Booktopia Editions: Lovesick by Jean Flynn

Did you know that Booktopia has its very own publishing imprint called Booktopia Editions? Focusing mainly on commercial fiction and non-fiction, we’ve already brought some great books to Aussie readers from authors like Joanne Harris, Tessa Bailey, Poppy Gee and more. Each month on the blog, we’ll be sharing the latest books from Booktopia Editions with you and this month you can look forward to Lovesick. From Aussie author Jean Flynn, Lovesick is a big-hearted romance about getting sick, getting better and taking risks.

This is a Booktopia Book Club book, which means that it’s available exclusively to Booktopia Book Club members (at the special price of $14.95). You can find out more about how to become a Book Club member here, but if you want a few good reasons to join, you can read a short extract from Lovesick below!

Lovesick

Chapter One

The alarm goes off for the fourth time. My fingers linger over the snooze button, but I know that one more five-minute set will push me over the edge from slightly lazy to downright naughty. I stretch my arms up and breathe deeply in and out. My hands are twitching, as usual. I look at them with an angry squint. Sometimes it’s like they’re not even mine; like they’re bionic, only with some electrical defect that I can’t control. I press my index fingers against my thumbs over and over. Press, release, press, release. The red digital numbers in my peripheral vision distract me. Seven forty-nine! Shit!

I shower quickly then open my wardrobe and stare at the lack of options. Up one end there are winter items and down the other end there’s very little: a pink stripy T-shirt, a pair of royal blue shorts and a black miniskirt with orange piping around the pockets. My floordrobe is pretty full, as usual, but I can’t remember my system for States of Unwashedness. I look at the pieces of scrunched fabric lying in the gap between my bed and the window. Okay, there’s no system. And I can’t be bothered doing a sniff test.

I pull on the black mini and pink T-shirt then make it more Lady-At-Work by adding two chunky bangles and my least-scuffed flats. I catch a glimpse of myself in my full-length mirror as I leave the bedroom. To sum up: ugh.

Simone is in the kitchen, sitting at the table with her organic bircher muesli and summer-fruit compote.

‘Hey, Beth,’ she says, calmly and softly. Her skin could only be described as dewy. Her blonde hair is shiny but not oily. Her clothes are—honestly, I don’t have time for this. She’s just bloody perfect.

‘Hi, bye,’ I say, then grab an apple and my backpack and run out the door. Our second-storey flat is one of eight in a sixties cream brick block. It’s small but bright, dated but functional. Mostly, it’s location, location: a kilometre from the CBD and close to all vital amenities (running tracks, hospitals). I moved in five months ago; my timing was serendipitous—Simone’s flatmate happened to be in the process of moving out right when I announced that I was coming back to Melbourne. And even though Simone said, several times, that I’d have to promise to keep the flat tidy, I’m sure she was secretly pleased that her little sister was going to be living with her.

I fly down the concrete stairs, sprint round to the carport and unlock my pride and joy: a mint-green six-speed vintage Malvern Star.

Riding is my favourite. I like the quickness and the chaos, and how I don’t think about my twitchy fingers the whole time. It’s just me and the wind and I can beat the traffic if I really try.

I’m in the city in nine minutes. All green lights!

I leap off my bike while it’s still moving, throw it against a pole, thread the lock around the wheel, bang my shin on the pedal and limp over to the door. Up the single flight of stairs, two at a time, into the foyer, twist my skirt around to its correct place, smile at Kelly. It’s twenty past eight. There are already two patients in the waiting room.

‘Morning, Kel,’ I say.

‘Beth!’ Kelly pokes her head out from behind her computer. ‘Nice entrance. You’ve got grease on your calf.’

‘Shit.’ I rub at the chain mark, which only makes it spread out.

‘Anyway, no-one sees your legs.’

‘The doctors do.’ I put my backpack under the desk and sit down.

She raises her eyebrows and rests the end of her biro on her bottom lip. ‘Yes, Brendan might have a look.’

‘Kelly!’ I say, pointing my finger at her. I don’t know why I bother with this faux-shock though, because she knows exactly what I think about Brendan: that he is possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, ever. And although this makes him completely unattainable, it’s still nice to have a crush on someone and it definitely makes coming to work more appealing.

My computer is already on, thanks to my punctual colleague. The screen shows today’s schedule. Jonathan has one gap in the afternoon and Brendan has ten forty-five and three-fifteen free. It’s unusually busy because Catherine is in Perth celebrating her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Half of our female patients will only see her so they are very Put Out that she has abandoned them in favour of champagne and soft white robes.

The phone rings. Kelly’s quicker than me.

‘Good morning, Collins Street Group Practice, Kelly speaking.’ I glance at her as she talks. Her abundant cleavage jiggles slightly when she gesticulates. She’s wearing a black-and-white fitted dress, belted at true waist level. The little wooden deer brooch I gave her last Christmas is attached to the collar.

When she hangs up I click the mouse at nothing in particular and look over at the two men in the waiting room. ‘You going to take your helmet off at some point?’ Kelly says.

‘Shit.’

I undo the strap and put the helmet with my backpack, then take an elastic off my wrist and quickly pull my hair back into a ponytail.

I’m ready! Most days are like this. Every day, really. It would be nice to sit neatly at the dining table and eat organic bircher muesli and read the newspaper before work. I would like to carefully consider my outfit, wear fitted dresses and brooches and have my hair done properly. But calmly calmly just isn’t my style. Slapdash! is all I can manage.

‘Let’s play “What’s your disease?”’ Kelly whispers.

‘Okay,’ I say quietly. One of the men in the waiting room has a full head of shiny white hair and there’s a splotchy redness that creeps over his nose and down onto his soft jowls. His hands sit in fists on his knees, very school-photo-like, and one keeps coming up to shield his mouth when he coughs.

‘He’s got TB,’ I say, pushing my keyboard slightly so that it lines up with the edge of the desk.

‘TB! You’re so morbid!’

But how can I not be morbid when the whole surgery is. It’s all pastel tones of blue and grey and there are no windows. The only piece of decoration is a muted floral still life on the waiting-room wall that makes me sad. It’s just so nothingy. People in waiting rooms need colour and distraction, surely. There’s no magazine budget either, so it’s only what Jonathan brings in from home: fishing/golf/science.

‘Anyway, on a positive note, at least it’s Friday,’ says Kelly, patting the side of her rollers-overnight hairdo.

I grab a pile of documents from my in-tray: mostly referral letters that I need to post and lists of medical supplies that I need to re-order.

‘It sure is,’ I say. ‘So … coming out for a drink later? It’s DVDs-with-Dad night, which means I can get on it. Theo said he’s going to make the kids watch The Never Ending Story.’

I don’t feel like going out. I’m tired. My clothes are awful and my hair’s a mess. My right leg is tingling. Then again, if Brendan is going I might possibly maybe change my mind. Kelly knows this.

‘I bet Brendan buys you a tequila shot.’ She makes the last two words all sing-song, like people do when they say ‘I told you so’.

‘He buys everyone tequila shots,’ I say, looking at her with the most nonchalant facial expression I can manage.

‘Yes, but I bet he buys you a special one.’ She winks. He did last time we all went out—at least, he got me something called a Pimm’s Royale on the premise that I’d had a ‘difficult week’. I didn’t know what he was referring to, and didn’t ask.

‘I’ll think about it,’ I say.

I know Kelly won’t take no for an answer. I know I’ll give in and go. It’s a good thing, really. I see her pushiness more as extreme enthusiasm, without which I’d probably stay home far too much.

‘Think about it?’ she says. ‘You’re twenty-six, Beth. You don’t need to “think about it”. Let loose, lady!’

I scrunch my face up at her.

‘Anyway, let’s have a bet on today’s shirt,’ she says. I open Word on my computer and look for the Pap Test Reminder template.

‘Doctor’s-surgery pastel blue,’ I say, going through the files.

‘I’m going to say pink. Going-out-after-work pink.’ Brendan is Highly Groomed. His clothes are always immaculate: not only clean but also ironed. Ironed! His hair is thick and neat and always seems to be the same length. It’s an almost-black brown colour that I just know will never fall out or go grey. I wish mine was something a bit more normal and not Orange! I do think a lot about buying some L’Oréal and becoming Sunkissed Auburn or Burgundy Blush, but the chemicals would surely leach into my scalp and cause some kind of cancer.

I am about to google ‘Hair Dye Cancer’ when Brendan walks in, man-bag on one shoulder, jacket in hand. He smiles directly at me. His teeth are so white I think I might buy some kind of tooth-whitening product in my lunchbreak.

‘Morning, ladies. Busy today?’

‘Nearly full,’ I say, crossing my legs. I smile strangely, trying to keep my lips closed so that Brendan doesn’t notice how not-white my teeth are. God, I do really want him to buy me a special drink tonight.

‘Your eight-thirty is Harry Anderson,’ says Kelly, gesturing to the old jowly man who is now reading Fishing and Hunting Monthly.

‘Good. Thanks.’ Brendan disappears down the hallway and into his room.

‘Going-out-after-work pink,’ says Kelly. ‘I knew it.’ She opens her desk drawer and takes out a Cherry Ripe. ‘Did you see the way he looked at you?’ She tears the wrapper.

‘What way?’ I say, pretend-naively.

‘You know.’ She bites off a chunk of chocolate.

If Kelly thinks that was something, does that mean it was something? Or are we both deluded?

—Lovesick by Jean Flynn (Booktopia Editions) is out now for Booktopia Book Club members.

Lovesick

Exclusive Booktopia Book Club Edition

by Jean Flynn

Beth is an absolute wreck. She is certain that she has some kind of disease — a fatal one, most likely. She is also very single and quite keen on her (boss) colleague, Dr Brendan Roberts. He seems to fancy her, too — well, until The Morning After.

Beth knows it’s time to sort out her messy life, but she has no idea where to start...

Order NowRead More

No comments Share:

About the Contributor

Booktopia