Health Care
Chapter Three
My first week at home has been a blur of unpacking, washing and arranging next year’s trip. Aside from the wonderful atmosphere, working abroad brings a whole magnitude of advantages. So much better than any part-time job at home.
Saying this, however, I do have a weekend job in the local Post Office. It’s convenient, as it is only a two-minute walk from home. My university is also only a twenty-minute drive. Perhaps I cling to the prospect of going abroad as everything else is completely on my doorstep. My colleagues acknowledged my sun tan instantly.
“I’m so jealous,” pined Katherine, pressing her arm against mine to compare.
I have worked in the Post Office for almost three years. Weekends are usually busy, especially during the summer season. David, who works behind the bureau de change window, is forever inundated with eager tourists. Again, a stab of melancholy hits me as I recall grinning excitedly at him as he swaps my wad of cash over into euros during my lunch break. School kids with nothing better to do but bully other kids at the play park usually litter our tills with sweets, ice lollies and violently coloured energy drinks. It’s a wonder they’re not all obese.
Sure enough, the pouring rain seemed to keep the majority of kids out, minus a few bedraggled and mud-splattered boys carrying footballs. At gone two, however, Christopher slides his way into the shop. He shook out his mammoth-sized golfing umbrella all over our floor. I rolled my eyes at Katherine. She clattered around under the till, pulling out a ‘Caution: Wet Floor’ sign and dumping it defiantly over the small puddle he had left. Christopher didn’t notice, or at least he was pretending not to.
“Afternoon, Alexa,” he nods curtly. Since our break up he’s only been referring to me by my full name. It’s as though calling me ‘Alex’ was his own intimate nickname for me, despite the fact everyone calls me Alex. “I take it you’re not busy?” He casts one of his explicably huge hands around our currently almost-empty shop.
“Not particularly. Just y’know, about to do some mopping.” I cast a steely eye towards his puddle. He takes no notice. “Why are you here?” I don’t mean for it to sound accusing, but it escapes my lips before I have chance to change my tone.
“Buying milk, actually,” he peers over a few of the aisles in an attempt to spot the milk, even though he knows where it is. He even scratches at the stubble on his chin. He waits for a response, but I don’t give him one. Eventually he walks towards the fridge (with the length of his legs, it takes him about three strides) and pulls out a carton. Thankfully, Katherine practically snatches it out of his hand and runs it through her till instead. Christopher looks slightly taken aback, but redeems his composure. Toying with the button on his umbrella, he smiles politely at me.
“It would be good to see you again sometime.” He mumbles so quietly that it could almost be a whisper; some confession or declaration that in fact, he wants us back together. He would be wasting his time, I thought. I’m nowhere near the princess he wants me to be. I lightly press my hand to my trouser pocket. Inside, a tiny light is flickering on my phone, telling me there is a text from Sam. A part of me resists shooting Christopher down, especially if it’s taken a lot for him to swallow his pride.
“Yeah, maybe,” I reply sheepishly. I’m still caught out by his frank honesty. “I’m free Monday afternoon.”
"So am I,” Christopher says. His smile is somewhat warmer. Perhaps he’s relieved I let my super-bitch side down. “I'll text you, Alex.”
Alex! Alex! Oh my God, he thinks it’s a date! My conscience cries out at me.
Saying this, however, I do have a weekend job in the local Post Office. It’s convenient, as it is only a two-minute walk from home. My university is also only a twenty-minute drive. Perhaps I cling to the prospect of going abroad as everything else is completely on my doorstep. My colleagues acknowledged my sun tan instantly.
“I’m so jealous,” pined Katherine, pressing her arm against mine to compare.
I have worked in the Post Office for almost three years. Weekends are usually busy, especially during the summer season. David, who works behind the bureau de change window, is forever inundated with eager tourists. Again, a stab of melancholy hits me as I recall grinning excitedly at him as he swaps my wad of cash over into euros during my lunch break. School kids with nothing better to do but bully other kids at the play park usually litter our tills with sweets, ice lollies and violently coloured energy drinks. It’s a wonder they’re not all obese.
Sure enough, the pouring rain seemed to keep the majority of kids out, minus a few bedraggled and mud-splattered boys carrying footballs. At gone two, however, Christopher slides his way into the shop. He shook out his mammoth-sized golfing umbrella all over our floor. I rolled my eyes at Katherine. She clattered around under the till, pulling out a ‘Caution: Wet Floor’ sign and dumping it defiantly over the small puddle he had left. Christopher didn’t notice, or at least he was pretending not to.
“Afternoon, Alexa,” he nods curtly. Since our break up he’s only been referring to me by my full name. It’s as though calling me ‘Alex’ was his own intimate nickname for me, despite the fact everyone calls me Alex. “I take it you’re not busy?” He casts one of his explicably huge hands around our currently almost-empty shop.
“Not particularly. Just y’know, about to do some mopping.” I cast a steely eye towards his puddle. He takes no notice. “Why are you here?” I don’t mean for it to sound accusing, but it escapes my lips before I have chance to change my tone.
“Buying milk, actually,” he peers over a few of the aisles in an attempt to spot the milk, even though he knows where it is. He even scratches at the stubble on his chin. He waits for a response, but I don’t give him one. Eventually he walks towards the fridge (with the length of his legs, it takes him about three strides) and pulls out a carton. Thankfully, Katherine practically snatches it out of his hand and runs it through her till instead. Christopher looks slightly taken aback, but redeems his composure. Toying with the button on his umbrella, he smiles politely at me.
“It would be good to see you again sometime.” He mumbles so quietly that it could almost be a whisper; some confession or declaration that in fact, he wants us back together. He would be wasting his time, I thought. I’m nowhere near the princess he wants me to be. I lightly press my hand to my trouser pocket. Inside, a tiny light is flickering on my phone, telling me there is a text from Sam. A part of me resists shooting Christopher down, especially if it’s taken a lot for him to swallow his pride.
“Yeah, maybe,” I reply sheepishly. I’m still caught out by his frank honesty. “I’m free Monday afternoon.”
"So am I,” Christopher says. His smile is somewhat warmer. Perhaps he’s relieved I let my super-bitch side down. “I'll text you, Alex.”
Alex! Alex! Oh my God, he thinks it’s a date! My conscience cries out at me.