Finally, Tim thought to himself, as he lumbered through the door after a long day at work. Throwing off his shoes in the hallway, he walked to the kitchen and placed the bag of groceries on the table. Staring down at his less than appetising dinner he sighed - it was already 6pm, and he'd been at work since 7am. Tim, you see, was a doctor in a busy accident and emergency department in east London, and after a long day of road traffic accidents, drunken fools, and sprained ankles, he had little motivation to spend hours cooking an amazing meal for himself. But, despite the long hours Tim was in a job he loved, and for that he would settle for a ready meal of spaghetti bolognese with some "ready in 18 minutes" garlic bread. He turned on the oven, and threw one of the chilled baguettes on a baking tray, and put it in the oven. It would take more like 20 minutes, he thought to himself, as the oven was cold. He put the bolognese tray on a plate, poked holes in its plastic lid with a knife, and placed it in the microwave.
This was his life now, and left him relatively little time for socialising. After 5 years of med school, 2 foundation years, and now 4 years of specialist training in trauma he was almost 30 and didn't really have the time for relationship building. There were a few other doctors training for their specialism, most of them around his age, but nobody really wanted to settle down right now, only a few short years from completing their specialist training. With that came an inevitable move, perhaps to somewhere far away in the country - something that isn't so healthy for long term relationships. Tim had resigned himself to single life for the time being, and it showed. The bin was quite full, and the sink contained the remnants of the last 5 days meals - 5 plates, 5 knives, 5 forks, 5 cups.
Returning to the living room, Tim dropped to the sofa, laying with his feet up and flicking the TV on. In such a busy life, it was the downtime that seemed to be both fleeting and slow. The days off, and the breaks between shifts seemed to go by in an instant, but something as simple as waiting for the TV to turn on seemed to last forever, wasting more of his precious downtime. The TV picture came on, just in time for the 6 'o'clock news.
"Tonight, after weeks of striking, ministers in Westminster have voted to impose the new contract on junior docto..."
Tim changed the channel. Every day it seemed more and more like the government wanted to make the lives of the next generation of doctors worse. It was almost like they though doctors had an easy ride. He'd had enough of that for now, and flicked to a documentary channel. At least the animals of the Galapagos islands had fewer societal struggles. With the noise in the background, he made his way to his room to get changed, throwing on some slacks and a t-shirt. It was about time to put the microwave on, he thought to himself as he came back to the kitchen, the scent of garlic bread wafting through his small flat. Tim lived in a relatively small flat in one of the cheaper neighbourhoods of London, it wasn't much, but it didn't really need to be. He rarely entertained guests, and realistically only needed it for a place to sleep.
*DING*
Tim grabbed a towel and gingerly pulled the hot plastic container from the microwave, steam billowing out and covering his glasses as he peeled back the plastic cover. He looked over them, through blurred vision and flipped the pot onto the plate, splashing some hot bolognese sauce onto his hand.
"Fuck!" He shouted, sucking the back of his now burning hand.
In anger he roughly dropped the plate to the countertop, but thankfully, the plate held. He opened the oven, and threw the garlic bread onto the plate, grabbed a clean knife and fork and retreated to the living room. Tim rarely used the table that sat to the side in his living room, opting instead for eating on the sofa with the plate on his lap. Only moments after taking a bite of garlic bread, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Fumbling for his phone, while balancing his plate on one knee he silently prayed it wasn't work. After a long day the last thing he wanted was a major accident and another long night at work. He looked at his phone, it wasn't work, but it was his ex girlfriend, Emily. Tim and Emily met almost two decades earlier, during their early teenage years. Their relationship, like many of Tim's had fizzled out while he was at med school, with the long hours on placement ruining the time they had together. Nevertheless, a relationship of almost 8 years had left a lasting friendship between the two. They didn't speak often, but there was certainly no animosity between them.
"Hey Emily what's up?" Tim asked, not really wanting to start a huge conversation.
"Tim..." She replied, her voice seemed panicked.
"Emily? Is everything ok?" He continued, beginning to get quite concerned.
"Tim, it's Kate, she's..." Emily tried to continue, but it was obvious she was struggling through tears.
Kate was Emily's sister, and in a way, almost a sister to Tim himself. She was 5 years younger than both Emily and Tim, and he'd known her since she was basically a child, and he'd been around for most of her childhood.
"What has happened Emily? Is she ok?" Tim asked, sternly. One thing he'd learned as a doctor, especially in a trauma situation, is that authority and directness worked best.
"Tim, I wouldn't ask but... we aren't in the country, and we can't get a flight back until tomorrow..." Emily was obviously distressed, speaking quickly.
"Emily, where is she? What has happened." He asked again, this time more sternly.
"She's in London, her boyfriend..." She cried down the phone, "...Jake... He's attacked her. She's at the police station..."
"Emily, which police station? London is a big place." He snapped at her, impatient.
"Bishops...something?" She cried, panicking that she couldn't be more specific.
"Bishopsgate?" He asked.
He knew the area well, his first foundation year had a rotation at the Royal London hospital.
"Yes? I think so?" Emily sobbed.
"Alright, I'm leaving right now," he lied, "let them know I'm coming."
She thanked him over and over, as he changed back into his clothes. As she put the phone down he grabbed a hooded sweatshirt and put it in a bag, jogging to the tube station. It was only 5 stops on the district line, but it seemed to take a lifetime. Thoughts spiraled through his mind. What kind of state was she in? It couldn't be that serious or they'd have taken her to the hospital? Tim stood by the tube door, waiting for the next stop and as the door opened ran for the stairs to the ticket barrier. He arrived a Bishopsgate police station with a strange feeling in his stomach, one of dread. As a trauma doctor he often saw people in horrible situations but he'd almost never experienced being on the other side of the profession.
Heading in, Tim went straight for the desk. It was relatively early, before the usual drunken hours that both the medical and police service dread, and the police station was almost entirely empty. The desk sergeant was a stern looking lady, her hair pinned back. She certainly looked like she'd taken a lot of abuse from angry suspects in her life.
"Hi there..." Tim started.
The desk sergeant looked up at him and almost begrudgingly asked, "Can I help?"
"Hi, I'm here to collect a family friend" He replied.
"Does this family friend have a name?" She feigned a smile, but it didn't seem very genuine.
"Kate" He continued.
"Oh. I see. Can I see some ID?" She asked, in a way making Tim feel like some kind of a suspect.
Tim pulled out his wallet, and passed his driving license and NHS ID to the desk sergeant. Almost immediately her attitude changed.
"Oh. Dr. Tim Keller? Her sister said you'd be coming over at some point but I didn't realise you were a doctor" she smiled again, this time far more genuine, probably happy she didn't have to deal with the family member of another suspect who insisted they had done "nothing wrong".
Tim laughed taking his ID from the counter, "Yes, I actually did a foundation rotation down the road the the RL"
