” Doctor Perry appeared to consult Don Jury’s patient file but knew off by heart what his shorthand cursive notes said and that this appointment was hardly a surprise. They always came back. Especially those with a tiny red circle in the upper righthand corner.

  “It did work Doctor Perry, which is why I’m here. The pain in my knees has completely disappeared. They feel like they did when I was twenty, as if I could take up competitive football again. Now I’m here about my shoulder. Years ago I had some issues with my bursa joint and, well, it’s flared up again.”

  “Oh?”

  “Probably something to do with all the swimming I did on a cruise round Hawaii - best swimming pool ever, even had a tank full of dolphins. I swam every day which seems to have really damaged my shoulder.”

  “And you thought of my joint tonic?”

  Don Jury nodded. For a man his age, he carried no extra weight, and his previous blood tests hadn’t shown any drug use, illicit or otherwise. Apart from over exercising in his youth, Don Jury was as healthy as a man of sixty could hope to be.

  Doctor Perry took a serious tone, “I’ll need to run my usual tests, check your cholesterol and iron levels but, yes, I think the joint tonic will definitely help relieve the bursitis symptoms. Come through to the examination room and I’ll check that shoulder.”

  Doctor Perry made a show of rotating the man’s shoulder, unmarred by any childhood scarring bar the standard circular tuberculosis mark on his upper arm.

  “We should be able to fix this up in no time, I can’t feel any serious damage. I'll administer a dose of muscle tonic today and you'll need to make an appointment with Molly to come back next week. Make it the last appointment of the day so I can do some manipulation of your shoulder. Then one more dose and you should be right after that.”

  Doctor Perry measured out a milky dose from a brown glass bottle. The viscous liquid moved as if it had a life of its own, like a tide pulled by the moon. He tipped a drop back into the bottle, it wouldn’t do to overdose a patient. He had to be careful. There’d been errors in the past, which still made him shudder. He hadn’t had any accidents for a long time now and it had to stay that way while he tidied up his affairs, before he moved on.

  Don knocked back the liquid in one gulp, his pink tongue snaking around the rim and only handing back the medicine cup when he’d licked it clean.

  “Ten minutes in the waiting room, to be safe, then you can be on your way,” Doctor Perry smiled. He could already see the tonic taking effect although he was sure his patient wouldn’t notice anything yet, maybe by tonight. Next week’s appointment would go well if he was reacting this quickly to the small dosage he’d administered.

  Don Jury left the doctor’s office and chatting humorously with Molly. Doctor Perry’s shoulders twitched. Their banter made him uncomfortable. There was no point worrying too much about its it’d all be sorted soon enough but it left a sour taste in his mouth. Molly needed to concentrate on her work not form relationships with the patients, with his patients.

  Don Jury couldn’t hide his excitement. He felt younger and fitter than he had in years and after the doctor’s magic tonic today he was certain his performance problems down below would also be solved and that would change his life. It was as if every time he saw Doctor Perry, he felt younger and younger. A miracle he wasn't willing to share with anyone else. Retirement really was all that he’d been promised. Now he just needed someone to share it with, and Molly was looking like an attractive proposition.

  The day progressed as normal, the doctor stopped for lunch at midday — his chicken salad exactly the same as the chicken salad he’d eaten the day before and which he’d eat tomorrow, each mouthful as bland as its predecessor. Sipping his tea gave him a moment of peace he’d been missing since Don Jury’s appointment. Doctor Perry didn’t look at patient paperwork during his lunch break, his mind needed the rest. Half his patients didn’t take a lunch break so it was no wonder his appointment book was full. If only they followed his advice, most of them would never need him. Some would wish they’d never come to him.

  There was a buzz on his intercom.

  “Sorry Doctor Perry, but there’s an urgent phone call from the Rose Haven, they want to know if you can schedule a visit now or if they can bring one of the residents in. I didn’t know what to say because your schedule is full, and you’ve got Mrs Webb coming in this afternoon, and I’ve already rescheduled her twice?”

  Doctor Perry wiped his mouth, crumbs around the mouth was not a professional look. He swallowed down both the mouthful of sandwich and his irritation with the interruption to his lunch break. He tried to summon a smile but it barely made it past the sides of his mouth. “Transfer the call through Molly and I’ll deal with it. We can’t reschedule Mrs Webb again.”

  Doctor Perry answered his extension.

  “Good afternoon…no problem at all, how can I help?…Yes, hmmm, you’ll need to bring him in…I have no time today to…yes, hmmm, tomorrow first thing. Yes, that will be fine, put him in there. Yes, thank you. See you tomorrow.”

  The doctor made a notation on his desk pad. It bothered him immensely scribbling on the stark white paper but it was a momentary nuisance and he didn’t want to forget the details; Ryman Spittle, possible chest infection, new resident, widower. He liked having widows and widowers on his books. Not in a scurrilous way, but more because it made treatment options easier, without a worried spouse interfering. A widower living in a retirement home was even better.

  8

  After such a promising start Molly was now proving to be troublesome, too many questions, just like Lily before her. Why couldn’t keep their painted mouths shut and their eyes on the patient schedule? He’d have to deal with her, but not today… today was for home visits, a lucrative part of the practice but he didn’t like being away from the surgery, you never knew what the staff might find. Lily found out what happened if you didn't keep your nose out of other people’s business and now Molly was heading that way.

  Doctor Perry tapped his fingers against the steering wheel of his sensible mid range saloon. He’d considered purchasing something European, but it was best not to advertise your wealth too much. Clients might take it the wrong way or it could attract the attention of the wrong people. Still the air conditioning worked and it was reliable. The radio off, he entertained himsel
f with his own thoughts as he considered the first patient of the day - Mary Louise Jackson. Pulling into the driveway of a brick bungalow, he noticed the shaggy lawn, a post box heaving with junk mail, and the garden a symphony of weeds, indicating that Mary Louise Jackson hadn’t received any recent visitors. It paid to be mindful of these things in his line of work.

  Climbing out of his car with an old-fashioned leather doctor’s bag in hand, he walked up the weedy path and knocked on the door. Inside, the chimes of London’s Westminster bells echoed through the house.

  The door swung open and Doctor Perry stepped through, closing the door behind him, hiding him away from any prying eyes. He needn’t have worried - Mary Louise Jackson lived in a working class neighbourhood where everyone went to work. Everyone except Mary Louise. She couldn’t work now and not for the foreseeable future. She knew it and Doctor Perry knew it.

  “Thanks for coming,” Mary Louise said, showing Doctor Perry through to the kitchen, the air moving like a somnolent fly flapping lazily through the room, in no hurry to get anywhere.

  “I'm more than happy to shoulder the hospital’s overflow, they're so understaffed these days it’s a travesty,” Doctor Perry smiled with eyes barren of any warmth.

  Oblivious to the disconnect, Mary Louise lowered herself into a chair; a higher than usual chair with padded arms and a straight cushioned back, its feet clad in non-slip rubber stockings.

  Her crutches clattered to the floor and the doctor bent to retrieve them, returning them to the edge of the table.

  “You look uncomfortable, how is the pain level?”

  Mary Louise turned her opiate addled eyes away from the crutches and back to the doctor.

  “They gave me painkillers at the hospital but I don’t think they’re working. I can’t sleep, and every time I roll over the pain wakes me. Is there something you can prescribe me?”