Roddy didn’t have a tummy ache last night but there wasn’t a problem. We just said ‘good night’ to each other, ever so politely, turned over and went to sleep. Well, I did, I have a vague recollection of Phil taking an age to settle.
Roddy decided to have his sore stomach this morning instead, so I made a doctor’s appointment for the
afternoon. Dr Adams poked around Roddy’s middle, which Roddy found ticklish, and announced that he couldn’t find anything wrong. Fancy!
He will make a consultant’s appointment at the Western.
Roddy is concerned that hospital visits may interfere with the hectic social life he has planned for the summer.
I assured him that by the time he reached the top of the Western’s waiting list he would be 83 years old and wouldn’t have much of a social life left.
Phil has been in a strange mood since he came home from work. I keep catching him looking at me. Is this guilt? If I deprive him will he fly into someone else’s arms? Or was he flying into someone else’s arms previously, which is why he was depriving me?
Who is this someone else?
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