HE FELT NUMB. HE had known he wasn’t going to get the job and yet... and yet... until today, until the moment he had walked into that interview room, there had still been a possibility, however remote. A possibility. Only now, when the job was gone, as he sat on the train going over the macabre experience in his mind, did he realize that a tiny, treacherous flame of hope had been flickering within him all along. For all his bravado, it turned out, he had been holding on to that. And now that hope was extinguished. Where there had been light, no matter how faint, how tremulous, there was only a black, black pool of despair lapping at his feet.
He went back to the hospital. It was after five, but there were a few things he needed to do. Ludo had already gone, leaving his bleep in the doctors’ office. He began looking through the results on a couple of patients that he wanted to check. The numbers passed in front of his eyes. He couldn’t take them in.
Dr Morris bleeped him to find out if he was back and then came up to see him. He asked how the interview had gone. He needn’t have. Goldblatt could see he already knew.
‘I’m sorry, Malcolm.’
Goldblatt shrugged.
‘How do you feel?’
‘Not too bad,’ he lied. ‘I didn’t expect to get it. It’s not exactly the first time.’
‘I heard it was a... difficult interview.’ Dr Morris tried to hide a grin. He had spoken to someone who had spoken to someone who had been in the room. Word about the drubbing of Mike Coalport at the hands of a locum registrar was getting around.
But it wasn’t a grinning matter. Malcolm Goldblatt was going to do himself serious damage if he went around talking like that to people like Mike Coalport. No one talked like that to Mike Coalport. But on the other hand... he had talked like that to Mike Coalport.
The grin widened on Dr Morris’s face despite his best efforts to suppress it. ‘I’ve always thought his thinking was rather old-fashioned myself, you know.’
Goldblatt buried his head in his hands.
‘You require no instruction...’
‘Don’t. Please.’
‘So it’s true?’
Goldblatt groaned.
‘Why did you do it?’
‘Don’t ask,’ said Goldblatt miserably.
Dr Morris sat down.
Goldblatt looked at him. Dr Morris shook his head disbelievingly.
‘How’s the Sutherland unit?’ asked Goldblatt.
‘Between you and me, Malcolm, Dr Sutherland runs a terrible ship. If I ever practise medicine like that, take me out and shoot me.’ Dr Morris stared thoughtfully at the floor. ‘You know you can’t do things like that,’ he said eventually. ‘You just... no one will give you a job.’
‘I know. You don’t have to tell me.’
‘Then why did you do it?’
‘I don’t know. I just did. I was never going to get that job. I knew it before I even went in.’ Goldblatt paused. ‘You told me I’d get it for sure. After the pre-interview, remember? The worse it was, you told me, the more chance I had.’
‘Well that was... not entirely based on experience.’
‘You lied?’
Dr Morris shrugged sheepishly. ‘I thought it would help with your confidence. You never get a job if you don’t believe you’ve got a chance.’
‘Did you know about Anthony Thomas?’
‘Who?’
Of course he knew, thought Goldblatt. That ‘who?’ was too forced, too self-consciously nonchalant. He watched Dr Morris for a moment. Then he sighed. It didn’t matter what Dr Morris knew. What had happened wasn’t Dr Morris’s fault. ‘I was a Wise Man again. I always knew I was going to be.’
Dr Morris pretended he didn’t remember what Goldblatt was talking about. Then a look of recognition – obviously carefully crafted – came over his face.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s always hard to beat a local candidate. It’s not a reflection on you.’
Goldblatt nodded glumly. It was a reflection of something else entirely. Not that that was any comfort. Quite the opposite. If it had been a reflection of something about himself, at least there would have been a chance that he could change it.
‘But you still can’t do something like that, what you did to Mike Coalport.’
‘I know.’
‘Well, fortunately for you, it was Mike Coalport. He’ll hate you for ever, but a lot of people will secretly admire you for it. Mike has a lot of enemies. He steps on everyone’s toes.’
‘You were his registrar.’
‘Have I ever shown you my feet?’
Goldblatt laughed.
‘Not that he’s not a good physician,’ added Dr Morris quickly. ‘And an excellent scientist. I learned a lot from him.’
Dr Morris, thought Goldblatt, couldn’t you just for once say something critical about a colleague and not—
‘But he’s a bastard,’ said Dr Morris. ‘An absolute bastard.’
That was better.
‘People will think you did it because he’s such a bastard.’
‘Naturally,’ said Goldblatt, instinctively clutching at the straw of a rationalization that Dr Morris had sent floating towards him.
‘But you can’t do things like that, Malcolm. People might secretly admire you, but that doesn’t mean they’ll give you a job.’
‘I know.’
Dr Morris nodded. ‘All right. Enough said. I know this is disappointing, but don’t let it get you down. You never had a chance. You’ll get a job, Malcolm. Any other applications in the pipeline?’
‘I haven’t seen any other good jobs around.’
‘What about locum jobs?’
Goldblatt laughed. There were always locum jobs. You couldn’t do them for ever.
‘Malcolm,’ said Dr Morris seriously, ‘I’ve been meaning to say, I had another look at your CV. I want to ask you something. Have you ever thought of doing an MD?’
Goldblatt stared. Had he ever thought...
‘You’d probably find it easier to get an SR job if you did.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Hmm,’ said Goldblatt, putting his finger theatrically to his lips. ‘I wonder why I’ve never thought of that...’
‘All right, Malcolm. I get it. I’m sure you’ve got your reasons. Maybe we can talk about it another time. I’m just trying to be helpful.’ Dr Morris smiled a smile that was so transparently intended to cheer him up that it made Goldblatt even more depressed. ‘Come on. You’ll get a proper job.’
‘No. I just can’t see how it’s going to happen. You’ve seen my CV. Twenty months. That’s how long I’ve been doing locum jobs. What’s going to change? What’s going to be different next time compared with today?’
‘That’s why I say you should consider an MD.’
‘I have considered it!’ Goldblatt stopped, conscious of his voice rising. ‘Sorry. Look, I have considered it. Two years of my life? It’s just not me. I’m not cut out for it. But you know what? Tell me it would make a difference – a single, meaningful difference – to my ability as a clinician, and I’d do it tomorrow. I’d spend two years with the mice in the lab. Just tell me – honestly, truthfully – that it would make a difference.’
Goldblatt waited. Dr Morris didn’t reply.
‘Exactly. Anyway, what’s the point of even thinking about it? I don’t have a patron.’
Dr Morris looked at him suspiciously. ‘A patron? That’s not another Wise Man thing, is it?’
For a moment Goldblatt thought of making something up – a story about three patrons, perhaps, presenting rosewater, honey and wax at an outhouse in ancient Mesopotamia – but he couldn’t be bothered. Not even for Dr Morris, who probably would have enjoyed it, to judge from their last foray into bible studies. ‘No,’ he said.
‘You’ll get a proper job.’ Dr Morris forced a note of encouragement into his voice. ‘You’ve just got to keep trying. I’ll do whatever I can to help. I’ll give you a reference. You can count on me for that. But you could do a few things to help yourself with the Prof as well, you know.’
Goldblatt sighed. Dr Morris seemed to have taken a crash course in stating the obvious.
‘You could try.’
‘Believe it or not, I do. Look, Emma hates me. And she talks to the Prof. I’m sure she does.’
‘She doesn’t hate you.’
‘She does.’
‘She doesn’t.’
Goldblatt gave Dr Morris a very searching look. ‘She does.’
‘Well,’ said Dr Morris, ‘only a little bit.’
‘I don’t know what to do.’ Goldblatt shrugged helplessly. ‘I really don’t. I’ve tried to talk to her, but it doesn’t work. I don’t know what to do to make her stop thinking that I’m... I don’t even know what she thinks.’
‘Who? Emma or the Prof?’
‘Both of them!’
Dr Morris laughed for a moment. ‘You’re in an impossible situation. You’re caught in the middle. They’re both as mad as hatters. You’re the meat in the sandwich.’
‘The meat in the hatters’ sandwich,’ said Goldblatt. ‘That’ll make a good epitaph.’
‘Don’t talk about epitaphs.’
‘Seems like a good day for it. Does Emma talk to you as well?’
‘About what?’
‘About me.’
Dr Morris looked away guiltily.
‘How often?’ asked Goldblatt.
‘Not often.’
‘Once a week?’
‘Sometimes...’
‘Less?’
‘More.’
‘Does she cry?’ asked Goldblatt.
‘Not every time. Try to understand. It’s hard for Emma. She hasn’t got much confidence. This is her first job in a teaching hospital. Come on, Malcolm, imagine what it’s like for her. We’ve always worked in this kind of environment, we take it for granted. We’re used to it. Emma isn’t. It’s understandable that she finds it intimidating. And with someone like you...’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Goldblatt. He just wanted Dr Morris to stop.
‘No, don’t be sorry,’ said Dr Morris.
‘I’m not.’
‘Why did you say you were?’
‘Because I just said it. It’s absurd. You’ve just told me you want me to understand why someone hates me because she lacks confidence. So I thought if that’s a good enough reason for her to hate me, then I suppose it’s a good enough reason for me to pretend I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sure she doesn’t like hating me. So I should probably be sorry for making her feel bad about that as well.’
Dr Morris closed his eyes for a moment. ‘All right, Malcolm. It’s been a hard day for you. We’ll talk about this properly another time. I just want to let you know that I’ll do anything I can for you. I’ll support you. But you have to keep trying, all right? Remember that. Don’t give up.’
Goldblatt nodded. Dr Morris got up and left.
A few minutes later Emma came in, saw that Goldblatt was there, and hesitated.
‘She’s not here,’ he said, guessing that Emma wanted the HO. ‘Maybe she’s already on the private ward.’
Emma looked at him for an instant longer and went away.
Goldblatt thought about Dr Morris. He really would do whatever he could for him, Goldblatt believed that. And one day, there would be a lot that Dr Morris would be able to do. But not now. Dr Morris was too young and too new. He didn’t have the clout.
One day, Goldblatt was sure, Dr Morris would make a very good patron, and many registrars would benefit. But not in time for him.
Just as there are five phases of grieving, so there were five phases in Lesley’s response on interview nights. Shock, denial, and dismissal took about two minutes, then there was sympathy – and then there was anger.
Lesley always started out with good and sympathetic intentions, and by the time she and Goldblatt were into the second bottle of wine she was always in a boiling rage. Her anger was diffuse, uncomprehending, and extreme. It went looking indiscriminately for targets amongst consultants, hospital managers, and the entire medical profession, but since there were no consultants or hospital managers on the sofa with them, it inevitably ended up aimed at the only representative of the medical profession who happened to be available.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘What’s in it for you?’
‘What?’ said Goldblatt.
‘This. This whole thing.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘It’s killing you Malcolm. Why are you doing this to yourself?’ Lesley fixed him with her gaze. ‘It’s the old Jewish lady, isn’t it?’
Goldblatt didn’t reply.
‘It is. I hate her.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘I hate her!’
‘How can you hate her? She’s an old lady.’
‘I hate her!’
‘You’re an anti-Semite.’
‘I’m an anti-Semite? No, I don’t hate her because she’s Jewish, Malcolm. I hate her because of what she’s doing to you. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her!’
‘She’s dead, Lesley. Isn’t that enough for you?’
‘No. It isn’t enough.’
‘Wash your mouth out with soap.’
‘She isn’t dead. She’s alive in your head.’
Goldblatt rolled his eyes.
Lesley slapped him on the head. Not playfully.
‘In there,’ said Lesley. ‘She’s alive. Isn’t she?’
Goldblatt was silent.
‘Isn’t she?’ She slapped him on the head again.
‘Stop it,’ said Goldblatt.
‘Is she alive? Yes or no?’
‘No. She’s dead.’
Slap! ‘She’s alive. Admit it.’
‘No.’
Slap! ‘Admit it!’
‘All right!’ said Goldblatt, throwing his hands around his head. ‘She’s alive. I’m a doctor, remember? I’m allowed to bring people back to life.’
‘No, gods do that, Malcolm. Not doctors.’
‘What do you want from me, Lesley?’ Inside him something suddenly flared. ‘Tell me. What do you want? It wasn’t the best day for me today. In case you haven’t heard, I got dumped at another interview, and on the way I managed to humiliate one of the biggest fucking kahunas in the business.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘I don’t know why!’
‘You’re your own worst enemy.’
‘At least I know what my enemy’s doing.’
‘Actually, I don’t think you do. I don’t think you’ve got any control over what you’re doing at all any more. Don’t you think this episode today tells you something? Have you ever heard of self-destruction?’
‘Spare me the psychology, Lesley. I just did it. What difference does it make? I was never going to get the fucking job anyway!’
Lesley stared at him. Then she nodded. ‘All right, Malcolm.’
Goldblatt shook his head. The realization that, deep down and almost unknown to himself, he had been holding on to the tenuous hope that he might actually get the Nailwright job had grown stronger as the hours since the interview had passed, and the prospect of what lay ahead correspondingly bleaker. Dr Morris’s well-meaning attempt to encourage him had just made him feel even worse. If Dr Morris did give him a reference, people would still find it odd that Goldblatt didn’t offer one from the Prof, the senior consultant on the unit. And a reference for what? Not even Dr Morris could make a substantive SR vacancy materialize out of nothing.
He was snookered. He was fucked.
‘Malcolm?’
He looked at Lesley.
‘Why don’t you leave? Why don’t you just leave this whole thing behind and do something else with your life?’
Goldblatt shook his head helplessly.
‘I’ll support you while you work out what you want to do. If you want to go to the bar, or train in something...’ Her voice petered out. Lesley didn’t say anything for a while. Then she took a deep breath. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking...’ she shrugged, her mouth trembling slightly. She took another deep breath. ‘Maybe you’d be happier without me. Why should you have to explain yourself to me? You shouldn’t have to keep doing that. You know, you could be like you always told me you used to be. No commitments. Sleep around with the nurses.’
‘And doctors,’ said Goldblatt. ‘You’re insulting me, Les. It wasn’t just nurses.’
‘Well, anyway...’
‘You know, I did exaggerate a bit, when I used to tell you about that. It wasn’t really like that, Les. I mean, not all the time. Or even much of the time, actually.’
She didn’t reply.
‘Les, what are you talking about? What are you trying to say?’
She frowned. Then she shook her head. ‘Nothing. Look, it’s all right. It’s fine.’
Goldblatt stared at her.
‘It’s just... You’re killing yourself, Malcolm. And when someone you love is killing themselves and there’s nothing you can do except watch and...’ She shook her head again. ‘I can’t bear to watch it.’
‘If you can’t bear to watch it, imagine what it feels like for me.’
It was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat before he had finished saying it. Even for him.
Lesley shook her head again. ‘Malcolm Goldblatt, always joking. Always with the jokes.’ She looked at him with a deep, searching stare. ‘Malcolm, I just don’t know how much more I can take.’