Limits
Millie stood at the very back of the club, her eyes fixed on the stage. If she wasn’t so terrified she would be smiling. But with her level of anxiety at being around this many people, that would be an impossibility. When Jamie had asked her to come tonight she’d been surprised. But then he had literally asked everyone who knew his girlfriend Libby to come.
Still, it was a surprise.
Millie was never invited anywhere. Nobody wanted the Nuclear Winter (she’d overheard that nickname more than once) around socially, she knew that. Even if somebody had decided to extend an invite, she would never usually have gone.
Millie knew her limits.
She knew what she could cope with, and this was way, way beyond them. Eleanor had been ecstatic that Millie needed something more casual to wear. They’d spent over an hour picking the perfect outfit. She’d even made a move to give Millie a hug after they’d finished, which Millie had deftly avoided. El was nice, but then El was paid to be nice. Millie imagined that most people would be nice if they were a personal shopper who took a commission from someone who didn’t care about cost of clothes.
Money meant nothing to Millie, but wearing the right outfits did, and she did not trust her own judgement. Years ago, at the start of their interactions, Eleanor had tried to extract an opinion from Millie about the clothes she got her to try on, but she didn’t bother anymore. Millie simply gave El the situation the clothes would be worn in, El had her try a few outfits, and then she chose everything for her – right down to her underwear. Millie knew that she herself had no taste. She knew that if she chose her clothes it would not be perfect, and appearing perfect was very important to Millie.
‘Hey, Dr M.’
Her head whipped round to see Him grinning down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. This man’s eyes were always twinkling with mischief.
Pavlos Martakis was definitely beyond her limits.
As Millie was a radiologist and Mr Martakis a consultant surgeon, she managed to avoid him to a certain extent, but she couldn’t avoid him completely and he’d always unsettled her an unreasonable amount. In a way he was her complete opposite: physically intimidating, likable, naturally attractive, extremely confident, sexually promiscuous (and very talented in that area, if hospital gossip was to be believed). Yes, he unsettled her, but more than that she got the impression that to him she was just one big joke. That he took an interest in her purely for his own amusement – like poking a turtle with a stick.
‘Hello, Mr Martakis,’ she said in a tight voice, taking a small step back. She fixed her attention back on the stage and heard him sigh.
‘Why don’t you call me Pavlos?’ he asked. When she didn’t reply she heard another more drawn out sigh. Why was he wasting his time talking to her?
‘You okay? You seem a bit tense.’
Millie blinked. She wasn’t really used to concern. It threw her for a moment.
‘Fine,’ she managed to get out eventually. He was still studying her and she got the impression he didn’t miss much. After a long pause, Mr Martakis finally broke the silence.
‘Here.’ A drink was held out in front of her. She looked down at it but made no move to release the death grip she had on her handbag.
‘I don’t drink alcohol,’ she told him.
Mr Martakis burst out laughing, but when she kept on staring straight ahead it slowly died. ‘Bloody hell, you’re serious. Why on earth not?’
‘Well the latest evidence suggests that the interaction of alcohol with primary and secondary targets within the brain causes alterations in gene expression and synaptic plasticity, that leads to long-lasting alteration in neuronal network activity.’ Out of the corner of her eye Millie could see the pint that had been making its way to Mr Martakis’ mouth being slowly lowered.
‘Jesus,’ he muttered. Millie’s hands clenched her handbag even harder, and her eyes dropped to her white knuckles. This is what she did: take a perfectly happy, socially confident person and make them feel uncomfortable. It was her special gift. She closed her eyes in a long blink and counted in her head, just like Anwar had told her to, trying to slow her breathing. Mr Martakis cleared his throat. She thought he would move away but he just put his pint down on one of the high tables next to them.
‘Okay, so, no alcohol. Can I get you something else?’ he pushed, and Millie started sidling towards the exit she could see from the corner of her eye. To her annoyance he simply moved with her.
‘No,’ she told him. ‘I’m fine.’
A low sound came from deep in Mr Martakis’ throat, almost like a growl. Millie took another step to the side.
‘Do you know any words other than “fine” and “no”?’ he gritted out.
Millie jerked in surprise and risked a brief moment of eye contact. He was watching her closely, his arms crossed over his broad chest. She suddenly felt very small and very intimidated. In general Millie kept most of her interactions with people superficial and free of emotion. As a consequence, she might not be liked but she encountered very few openly rude comments. The only experience she had to draw on was her hostile, critical parents, and she’d never been great with dealing with them either.
‘Er …’ She took a step back. The music had changed to another song now, and most people had already moved to the stage to dance. Millie had seen what she came to see: Jamie had proposed to Millie’s one and only friend in front of the whole club (at least Millie considered Libby a friend – Libby probably only thought of Millie as convenient childcare). She had never danced in her life. It was time for her to leave.
‘Bugger, that came out wrong,’ Mr Martakis said, moving with her and putting his hand on her forearm to stop her retreat. Her eyes flew open wide and she jerked her arm away violently, shooting him another nervous glance and taking another step back.
‘Hey, hey, hey,’ Mr Martakis said, lifting both his hands in the air, palm up, in a gesture of surrender. Millie glanced around and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the nearest exit was now only feet away. This time when she moved, he didn’t touch her, but he did spring forward and block her path. Millie took a step to the side and he moved with her. She focused on the exit sign and bit her lip.
‘I’m sorry, that was rude,’ he said.
‘It’s fine,’ Millie told him before she could stop herself, and then watched his lips twitch.
‘I really just wanted to ask you about speaking at the Grand Round.’
‘Oh,’ Millie said, breathing a sigh of relief. She was always much better if she knew the context of the interaction with another person. Now she understood. Mr Martakis wanted her to speak at the Grand Round. That was why he was talking to her. Whilst she felt relief to have his approach explained, there was a tiny part of her, buried deep, that was disappointed. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Of course you can,’ he said. ‘It’ll be a great warm-up for speaking at conferences.’
‘Conferences?’ The word came out strangled and Millie cleared her throat. ‘I won’t be talking at any conferences.’
‘But you’ve made a big breakthrough, Dr Morrison. People will want to hear what you have to say.’
‘I’ve published my findings,’ she said, her voice still high and tight. ‘I … look, I just can’t …’
‘You can.’ Mr Martakis’ face was set with determination. ‘I’ve set it all up for the week after next.’
‘No.’
Mr Martakis blinked. ‘You can’t just say an outright no, that’s not –’
Millie could feel a ringing in her ears; she knew she was breathing too fast.
‘My answer is no,’ she said through gritted teeth. The very idea of public speaking was making her come out in a cold sweat. She swallowed, glanced behind her to see another exit a bit further away, and she ran. On the way through she collided with a huge man covered in tattoos, who steadied her to stop her going down.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ the giant asked, taking in her pale face and wide, fearful eyes. He looked over her shoulder. Millie could hear Mr Martakis calling after her. The huge man’s jaw clenched tight and his eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you worry, miss,’ he told her. ‘I’ll deal with this joker.’ Millie didn’t wait to see what ‘dealing with this joker’ might entail. As soon as the giant released her she was off.
She didn’t stop shaking until she was in the back of a taxi five minutes later. This had been a mistake. She knew her limits. It was just that, recently, living within those limits had felt so very lonely. As the taxi took her all the way back to her boring house and her narrow life she felt a dull ache in her chest, but she didn’t cry.
Millie never cried.