The Actuary

  Chapter 46

  Rohan lay on the bed in the examination room while Emma fanned herself with a leaflet about prosthetic arms. Rohan stretched his head back to look at her. “You ok?”

  “No,” she admitted, “it’s bloody hot in here.” She fanned harder, her vision beginning to swim.

  Rohan looked devastated. “I know it’s ugly and oozing right now, but it doesn’t always look this bad. I’m sorry, you should probably have stayed in the waiting room.” He sounded depressed, the anticipated rejection surely on its way.

  “Nope,” Emma insisted. “This was definitely happening out there too. It’s not your leg, I promise. I know what it is and it’s not that. It’s a mixture of things, but your leg is not one of them. I’ll get a drink. That should help to cool me off.” Emma sipped at the tap where the doctor washed his hands earlier before he lifted the stump sock away from Rohan’s leg. The scar tissue where the man’s shin once curved was neat and smooth, but a painful ulcer began on the inner part, continuing the line of a deep welt.

  Rohan stared at the ceiling, defeat etched in every part of his posture. Emma sipped more water and willed her body to behave, for now at least. Rohan’s jeans lay over the back of Emma’s chair and he tugged at the white sheet the doctor laid over his thighs, eager to cover himself and avoid further scrutiny. “Ro, stop it.” Emma staggered over to the bed, running her hand up Rohan’s leg from his knee to the end of his boxer shorts. “I promise it’s not that. It’s so hot in here. Can’t you feel it?” Her vision did a crazy jerk to the right and she gripped his leg too hard.

  “Ow!” Rohan put his hand over the fingers, feeling the hardness of her knuckles. “Just sit down, Em.” He sounded annoyed. She lurched backwards with a valiant effort and contacted her chair, seating her bum none too carefully. Rohan observed her through eyes filled with hurt. “Emma?” His voice sounded subdued. “When I laid there on the sand...my leg gone and blood everywhere...I thought of you. I regretted going back to the army base without trying harder to...to understand you. I lay there and knew what it would be like to die with that on my conscience.” His eyes looked tortured and Emma reached out to him, feeling their connection reviving in her chest. She rubbed her thumb across the flesh above Rohan’s top lip, feeling the maleness of his rough skin, shaved just a few hours ago but already budding with stubbly hairs.

  Then it came again, the pesky nausea, robbing her of the chance to comfort the man spilling his guts before her. “So hot!” Emma peeled off the sweater and threw it on the ground next to her, quickly adding her sweatshirt to the pile. Sweat seemed to cover her whole body and she stood up again and tugged at the window above her head. “Mind if I have this open? I feel a bit weird.” She sat and fanned herself with a whole stack of leaflets to create a decent breeze, slowly losing control of everything as her body violently rebelled. Rohan looked devastated and Emma sought to reassure him. “Lucya was diabetic,” she puffed, her breath coming in short bursts. “She had heaps of ulcers constantly over her legs. I used to dress them for her, even the ones with puss and the ones that ate away through the fatty layers. She always said I’d make a superb little meditsinskaya sestra.”

  Emma leaned forward in her seat and concentrated on the swirls in the carpet. Her eyes began following the psychedelic patterns and she realised her mistake as the nausea took a more fairground style hold on her stomach. “Why do you get to come here, instead of the hospital?” she managed to gasp out.

  “Agreement with the health service and the army,” Rohan stated, not wanting to elabourate.

  “Cool,” Emma managed, saved from her agonies by the doctor returning. Rohan stared aghast at his empty hands and groaned. Then he swore in Russian and Emma pursed her lips.

  The doctor looked nervous. “Sorry, Rohan. Not good news I’m afraid. That jolt you took to the prosthetic leg has knocked the central peg out of alignment as well as shattering the plastic cuff. It’s not working properly which is why you’ve ended up with the pressure sores and cuts, despite using a copious amount of socks.” He eyed the stained stocking material forming a cream gauze mountain next to the bed. “We’ll throw those away and I’ll get you some more. The boys in the workshop think it’ll be about a week. They’re also quite interested in how you did it. Scorch marks aren’t really usual.” The doctor looked at Rohan’s flushed, angry face and his tone changed. “Look, I get how bad this is for you. It’s like going right back to the beginning. I wish there was more I could do.”

  Every muscle in Rohan’s body looked tense, his jaw square and fixed and his fists clenched at his sides. “Yeah, course you do. Because you know what’s it’s like to look at the car, the toilet, the shower or your trousers and wonder how the hell you’re going to tackle every single bloody task with only one leg.” He swung himself up using his stomach muscles and glared at the medic. Then he noticed Emma and his jaw dropped, causing the doctor to look over at her too. “Emma!” Rohan sounded shocked.

  Emma ignored him, peeling herself out of the flimsy vest which covered her over washed bra. The middle aged doctor watched her unladylike striptease with fascination. Rohan swung his leg over the side of the bed and tried to stand, hobbling on the spot with his arms stretched behind him, grappling for support on the bed. “Emma!” he said again, a tinge of amazement in his voice.

  “Sorry!” she gushed, making a dash for it and shoving the prone doctor out of the way. Clasping both hands firmly around the sink, she relaxed like an athlete finding the finish line and hurled straight into the examination room sink.