On the next visit, I wore my red dress. It comes about five centimetres above my knees, but that is when I am standing. I sat down. I wondered if he noticed. He did! He smiled, and in his eyes I could glimpse the flirty expression of that irresistibly handsome man from the photo on his wall.
“I must apologise, doc, there is absolutely nothing wrong with your legs.”
“Well, thank you sir,” I said mockingly. We both burst out laughing.
Ever since that day, I dressed carefully whenever I went to visit him. Shortish skirts, and later sometimes even the stockings my lover Tom introduced me to.
We both flirted. I suppose it was inappropriate. But Mr Thompson was not going to report me to the General Medical Council, he was having fun. Later, when I told the story to Tom, he loved it. He said, “When I get old and decrepit, I would love to get a flirty attractive doctor with short skirts and stockings visiting me and spice my boring life up. And you are a good doctor, too, he is lucky.”
I was spicing up Mr Thompson’s life for another two years. He died of pneumonia. The one I wanted to vaccinate him against.
Sometimes I miss Mr Thompson …
Here’s where to get her book!