Free Doctor at Large by Richard Gordon

parents of the last comforts of their declining years – for this. It would have been easier to face if I had eaten a nourishing breakfast.
    ‘Sit down,’ I said dully, hearing another patient enter. ‘Name, age, and occupation?’
    ‘Wilkins. Twenty-one. Trades union organizer.’ A youth in a tight blue suit sat down, still wearing his hat. ‘But I ain’t a patient. At least, not at the minute.’ He spoke softly and slowly, as though demanding my money and valuables in an alley on a dark night. ‘You’ve upset my mother you ’ave.’
    ‘If that lady outside is your mother, I’d be obliged if you’d kindly take her home.’
    ‘Under the Regulations for the Conduct and Control of the National Health Service,’ he continued, staring at the ceiling. ‘A patient what receives inefficient service from a doctor can state a case before the local Executive Council, who, if they shall decide the facts proved, shall deduct an appropriate fine from the doctor’s remuneration.’
    I lost my temper. ‘Get out!’
    ‘Take it easy, Doc, take it easy,’ he continued in the same tone. ‘I’m not saying nothing against you – I’m only quoting regulations, see? It just happens that I know ’em.’
    ‘And I suppose you go round making a damn good thing out of it?’
    Picking his front teeth with a matchstick, he continued, ‘I’d be careful what I was saying, if I was you, Doc. There’s a law of libel in the land, don’t forget. As a matter of fact, I’ve had five cases against doctors. Won every one. All fined. I’m worth near a thousand quid a year to the Executive Council, I’d say.’
    ‘Now look here, Mr Watkins–’
    ‘Wilkins.’
    ‘I don’t care who the bloody hell you are or what you intend to do, but if you don’t get out of here at once I’ll kick your ruddy coccyx so hard–’
    ‘Violence won’t get you nowhere,’ he said imperturbably. ‘I could lay a complaint before the General Medical Council in that case. That you was guilty of infamous conduct in a professional respect.’ He rose. ‘Don’t forget the name, Doc., Wilkins, You’ll be hearing more from me.’

7
    When I got home Jasmine was laying the table for our midday dinner.
    ‘Hello,’ she said brightly. ‘You look like you’re a bear with a sore head, and no mistake.’
    ‘At the moment I’d make a pack of bears with sore heads look like a basket of puppies. Where’s Dr Hockett, Jasmine?’
    ‘The Doctor ain’t in yet. He had to go out to the Vicar.’ She laughed. ‘That’s the first time what you’ve called me Jasmine.’
    I threw myself into a chair and picked up my Pears’ Cyclopaedia . After a while she went on, ‘Didn’t ’arf give you a start, didn’t it? Yesterday at tea.’ She giggled. ‘Didn’t know I was married to the Doctor, did you?’
    ‘If you must drag the incident up again, Mrs Hockett, I will tell you that I didn’t. And it did give me a start. Quite put me off my sardine.’
    She laid out the last of the plates. ‘I’m not blaming you,’ she said amiably. ‘Fancy me being the wife of a doctor! Phew! I can’t get over it yet, sometimes.’ As I said nothing, she came nearer my chair. ‘Of course, he only married me to save the wages. Or mostly, I suppose. He’s a mean old devil, like you said. Still, I acted for the best.’
    ‘My dear Mrs Hockett–’
    ‘Call me Jasmine, ducks.’
    ‘I really cannot give opinions on your strictly domestic affairs. I have had an exhausting – in fact, excruciating – morning, and quite enough trouble for today, thank you.’
    ‘Do us a favour, duckie,’ she said.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Yes, go on. Be a sport.’ She came near enough to stand over me. ‘The Doctor’s given you the key of the drug cupboard, ain’t he?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Yes he has – he always gives it to the assistant.’
    ‘And what of it?’
    ‘Be a gent and give us the lend of it a minute.’
    ‘I certainly will not.’ I turned to my Cyclopaedia again with