by Ali Carter
“So… who is it this time… hmmm?” he questioned gently, trying to look underneath her blonde fringe. “You get yourself into such a state each time Rachey; you really must find someone decent, preferably working and definitely single.” Rachel groaned, looking skyward to imply that was exactly what she wanted but it was simply not achievable. A bitter divorce endured three years previously involving her husband’s secretary, had led to Rachel bedding half the town’s married men since. It was as if she was carrying out some kind of spurned wife’s revenge but there was never a happy ending. Habitually ‘falling in love’ with all the wrong men meant Rachel was regularly disappointed; it appeared that was exactly what had happened the night before resulting in her pre-coffee parking fiasco and subsequent outburst. She appeared un-phased by Jenny’s presence despite her being a stranger; this new girl had a sympathetic face and had begun to make all the right noises – Andrew was always nice to her. Right then, being with two people that cared was all that mattered.
She fiddled with the thick tissue replacement and between sobs and gulps relayed her latest romantic disaster. It was pretty much the usual stuff:-
Girl meets married man; girl falls in love; married man has his cake and eats it until wife gets suspicious; married man dumps loved up girl; girl ends up in tears…
As the three drank and Jenny and Andrew did their best to console Rachel, Stella Gray swept through the front door, past the kitchen and into the main office. Noticing it wasn’t exactly a hive of activity she retraced her steps and found her entire full-time staff nursing mugs of coffee. One look at her late friend’s daughter was all she needed to understand why no work was getting done.
“Ye Gods girl not another one?!” she questioned exasperatedly. The usually bubbly blonde who was anything but that morning, looked up at her ‘Aunty’ Stella and winced as a fresh tear rolled south. “Will you never learn Rachel?! If your poor mother could see you now she’d turn in her grave!” Andrew patted his soulful colleague on the shoulder, ushered her past his boss leaving her to settle in the latest member of the paper.
As Jenny sat talking with her new employer, she wondered just how this new post would work out. All things considered they weren’t quite what she’d expected. But then to be fair……… neither was she.
TWO
Gina Rowlands felt her phone vibrate through navy summer trousers. She pulled it from her pocket to read the new message whilst holding the phone discreetly under the reception desk.
‘Thanks for the fish, Missy loved it! See you at 1p.m. in the pub, will have a friend with me. Hugs, Andy XXX’
She smiled at the words on the tiny illuminated screen for a few seconds until Miles Peterson broke the moment. He swung through the double-fronted arched doors flashing his usual appreciative smile in her direction. Gina felt her cheeks flush hotly and noticed her hands had begun to sweat yet again.
At forty-two he was more than twice her age, but that didn’t seem to stop her from being affected every time he paid her attention. Nor did it prevent his enjoyment of the same beautiful view every morning.
Miles hadn’t experienced any real job satisfaction for a very long time and Gina’s presence at work made it worth his while coming in. She was one young lady, however, that he dared not actually pursue, considering his wife consulted in the same building. No, Miles was not that stupid, he would just enjoy every moment of her delicious presence that he could. Not being able to do anything about it somehow made it all the more intriguing, exciting even – particularly as she was so young.
“Morning… Miss… Rowlands…” the words lingered a little as his gaze washed over the rich red waves that tumbled loosely around her shoulders. At only twenty years old Gina had already inherited her mother’s fiery beauty and bright personality. If only she could have seen just how stunning her daughter had become.
Miles’ embarrassed receptionist snapped the cover shut and slipped the phone back into her trouser pocket.
“Morning Doctor Peterson,” she called dutifully after him as his back disappeared down the steps at the end of the corridor. She knew exactly what Miles thought of her of course, it was patently obvious. She just hoped nobody else had noticed – particularly his wife. Charlotte Peterson seemed to scrutinise every female member of staff every time she spoke to them. Gina felt sure she was trying to read their minds in order to discover exactly what they thought of her husband. If her boss had known the truth she would probably have fired the lot of them, any woman with a pulse couldn’t fail to appreciate his appearance, whatever age they were.
As she turned on the computer and began to start the day, Gina wondered why Miles had ever pursued a medical career in the first place. At least if he was going to be in medicine she’d imagined him as a specialist in some cosmetic field, something a damn sight more exciting than a village GP anyway. Miles’ extraordinary good looks were noticed by everybody; his sharp blonde hairstyle, brilliant blue eyes, enhanced greatly with coloured lenses, and year-round tan courtesy of a sun bed, meant he was undeniably very handsome. Expensive designer clothes finished the look, and she knew of at least three forty-something practice colleagues whose hearts skipped a beat when he appeared. Despite this, although it irritated her, Gina somehow enjoyed his admiring glances whilst at the same time wished she didn’t. It was all very confusing.
She didn’t want to lose her job as it wasn’t all that easy to find work in Kirkdale. As a small town with an area already overpopulated with claustrophobic Londoners after a slice of the Lake District’s space and beauty, it wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with career prospects.
The phone lines suddenly burst into a jangling chorus and another busy morning began against the backdrop of patients’ calls, nail-tapped keyboards and the repeated swing-thud of the heavy surgery doors. Gina was already looking forward to lunchtime.
With a large mug of coffee in front of her, Charlotte Peterson was sucking the end of a red pen with one hand, and doodling aimlessly with a blue one on her desk pad with the other. She’d arrived at the surgery about twenty minutes ahead of Miles, having left home before he’d come back downstairs. She should have used this time to prepare for her first patient, but hadn’t. Whenever Miles went AWOL there were always three questions on her mind. Who, where and for how long? No doubt he would have a reasonable explanation for his absence last night, he always had in the past. Why though? Why now?
Things had been so much better over the last few years since they’d moved from the city to Kirkdale and taken over the village practice. Miles would always be a bit of a flirt, she knew that, but until this month had no real reason to doubt him. She’d actually started to relax a bit over the last couple of years and even their love life had been back on track, not that Miles had ever failed to continue that side of their marriage. Even through his last three flings. Well… the ones she knew about anyway.
Charlotte took a sip of her coffee and drew some more. Her patient could wait. A sudden thought occurred to her as she snatched the pen from her mouth. There was that conference on alternative thyroid meds., the one held at the Grange Hotel. It was recent – only last month. Could he have met somebody there? Another doctor? A lecturer? A sufferer? Her head was spinning so madly with all the possibilities of yet another affair, she barely heard the knock on the door. The rapping was repeated, a little louder, faster and with some impatience. Charlotte tore the page of scribbled doodlings from her notepad, screwed it up and dropped it in the bin.
“Come in!” she called as she laid both pens down. Miles walked in briskly and appeared to be on edge himself. She sat back expectantly, arms now crossed. For once she just waited for him to speak. He did so in a low voice, quickly, a little urgent, almost in a whisper, as if he feared he would be overheard by someone passing by outside despite the door being closed.
“Just in case you were running around in your head adding two and two and making seven and a half, I wa
s at the gym last night. We, Bill – you know Bill – we met some guys, went for a beer, on to a curry house, more booze and decided I shouldn’t drive so stayed over at Bill’s place. You remember Bill, he runs the training sessions in the leisure centre?” Miles didn’t wait for an acknowledgement of her recollection. “Anyway, he offered me a bed to be on the safe side, I couldn’t risk driving now could I?” Her husband finished his quick-fire explanation with a hunch of his shoulders, arms held wide in that ‘you know how it is’ manner.
Charlotte still stared at him steadily. Her arms still folded, saying nothing. Bill was clearly the alibi here.
“It was late sweet pea!” he implored, “I didn’t want to wake you and you disappeared so quickly this morning before I could say anything – I guess I should have rung?” He looked sheepish now, it all sounded so plausible, but then it always did. She remained silent. “Charlotte?” She tried to think rationally for a moment, wanted to believe him but… Eventually the corners of her mouth lifted reluctantly, not quite a smile but it was enough for Miles.
“O-kay… let’s just forget it!” she snapped, and with one eye on the door herself lowered her voice, “but next time you damn well ring me, whatever the bloody time is!”
Miles jumped at the opportunity of being let off the hook so easily, marriage to Charlotte had taught him to expect a great deal more aggravation than that.
“You got it sweetness!” He smiled broadly, now visibly relaxed. “We’ll have a meal out tonight shall we?” he chatted on quickly before Charlotte could reconsider. “A drive over to the Carpenters Arms, yes? It’ll make a change from the microwave and we won’t have to cook after a long day.” She could feel herself being cajoled into the acceptance of his latest explanation, and the idea of eating out on a weekday was tempting.
“Okay… I’d like that,” she said grudgingly, won over for the umpteenth time as she pushed to the back of her mind that last night was the second time that month he’d stayed out till morning.
Miles blew her a kiss as he backed out of her office and clicked the door shut. He looked heaven-bound, closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Boy that was a close one he thought as he turned from his wife’s office and made his way down to his own consulting room.
Behind his desk Miles sunk into a deep leather chair and twisted it thoughtfully from side to side. He retrieved a phone from his pocket and swiftly pressed a few buttons till the name search appeared on the screen. He scrolled the list and quickly brought up the one he wanted.
“Goodbye Kelly love, it was nice while it lasted”. He pressed delete, flipped the cover shut and returned the spare mobile to his inside jacket pocket. Miles then tapped a few words into his computer, brought up the correct screen and rung through to reception for his first patient. An arrogant smile broke – it would take a lot more than a neurotic woman to catch him out again.
The weather had changed since Molly Fields had opened the Carpenters Arms that morning. Despite most of the country basking in a heatwave, Cumbria was used to a damper, wetter climate altogether. The high mountainous peaks and large expanses of water from the beautiful lakes lent themselves to producing a good deal of all season rain.
Earlier it had looked quite promising, blue skies and sunshine all around, although there had been quite a breeze coming off the river. Now though, the clouds drew closer together over Kirkby Pike, the sun was struggling to find a gap and Molly sensed a slight chill in the air. Even for the Lake District, that was strange in mid August.
At twenty she was an intuitive girl who noticed the subtlest of changes within seasons, the mood and ‘feel’ of the lakes and pikes and the shift in nature’s wildlife – but right from childhood she’d felt a strong pull towards her psychic side although hadn’t really understood what it meant.
There was also her perceptiveness to certain people, situations and events. At first it had been simple predictive episodes, who would walk through the door first, or who would be on the other end of a ringing phone – but recently stranger events had occurred.
Years ago she’d dreamt of a plane crashing into the side of a mountain followed by the media eruption of the twin towers tragedy twenty-four hours later. The dream may not have been identical, but there was a chilling similarity to the events that followed.
More recently though she’d just finished her first shift in the bar when a sense of danger connected with a small child completely engulfed her. That night’s news reported the disappearance of a four-year-old who was thankfully found safe and well the following evening. Again, the exact details weren’t apparent, the sex of the child or where she’d been, she hadn’t even dreamt anything that time – just felt it, she just knew.
Molly stood close to the doorway of the lakeside inn and peered through the leaded light window. The breeze ruffled her long dark curls – she sensed something was amiss then as she gazed out onto the river, but had absolutely no idea what it was. It was nothing specific… just not quite right, in the same way a person might enter a room and know something was missing, but not knowing what. It was a sense of change without reason – without rational explanation.
“Molly? Molly!! Are you working this bar or day dreaming again?” Her father’s voice broke through loudly, it made the empty beer glasses jump in her hands. Psychic dreams, night time or otherwise had no place in his busy day.
“Coming Dad!” she called, as all thoughts of strange feelings left to be replaced by the very real throng of the lunchtime trade. She wiped down the tables, served food and drinks, worked busily alongside her parents and at the same time looked out for her friends to arrive.
Gina Rowlands was like a sister to her and had been taken into their family at fourteen when her guardian Grandmother had needed to go into a nursing home. Legally she could have returned to the house when she was eighteen, but a medical receptionist’s salary didn’t meet the costs of running a fairly large house. Besides, the monthly rent it fetched was needed to pay her Grandmother’s nursing home bills.
From her point of view Molly was glad Gina still lived at the pub, as an only child herself it had been wonderful to have a ‘sister’. As children they’d been practically inseparable, well until recently when Gina had met Andrew anyway. They didn’t spend much of their spare time together these days but that was understandable, he was gorgeous.
Speak of the devil, she thought as a familiar face breezed in through the doorway. He held a rain-splashed leather jacket above someone’s head exposing his to the rain, but when it was removed the girl that emerged wasn’t Gina. It should’ve been Gina, Molly thought, but it definitely wasn’t.
Andrew caught her suspicious glare;
“Molly this is Jenny Flood,” he said quickly before Molly’s protective thought processes got entirely out of hand, “she’s recently moved to Kirkdale and just joined us at the Courier. I promised her lunch.” Molly relaxed and smiled at the newcomer.
“Hi Jenny, nice to meet you,” she said, then glanced at Andrew; “and is our answer to Fleet Street buying?”
“Sure, a pint for me and have one yourself Molls – Jenny?”
“Vodka orange with ice – thanks.” Andrew looked above the heads at the bar and scoured the pub.
“Gina should be here soon it’s nearly a quarter past,” he said as he checked his watch. Molly grinned, Andrew was pretty cute but his obsession with punctuality definitely wasn’t!
She dropped some ice into Jenny’s drink, pulled
his pint, then raised her eyebrows at him and nodded towards the entrance. Gina was doing battle with the heavy double doors, a used umbrella in her right hand, and a shoulder bag that threatened to leave its place and fall into her left. She was finally rescued by Andrew who’d reacted to Molly’s hint.
Gina’s hair was windswept but at least it was dry, she had no qualms about carrying a brolly. Andrew slipped an arm around her waist and guided her back to the bar
where he’d saved her favourite high stool with the little bow back. She rolled up her umbrella, rammed it into her bag then downed half the iced Scotch and coke Molly had already poured. This time it was Jenny’s eyebrows that were raised.
“Jeez I needed that!” exhaled Gina, eyes closed, enjoying its cold sweet kick, “it’s turned ghastly out there again.” Then she noticed somebody else in their group – a stranger. She was so used to it being just herself, Andy and Molly – although Molly officially worked it never felt like that – she’d only just realised the woman must have arrived with Andrew. A quick glance around established she didn’t appear to be with anyone else. Jenny sensed her question;
“Hi – I’m Jenny Flood.” She extended a hand. “I just joined the Courier this morning.”
“Nice to meet you,” Gina replied tipping her head forward in acknowledgement and holding a false smile. She raised her glass but ignored the offered handshake. The twenty-nine-year-old dropped her arm back and picked up her vodka.
Gina’s eyes were watchful. The woman was noticeably a few years older than her, nearer Andrew’s age, she looked mature, intelligent and sophisticated. With herself at only twenty and Andrew at twenty-eight, some people had already commented, but he’d always laughed it off as unimportant. Gina never really noticed it before either, but she noticed it now.
Jenny was very pretty. At about five ten with long straight raven hair, legs up to her armpits and an ultra tiny waist she was like a slender, beautiful Indian squaw thought Gina, but how did she stay so slim? How did she get that shape in the first place come to that? Gina felt a jealous twinge, and unusually for her, totally inadequate. Although a generous size fourteen and five foot five max, striving to be a size zero had never interested her – nor had university. From where she was standing, she suddenly felt uneducated, plain and dumpy – the complete unholy trinity.