#2920 – Spectre
Petworth, January 2020.
The patience was getting harder to bear. He’d waited there for hours, literally hours. Sitting there, in the same room, in the same seat, just waiting and waiting.
They had deliberately removed the clock to avoid people watching the time tick past, but that didn’t stop the people on their phones, the news reports on the television – the volume down low enough that it was barely, annoyingly just, discernible – showing both date and time throughout every article.
“You’re in early enough, so should be seen fairly soon.” That was the message he’d received when he first arrived. The message, delivered with such confidence, had been received nearly eight hours ago. “Nil by mouth, just in case.” So nothing from the elevenses trolley, the lunchtime sandwiches, the afternoon tea and biscuits.
He wouldn’t have minded if they had been able to tell him why he was waiting. The reception staff would not be able to confirm how long that would be – that was displayed very clearly on the posters around the waiting room – but just a hint at what he was actually waiting for would be a bonus.
Here came a doctor. It must be his turn?! No, somebody else’s name was called out, another person heading off to the consultant’s room in his place. And so it was back to waiting…