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Roisín found herself staring at the little crocodile on the front of her boss’s pastel pink polo shirt. It sat on the right hand side, and every so often when he gestured or moved - which he did a lot when talking - she would watch it slip between the folds of fabric and skin where his man-boob was visible under his shirt.

There, now she saw it. Regan said something she didn’t hear and pointed an accusing finger at her. The little crocodile disappeared. Then reappeared. Revolting and yet... fascinating.

 

‘Do I make myself clear?’

Roisín snapped out of her trance-like state and, tearing her eyes away from the unfortunate crocodile, she tried to bring back what Regan had been saying before she lost track.
Oh yes, hospital policy. On giving out patient information. Rules violated by her for the umpteenth time.

‘I’m sorry, dr. Regan, but I don’t agree with you on this one’, she said.

He stared at her for a second through his gold-rimmed glasses – perhaps fashionable at the time of Oscar Wilde, though doubtfully so. She could practically see his brain working to contain the fact that someone –a woman for that matter – might disagree with him. And dare say so too.

‘You don’t agree? You DON’T AGREE?’

 

A smartass remark immediately popped through her head and she pressed her lips together. Don’t take the bait and make things worse.

Regan leaned his bulky frame across the desk and jabbed a sausage of a finger in the general direction of Roisín’s nose once more. His face was now slightly red.

‘It is not for you to agree with matters like these! We are talking about hospital policy!’ He banged his fist on the desk twice to emphasize the importance of these last two words.

Roisín sighed. Oh boy. He could go on like this forever.

‘Let me perhaps remind you what hospital policy says about the matter of divulging information about patients, because it’s obvious that you are not familiar with this’, he said. He straightened his shoulders and brought the tips of his chubby fingers together in a dome.

Here it comes, Roisín thought.

 

‘We do not give information about patients admitted to this hospital to anyone, except their blood relatives or spouses. In the absence of those, we need a written statement by the authorities confirming there are no such persons and stating the names of the people acting as their substitutes’, Regan recited, as though giving a lecture to an auditorium full of college students, as Roisín knew he used to do. Poor buggers, imagine having to sit through two hours of this mind-numbing drone. She’d rather eat her Birkenstock slipper, to be honest. Both of them.

 

Regan gave her his famous ‘superior’ grin, teeth half-bared rather like a badger gone a bit funny. You can never touch me, that grin was meant to convey. My intellect and power are beyond your wildest dreams. Yeah, mate, she thought. Pity your social skills don’t match the intellect and power. He leaned towards her again and she could smell him. Not coffee or after-shave or even foul breath. Just ... him. His skin, his flesh. The folds of his body and whatever disgusting stuff sat festering between them. She almost wrinkled her nose but once again stopped herself.

 

‘You see, dr. Brady, that unmarried partners are not included in this clause. Therefore, you must see how your actions were completely and unmistakably contrary to the rulebook.’

The badger’s grin remained in place and widened somewhat before he added:

‘And not the first time too.’

He leaned back in his chairman’s swivel chair. Black leather – the real thing of course. His hands now came to rest on the arms, his shoulders relaxed. She knew he was waiting for her formal apology, and she knew she should just give it. Just say it, like a robot, who cares anyway. Just say that you’re sorry, it won’t happen again, blah blah blah...

Then something caught her eye. And her tongue got there before her brain could stop her.