The Other Side of Sorrow by Peter Corris Page B

easy,’ I said. ‘We want to get there in one piece.’
    â€˜Sorry, Cliff. What’s going to happen next?’
    I cleared my throat and unshipped my mobile. ‘I’m going to pretend to be impotent and you’re going to crack a computer system. Okay?’

13
    The clinic was housed in one of those big Paddington terraces in a street that seemed to have speed humps every fifty metres. The house was painted white and its iron lace was black. The fence was in good repair and the narrow front garden was neat. The contrast with my place in Glebe couldn’t have been more marked. A discreet brass plaque by the gate indicated professional activities went on here but was vague about the details. I’d told Geoff how I hoped things would go and what he was to do if they did.
    â€˜That’s illegal,’ he said.
    â€˜So’s kidnapping.’
    â€˜We don’t know that’s happened or anything like it.’
    â€˜Well, let’s try and find out what
has
happened.’
    We mounted the steps to the porch and I pressed the buzzer. The door opened and we went into the standard hallway that had been blocked off before the stairs. The block steered you into the front room where there were chairs, a table with magazines and a receptionist behind a desk. She wore a version of a nurse’s uniform and was middle-aged and comfortable looking.
    â€˜Can I help you?’
    â€˜My name’s Hardy. I rang a little while ago for an appointment.’
    â€˜Ah, yes, Mr Hardy. And this is …?’
    â€˜Geoff. My son. He’s here to lend me moral support. I’m a bit anxious about this.’
    â€˜How nice,’ she said. ‘There’s certainly no need to be anxious. If Geoff can just wait here. I’ll get some details from you. I take it you’re in a health fund.’
    I said I was and gave her the details.
    â€˜Fine. I’ll take you through to the patients’ waiting room and see how long until Dr Pradesh can see you.’
    I nodded to Geoff and let her lead me away, moving as slowly as I could. We went through a passage that had been created by partitions to a small room at the back of the house, one of three. There had been a lot of dividing of space back here.
    â€˜Please wait here, Mr Hardy. I’ll have to ask you not to leave the room until you are called for.’
    â€˜Why’s that?’
    â€˜Our patients demand and expect privacy. I’m sure you understand.’
    â€˜Of course.’ I tried to look as if I’d be worried that someone would see me there. Come to think of it, if I was impotent, I would be.
    I delayed her for as long as I could with a few questions but she was obviously keen to get back to her station. The magazines were soft-core pornography and there was a stack of videos of the same kind on a shelf. Good healthy in-out, in-out stuff. I leafed through, admiring the supple bodies and feeling distinct stirrings. I had an image of Annette doing it in her bride’s outfit with a man in a dinner jacket. I was smiling when the doctor opened the door.
    â€˜Mr Hardy? Would you come this way, please.’ He was Indian or Pakistani; small, neat, with a winning smile. We went into his surgery and assumed the traditional postures—him behind his desk, me in front. Doctor and patient, god and non-god.
    â€˜You are having trouble with your erections? Is that achieving or sustaining?’
    â€˜Both.’
    â€˜I see.’ He made a note. ‘Otherwise you are in good health? You look fit.’
    â€˜Fit enough,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a touch of sugar. Controlled by diet.’
    Another note. ‘Heart? Kidneys?’
    â€˜Recently checked and okay.’
    â€˜Do you smoke?’
    I shook my head.
    â€˜Drink?’
    â€˜Moderately,’ I said, giving myself a fair bit of latitude.
    He took down the details of my age, medical history and occupation which I gave as