Oh, dear. A whole month since the last entry. But what is there to write when life has settled into a routine and nothing comes along to disturb it? I suppose I’ve become a Crossite, and what used to knock me sideways doesn’t have that capability any more. Duncan and I are as settled as an old married couple, though we haven’t lost our enthusiasm for bed. For a while he tried to persuade me to increase his visits by adding Tuesday and Thursday evenings, but I stood firm. Even idiots as myopic as Cathy F. do have eyes. Absences during the week above and beyond what she’s used to might start her wondering about Duncan’s sudden passion for golf at the Lakes, a lot closer to Queens than to Wahroonga, his excuse for choosing to play on a links where he’s not known.
Maybe I’m just a little tired of the furtiveness, but my instinct for self-preservation says that as long as Cathy F. lives in blissful ignorance, I don’t have to make any choices about posh houses and a future playing Missus Doctor. It irks him, though he won’t hurt her by confessing. She’s the mother of his sons, after all, and Unk on the Hospital Board thinks the sun rises and sets in her. What had Duncan said? Don’t create adverse ripples on the big hospital pond. Well, I don’t want any adverse ripples on my own Kings Cross pond, thank you very much.
Today has seen a tidal wave on the Cas X-ray pond. Chris and Demetrios are getting married, and she’s absolutely ecstatic about it. All of Cas has seen the engagement ring, a very nicely unusual cluster of diamonds, rubies and emeralds that belonged to the prospective groom’s mother. Such is hospital snobbery that our humble Greek porter, having caught himself a senior X-ray technician, is now spoken of as “up-and-coming”. Helped by Chris’s raves about the motor mechanics course and the garage, which Demetrios has put a down-payment on. Shrewdly chosen, because it’s on the Princes Highway in Sutherland and there’s no competition within cooee. He’s bound to do well. Poor old Sister Cas has bitten the bullet nobly, which is smart of her. She’s talking about moving into the Nurses’ Home until she finds just the right one to share a flat with. And there’s the agreeable prospect of being Chris’s bridesmaid. Chris asked me to be a bridesmaid too, but I declined tactfully, said that I’d come to the wedding. Then I teased Sister Cas by saying I used to be a champion basketball player, so I intended to outmanoeuvre the competition and catch the bride’s bouquet. Dr. Michael Dobkins is staying at Queens. Once Demetrios came on the scene, Chris forgot all about her feud, and Sister Cas has decided that he’s worth keeping because he’s so alert and competent.
Well, well. Even if she dies tomorrow, Chris isn’t going to die wondering. Demetrios struts around the place like a turkey cock, and Chris has a new facial expression—the “I know what it’s like to have a good fuck” look. I was right, it has done her the world of good.
The wedding’s set for next month, and will be a Greek Orthodox ceremony. Chris is busy taking lessons from the priest, and will, I suspect, end up more orthodox than the orthodox. Converts are usually a pain in the arse.