I’m Fly, or Zulu Fly if you want my full title. You may have met me before, and perhaps I’m repeating myself when I remind you that I’m not to be confused with the common or garden fly. Zulu Fly’s are different; we’re storytellers, the fly on the wall that maybe you wished you were.
Today I’ve landed in this Doctors surgery. Do you want me to pass on what I see? Ok get yourself comfortable and let me begin.

If you were looking at the scene before me, you too would notice that there’s a distinct lack of enthusiasm in how Dr Barney Washington searches through his filing cabinet. It’s an old grey metal contraption, made even more ugly by the kicking dents from his size tens, and the long scrapes that decorate its aging panels. Thankfully it’s not in plain view of his patients, but it’s still within range of Dr Barneys foot, and therefore anchored against his rage by the bolts that screw it to the floor. I overheard his secretary call it his ‘Heartsink cabinet’, the place where he hides what he really thinks as he crocodile smiles across the desk at the patients that have taken over his medical career, a career, by the sounds of things, that seems to be in jeopardy, not that I can detect much disappointment at such a prospect in the tone or demeanor of Dr Barney Washington.

It’s his barrister, now sitting across from him, just as if she were a patient, who seems to be more concerned about such an outcome, most probably because it would mean a loss of a legal notch rather than any adverse outcome for our Dr Barney.
No my friends, the more I watch him, the more I think that Dr Barneys lack of enthusiasm is just social tiredness, life apathy, and I fear a lifetime of dealing with sickness has not helped in what I think to be Dr Barneys ailment. People. All people. He seems to despise everybody, every style, shape or colour of person you can think of. He just doesn’t seem to like any member of humankind. (I’m a Zulu fly so maybe I still have a chance with him, we’ll see).
As I land on his desk I presume the barrister, dressed in the typical black skirt, jacket and white blouse of her profession, will still be considered human and therefore our Dr Barney doesn’t intend to treat her any differently, even if she does have the good character to wear black lipstick and have a shaven head.
A head I can’t resist by the way, I just have to have a sneak landing on it when I see her sit down. I’m sure you’re now grimacing at such news but in my defense, (pun intended, I’m in the presence of a barrister after all) I cannot deny the fact that I’m a fly, albeit one from a higher gene pool, but a fly nonetheless, so I would request that you try and get over any feelings of snobbery or distaste you may have towards me, because I need to tell you what her head tastes like. Now you’re grimacing again aren’t you? Don’t, how a person tastes can tell a lot about them, so as Mama Zulu Fly would say, listen until I learn ye, because our barrister, who goes by the name of Cantona Doherty by the way, tastes to high heaven..

Firstly, there is a taste of hair follicle, so we know she styles her head like a snooker ball by choice and isn’t undergoing a poisonous, hair killing medical treatment, an important factor I think you’ll agree, as it’s one that obviously determines our initial judgement of her. She hasn’t head shaved this morning, but she has showered, and the flavours of coconut shower gel and anti perspirant are quite strong. She also tastes of diesel, so I know she got here by bus, one of those old pieces of junk that spew exhaust fumes and only serves the less trendy parts of town. There’s also a hint of silver and copper, so I figure she has a habit of rubbing her hand across her head, the many rings on her fingers scraping against her scalp. I can also taste Bio Oil so I look around until I see the scar she’s trying to reduce. Its shaped like a coin and sits behind her ear and almost looks like it has a pattern. Some lint, invisible to the naked eye, is trapped amongst her budding bristles of growing hair and I can taste the detergent she washed her clothes in and the particles of nature she has attracted. She has chestnut, cherry and wild basil pollens, with what I think to be a semblance of potato and cabbage, but the cabbage could be broccoli, the brassicas are hard to decipher.
Finally I think I can taste eye drops and the black plum lipstick she’s wearing on her lips. Oh, I also think there might be a taste of rubber.

The rubber has me flummoxed at present, but my taste of Cantona Doherty’s head has been quite revealing. For example I now know she lives on the north side of town near, or in, the rundown flats that are serviced by the dilapidated diesel buses, probably the number 43a. If the pollen is accurate she most likely lives in one of the tower blocks that overlooks the vegetable allotments that are growing beside the chestnut and cherry trees, the ones that have makeshift cloth lines strung between them; where the flat dwellers avoid the cost of laundries and tumble dryers by drying their clothes in the summer breeze. As the residents die they City Council boards up the flats, so Cantona may be still living with her parents, or perhaps she’s staying on after they’ve died, the City Council let that happen some times.
She was probably late for the bus this morning and therefore didn’t headshave, in fact she’s probably late most mornings and has dressing to a fine art of seconds, putting her blouse on over her head, hence the lint in her bristle, and saving minutes by avoiding the opening and closing of buttons. Perhaps that’s why she shaved her head in the first instance. Time, she doesn’t have enough of it. So I reckon she’s a baby barrister, as junior as they come, but more junior than the other juniors on account of where she lives and how she looks. She’s a outsider and her moniker doesn’t open any doors either, being named after an eccentric famous footballer doesn’t help, particularly if you’re a girl. She’s up against it every day and I reckon she thinks that only winning will prevent the senior partners from discarding her. She probably needs to study harder than the others too, and accordingly spends long nights with her head down reading the books as she rubs her scalp to keep her focussed, only to fall asleep in the early hours and wake with a jolt as the alarm clock scalds her with its terrifying squeel. She probably carries the eye drops in her bag, next to her lipstick, and clears the bloodshot sleep from her big round beautiful eyes as the old diesel bus creaks and bumps its way through the potholed roads that plague her journey. I can picture her squeezing the drops on to eye and forehead in equal measure as she’s rattled around in her seat.
I like the taste of our junior barrister. She tastes alive. She’s living life instead of fighting it, something Dr Barney needs to do before life sucker punches him in his twisted gut.
But I’m only a fly, what would I know.

Dr Barney suddenly slams the drawer of the old filing cabinet shut, the one he calls the Heartsink cabinet; and launches the file across the table at our baby barrister with a grunt.

’It’s the same file I’ve already copied to the Medical Council, and its the same file I’ve already copied to your firm, and it’s the same fucking file I’m sure they sent you scuttling off to photocopy a hundred times so it could be added to your fee’

I was right, he’s treating her as he does other humans, even though she’s a barrister.

Cantona Doherty lets the file sit where it landed, sideways across the desk. An ink stain blacks outs the patients name intentionally and the tattered paper corner of the patient file rests against a photo frame that has turned slightly from the collision. Cantona sees a smiling graduate, long blond hair and perfect teeth, being hugged by a proud Dr Barney. The ribbon on her gown means she’s a law graduate and Cantona frowns as a thought occurs to her.
She seems to mull it over as she opens her briefcase and removes her own file. It says Patient X in the corner. Cantona pushes back Dr Barneys file and intentionally moves the photo frame with it. Dr Barney looks at the framed photograph it as he sets it back in its place. Cantona is busy opening her file but I can see her watching from the corner of her eye. She looks to be paying attention to what Dr Barney is doing, so I watch him too.

Dr Barney is looking directly at her, thinking she can’t see him, and then looking back at the photo frame again, then back to Cantona. I can see a frown develop on Cantona’s smooth head as she notices this and then something dawning in her eyes. She looks cross for a millisecond before she hides it again.
She clears her throat and places her hands on the desk. She waits for Dr Barney to look at her again.

‘I don’t have cancer’, she says in a matter of fact way that catches me by surprise. I can see her eyes narrow slightly as if trying to prepare for whatever response may come. They seem to have changed colour. Dr Barney looks at her as if she’ might be worthy of some respect but then remembers why she’s there.

’I’m not stupid, I can see you have eyebrows, if not taste’ he retorts.

Cantona breaths in and lets the familiar lack of ‘taste’ remark pass. She joins hers hands, rings interlocking with black nail varnish as she sits back in her chair.

‘No, what I mean is that I’m not like your daughter’, she continues.

Dr Barneys eyes flicker and Cantona shifts in her seat slightly. I can see that she’s now hesitant, not as sure of herself as her practiced body language would lead you to believe. Maybe she’s bitten off more than she can chew, something I’m quite familiar with myself, but thats a different fly story.

‘How did you know about my daughter?’

Cantona doesn’t answer, she just reaches over and opens Dr Barneys patient file for him. She gestures with a hand that I notice is shaking slightly.

‘If you don’t mind I’d like to read through my file and compare it against your original so we’re sure there hasn’t been any addendum’s or annotations’

Dr Barney is still recovering his composure and becomes defensive very quickly, I suspect it’s a symptom.

‘What are you accusing me of young lady?’

Cantona doesn’t answer and bends down to retrieve a pencil from the briefcase she has put back on the floor. Dr Barney is left staring at her bald head so I guess Cantona is doing this on purpose as she seems to be taking her time. Maybe she wants him to think of his daughter again.
Suddenly Dr Barney slams the table and Cantona jumps with fright, (she isn’t the only one). She sits back up to face him and I can see a hint of satisfaction on her mouth.

’I asked you a goddamn question, what the fuck are you accusing me of young lady?

Cantona sits back on her seat, and I can see, and hear, her heart thumping wildly. She seems to make a decision and then takes a deep breath. She’s squeezing her pencil and her knuckles are white.

’I’m not accusing you of anything Dr Washington. If I were to accuse you, which is the purview of the other side I might add, I’d be saying that you couldn’t cope with your daughters cancer. You couldn’t cope with the fact that even as a medical practitioner you were helpless to assist. So instead, you took it out on your other patients, and victimised, and bullied, those that were coming to you for assistance, people that you actually could provide assistance to, but chose not to. In other words, you avenged your daughters death by treating Patient X, and many others, no better than the proverbial dogs that were there for a kicking. You let Patient X die because your daughter died. So you see Doctor, your daughter might well be remembered, in the local paper at least, as the proximate cause for this debacle and my senior partners, who yesterday when giving me this brief said ‘nice hair’, most likely sent me before you as a reminder of that. So now that we both feel manipulated perhaps we can move on’

Cantona holds her breath in terror, something I often see in people after their brain catches up with what their mouth has just uttered. She begins to move her hand and I suspect she wants to rub her scalp but decides against it and clasps her hands on the desk for fear they will shake off her arm if she moves them again. Dr Barney kicks his heartsink cabinet with fury and his chair moves back with the force of it. Cantona doesn’t flinch but inside I know she’s cringing with fear, I can smell her adrenaline.

A sweat is breaking on Dr Barneys upper lip and he’s staring at her with such ferocity and venom that I’m compelled to intervene. I fly from the desk and land on his forehead. He tastes of wine and aniseed antacids. He waves me away and the motion unlocks his eyes.

I fly around in front of both them as they stare at each other, until finally, Dr Barney breaks the impasse and opens the patient file before him. Cantona does the same. I land beside her and rest, out of view so I don’t knock her off stride. I seem to have chosen sides, not something that us Zulu flies are supposed to do, but hey, she tasted of coconut, cherry, cabbage and diesel, what’s a fly going to do?

‘Last year in your letter to the medical council you said Patient X was a typical ‘heartsink’ patient, can you explain that to me please’ Cantona asks as she scribbles on her file.
I can see that she’s just writing the question she’s asked so therefore is only trying to look like she’s writing.

’You’re kidding right? Good God woman if you don’t know what the hell a heartsink patient is how in the name of Jesus are you going to represent me in any of this?’

Cantona continues writing and lets silence descend.

‘Your heart sinks when you see them walk into the surgery?’ she finally offers.

‘Bravo, sharp as a tack aren’t we’

‘Not really, I just presumed that medics would be more original with their insider jokes about laypeople’, Cantona says as she goes to the back of the file. She continues with her questions before Dr Barney gets a chance to blow a gasket. I can see that he’s getting pretty worked up.

‘If we can start with the first consultation, when Patient X complained of fatigue. I see under the heading ’Known Allergies’ you noted the word WORK’ – is that a normal comment to make about a patient?’

Dr Barney doesn’t hesitate. ‘He was a lazy malingerer, any chance to skive off he took it. He lived in the same City provided slum for all of his life and never even tried to better himself or look after his family. You know he came to see me because of hangovers? Unbelievable. His wife committed suicide, that bastard drove her to it with his drinking, I would have refused to have him as a patient if I could have’

Cantona stops writing and looks up from the file.

‘Why didn’t you? Refuse him I mean’

‘Because I have a contract with the Probation office to see all of their excons for three years post release’

Cantona quickly goes back to writing notes and I can see her shift uncomfortably as she writes ‘excon’ on her pad, she obviously hasn’t been briefed on Patient X.
Her voice catches as she’s about to ask the next question and she clears her throat and starts again.

‘So the fatigue he complained of ,was, in your opinion, caused by hangovers is that right?’

‘No the fatigue was caused by the fact that he was a lazy bastard and was allergic to work. My note stands’

More scribbles. I fly around to her other side, just for the variety of it.

‘Ok lets move on to the second consultation shall we, when Patient X returned two weeks later complaining of a sore throat and pains in his stomach’

‘Ok lets’ Dr Barney responds sarcastically as he flicks pages

‘You have a note here that says you checked ENT and then you say PUMPKIN’

‘Ear Nose and Throat, all fine, nothing wrong with him other than stinking of booze and cigarettes’

‘And PUMPKIN, is that another acronym’

‘No that means he was so dim that when I shone my light into his mouth his whole head light up like a pumpkin’

Cantona looks up from her note taking in surprise. She almost lets herself smile but stops.

‘Original enough for you young lady?’

Her shoulders drop slightly as if she’s relaxing and gaining confidence from the fact that she’s needling him, he obviously didn’t like her criticism of ‘heartsinks’ lack of originality. She goes back to flicking through her file.

‘He came back two weeks later complaining of sudden weight loss and inability to lift his spirits. You have a note that says ’MLC’ and NGAL’

Dr Buckley blows out through his mouth in exasperation.

‘Inability to lift his spirits my arse, plenty of spirit lifting with the lads in the pub I’ll bet, MLC means Misery loves Company, they sat around the pub all day complaining about their lot in life’

‘And NGAL?’

‘Means Needs to Get a Life. I refused him a sick note, it was all in his head’

Cantona stops to wipe some fluff from her skirt. She takes her time and Dr Barney is really on the edge now. She resumes her questioning.

‘Then last year, the final visit, which was a week before Patient X died, he complained of light headedness and double vision and you noted’, Cantona turns to the page she has marked, ’TTFO and avoid alcohol, can you explain that to me Doctor?

‘It means avoid drinking things like beer and wine or gin’

Cantona doesn’t take the bait.

‘And TTFO?’she asks as she stops writing and looks directly into Dr Barney’s eyes.

He pauses, and in a childish game of tit for tat, he smooths imagined specks from his tie. Finally he looks back at Cantona and says.

‘Told To Fuck Off’

They both stare at each other.

‘That was your prescription? Fuck Off?, I’d say you’ve heard that a lot’

‘Not really’

‘So he obviously followed your advice then? He was dead a week later.’

‘Do you think I care?’

‘Doctor your patient is dead and you are now telling me that you told him to Fuck off when he came to you for help. If you don’t care one way or the other, well I just don’t….’

’Don’t what? Listen to me young lady. This patient X was a pig of a man. He didn’t do an honest days work in his life and left his wife and child scrambling to feed themselves. Any money he earned, or stole, went on booze and gambling. He wore a large sovereign ring to protect his knuckles when he punched people and his wife committed suicide from the beatings he gave her. He sat in the pub all day and watched his precious football team while the child, who he ignored, was cared for by neighbours in the slum they lived in. I despised him. But I’m a Doctor’

Dr Barney pauses for breath as he rubs his hair, now beginning to stick to his sweating wine and aniseed forehead, oblivious, as am I, to the way Cantona starts shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

‘Now, as a doctor, let me explain those acronyms again to you’, Dr Barney continues
‘Known Allergies – WORK, means – WithOut Reasonable Knowledge, the guy hadn’t a clue what he was allergic to but he still hated work. As for PUMPKIN – that means Pressure under Moving Patella, Knee Interacts Normally. Therefore his nervous system was all in order. But he was still as dim as a bats arse. MLC – is an abbreviation of the fact that I had Mid Level Concern, but it still remains true that misery loves company and himself and his barfly mates loved to feel the world was against them. NGAL – means he had No Gallstones, which was what I was suspecting, but the fact still remained that he still needed to get a life.
When he came back with dizziness and light headedness I advised him to avoid alcohol and then noted TTFO, which could have meant To Take Fluids Orally’

Dr Barney stops and closes the file. He wipes his forehead again and then goes to put the file back into his cabinet.

‘I presume we’re now done’

‘Could?’ Cantona asks, but in an autopilot voice. She’s gone white in the face and her head is perspiring. I can see beads of sweat begin to glisten under the surgery lights. She’s no longer looking at Dr Barney and she begins to tap her pencil against her head in a manner that suggests agitation. The end of the pencil, the section with the eraser, is leaving little marks on her skin. I now know where the taste of rubber comes from.

‘Sorry?’ Dr Barney says as he places the file into the drawer.

‘You said ’cccccould have’,‘, Cantona stutters and tries to regain her composure, ’the Medical Council are going to be interested in what you actually meant, as am I, so I would appreciate….’

I can see that Cantona is trying to buy some time so she can get air into her lungs. She tries to gulp as if the air is choking her but she seems to be sweating more. I want to help, but I can’t. Her pencil tapping is beginning to look weird, even to a talking fly. She’s no longer the professional barrister.

‘You appreciate nothing’, Dr Barney responds gruffly as he slams the heartsink cabinet shut with a loud bang. ‘You come in here with zip experience of life and then have the audacity to tell me what you would appreciate? Listen to me young lady, this Patient X, as you legal people call him, wasn’t the innocent victim of a missed diagnosis. He was a pig who ate at the trough for his whole life and suffered the consequences, plain and simple. He cared about nobody other than himself and football. The only thing he ever gave anybody else was a bloody nose in return for a handful of their hair’

Suddenly Cantona stops tapping her pencil against her head and stares at Dr Barney. I think I hear her whisper the word ‘hair’
She flicks through her file quickly until she finds what she’s looking for.

‘But he died on the 14th of January last year’

Dr Barney gestures for her file as he shakes his head. ‘let me see that’. He uses his finger to map through the details.

‘No the Coroners certificate mustn’t have lined up with the printer. The 14th of January was the date of the post mortem, he died the week before Christmas, obviously the pathologists took a Christmas holiday. Why does it matter when he died anyway?

Cantona’s expression doesn’t alter but I notice a change in her eyes. She goes away somewhere, into a trance as she rubs her scalp with her rings. I’m worried that she’s losing it. ‘Not in front of this prick’ I want to scream but I don’t. I land on her nose instead. She comes back to us.
Cantona looks at Dr Barney and then back to the photograph of his daughter’s graduation. I can see an almost imperceptible shake of head as water begins to seep from her tear ducts. But then she sucks the tears back in with her eyes. And then they almost change colour again. Her posture changes too, and she’s the barrister we had at the beginning.

‘What team did he support?’, she asks in a cracked voice that annoys her.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Patient X, you said he loved football, what team?’
‘How the hell is that…’
‘Doctor, I’m deeply sorry at the loss of your daughter and I understand how this man’s life seemed to kick mud into the face of your grief and the life your daughter didn’t have. I will do my utmost to present your case favourably to the Medical Council Fitness to Practice Committee, and I will most likely win, but please answer my fucking question before I reach over this desk and rip your patronising, sanctimonious, egotistical Alpha eyeballs out of your fucking pumpkin head.’
(Wow, I like this barrister even more. You go girl.)

As you can imagine, a man such as he, is taken aback somewhat at this style of questioning and he begins to tidy his desk as he answers quicker than I anticipated.

‘I don’t know, all I remember is that he told me he named his daughter after one of the footballers, poor kid. I often wondered did he beat her around the place like he did to the others. She was the first thing I thought of when I heard he died. She’s probably a hooker or a junkie by now, never had a chance’.

The penny drops. I daren’t look so I close my eyes.
After what seems an eternity, to a fly anyway, Cantona closes the file and puts it in her briefcase and stands up.

‘I’m sure she’s doing ok Doctor’, she says firmly as she turns and leaves.

I see Dr Barneys eyes widen as he sees the coined shaped scar behind Cantona’s ear, the one with the pattern that I now know looks like a sovereign ring.

‘I didn’t catch your name young lady’, he blurts after her.

Cantona doesn’t answer as she walks from the surgery, leaving the door open for me to follow. I fly after her.
I’m happy to hover as she rubs her scar with her ringed fingers. We cross the street. We queue for the bus, the 43a. Cantona suddenly laughs, and the tears flow down her face.

I think I’ll stay with Cantona for a while if you don’t mind, maybe until she wins the Fitness to Practice case, like I know she will. Perhaps even until she realises that it’s now safe to grow her hair. But I’ll talk to you again if you’re up for a listen.

But remember, even though I’m not around, I am Zulu Fly, and I see you too.