A Wedding In December. Sarah Morgan

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      She knew she wasn’t good company either at work or at home.

      Vicky sat down opposite her. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

      Katie lifted her head and looked at her friend. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “A few weeks ago you came home looking worse than you do now, if that’s possible. You didn’t want to talk about it and I respect that, but—you looked traumatized.” Vicky reached across the table and took her hand. “I know something happened at work and I know it’s eating away at you. I’m your best friend, Kat. We’ve known each other forever. You can talk to me.”

      “Not about this.” Katie tried to pull her hand away but Vicky tightened her grip. “I’m handling it.”

      Vicky finally let her go. “If you don’t want to talk to me, fine, but you have to talk to someone. You can’t carry on like this. Even before that night, your life was ridiculous. You move from home to work and work to home.”

      “Plenty of people do the same.”

      “But do you even enjoy it? You used to be happy. You used to talk about how much you loved it, and the cases you saw. You were animated, but now you’re…”

      “I’m what?”

      Vicky swallowed. “Like a robot or something.”

      “Thanks.” Had she loved it? It was true that she had satisfaction from meeting goals. She’d always been the same. Work for an exam, pass with top marks. She’d worked hard at each step, enjoying the forward motion. Onward and upward. “I don’t think anyone enjoys dragging people back from the brink of death every day.” The pressure was so intense it felt like being squeezed by a nutcracker.

      “But you used to find it satisfying. You loved making a difference.”

      Her heart beat faster. “Do you think we do make a difference?”

      “Of course. Don’t you?”

      “Most of the time I feel like I’m trying to stop the Titanic from sinking by putting my fist in the hole. It’s not working. We do what we can, but it never feels like enough.”

      And since that night she was questioning everything.

      She’d lost trust in herself. In her judgment.

       You made a bad decision, Katie.

       Bad call.

      The blood pounded in her ears and her breathing grew shallow.

      It didn’t matter how many times people told her that it wasn’t her fault, it felt like her fault.

      “Well, if you have your fist in the Titanic, I can tell you that you’re sinking with the ship, Kat. We do our best. That’s all we can do. But you’re giving too much. You’re working at the expense of your social life. You’re working at the expense of your health! When did you last kiss a guy?”

      “There was that guy in the pub a few weeks ago.”

      “That was in June. And the fact that you remember it so clearly means you’ve had no action since. And by the way, one drunken kiss in a pub does not a relationship make.”

      “Is it my fault he didn’t call?”

      “I don’t know, is it? Karen.”

      Katie felt her cheeks burn. “It’s very close to my real name. And he had my number.”

      “Not your whole number. You always change the last two digits.”

      “What can I say? It’s easier than saying I don’t want to see you again.”

      “Have you ever given your real number to a man?”

      “Yes. And I ended up having to get a new number when he wouldn’t leave me alone. I prefer to keep things simple.”

      Vicky leaned forward. “What you’re doing at the moment isn’t living. You’re existing.”

      What she was doing was trying not to lose her grip. If she kept busy, everything would be okay. She almost told Vicky then, but part of her was afraid that if she exposed that single pulled thread in the fabric of her life, the whole of her would unravel. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need a break. I’ll be fine when I’ve had time off.”

      “Will you?”

      “I don’t know.” She pushed the pizza box away from her. “I feel as if I’m going crazy. Damn it, Vick—what’s happening to me?”

      Vicky stood up and put her arms around her. “You need professional help. Would you talk to someone?” The kindness and compassion in her voice almost tipped Katie over the edge.

      She could barely force words past the lump in her throat. “I have you.”

      “But you’re not talking to me, and all I have to offer is turkey pizza—you need someone with expertise.”

      “Your turkey pizza wasn’t up to much. You’re a lousy friend.”

      Vicky didn’t smile. “Go to occupational health.”

      “And what?”

      “I don’t know. Maybe they’ll sign you off sick.”

      “I have a holiday coming.”

      “Not long enough.”

      “Staff taking sick leave is one of the reasons it’s so bad at the moment. If I go off, too, that would make things a thousand times worse for my colleagues.”

      “You can’t be a good doctor, feeling the way you do. How are you supposed to make good decisions?”

      She hadn’t. She hadn’t made good decisions.

      She stood up abruptly. “I need to get to bed.”

      “So that you can get up and do the same tomorrow morning.”

      “That’s right.” She finished her tea and put the mug in the dishwasher. “Thanks for the tea and the listening ear. And the pizza. It was an experience.”

      “You’re welcome. I hope you feel better in the morning. Oh, and, Katie—”

      Katie paused with her hand on the door. “What?”

      “Just so you know—from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look as if you’re handling it.”

      The following morning she didn’t feel better, nor did she feel better for any of the twenty mornings that followed. She booked her flight on automatic, an open ticket because if things went the way she expected them to she’d be coming back after a couple of days. She approved Rosie’s suggestion for her dress even though she’d barely glanced at it.

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