How To Save a Marriage in a Million

by Leonie Knight

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ she conceded, but concentrated all her attention on making patterns with her spoon in the froth in her cup.

  ‘So why aren’t you heading off for some down-time?’

  She looked up and stared straight into his eyes, as if deciding whether it was worth the effort to reply with the sort of explanation she assumed he wanted to hear, or take the simpler option of telling the truth.

  ‘Sometimes I visit a particular child, or parent even, as a friend, when I’m off duty. It’s not easy to spend the time with them they need if you’ve got dressings to do, medications to give. You know what I mean. I particularly wanted to see Danny.’

  ‘Danny,’ he repeated softly. Of course she’d want to do everything she could for Danny and his family. She would know that his chances of getting through the next year or two were slim. His cancer had already spread.

  ‘He’s staying overnight…but of course you know,’ she added, flushing slightly.

  ‘Yes.’

  He wanted to ask her if she was okay, but he wouldn’t. It wasn’t the time or place. He guessed no one else in the hospital knew about her past, about Sam. And he had to respect that.

  Marnie appeared with more coffee.

  ‘Sorry I took so long,’ she said with a grin. ‘Everyone decided to come at once.’ She glanced over at a table where a family of four sat with what looked like a mountain of sandwiches, cakes and bottled soft drinks. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  Richard shook his head and glanced at his companion.

  ‘Nothing for me,’ she said.

  He pushed his empty cup out of the way and began absently stirring his fresh one.

  Joanna was silent. Uncomfortable maybe?

  ‘I wanted to have a word with the Simses as well. And Taylor Bryant’s mum seemed…’ He stopped to think for a moment.

  ‘Depressed?’

  Not only was Joanna insightful but she really cared.

  ‘That’s what I thought too.’

  ‘She told me she’d had postnatal depression after Taylor was born, and recovered. She’d been doing really well until…’ She was much more comfortable talking about work.

  ‘The books tell us that parents experience a process of grieving when their child is diagnosed with a chronic illness, and cancer is the worst scenario. But in the real world no case is the same.’ Richard suddenly realised he was talking to someone who had gone through it all. And he’d been there with her. He’d shared the shock and denial, the anger and finally acceptance long after the diagnosis had been made. The knowledge he’d had as a paediatrician in training hadn’t made it any easier. In fact, it had probably made it worse. And then they’d experienced it all again when Sam had died. He wished he’d kept his big mouth shut.

  ‘Sorry,’ he added.

  She looked at him for a long moment, the pupils of her striking black-brown eyes dilating a fraction before she spoke.

  ‘Don’t be,’ she finally said. ‘I’m okay with it.’ Her eyes moved to focus on a place in the distance before they returned to fix on his. ‘I’ll never get over it. I don’t think any parent who has to cope with what I…we…did does. But we all heal in different ways. I’m sorry I made it so hard for you. I know you tried to be there for me but I just couldn’t believe anyone, not even you, could understand. I needed to work through the whole process on my own.’

  She’d been fiddling with her spoon, rotating it on the table, but she stopped and surprised him by reaching over and laying her hand on his.

  ‘Like you said, people cope in different ways. And that was my way. Alone.’ She paused to take a sighing breath. ‘I’ve got a good but very different life now. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.’ She gave him the same sort of soothing smile she bestowed on grieving parents and confused kids.

  ‘Look I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘We had to talk about it. I thought there might be problems with you worrying how I would deal with Danny. It needed to come out in the open. I’ll cope.’ Her hand went up to her head again. ‘And you don’t have to worry about my personal history interfering with my work. I make sure it doesn’t.’

  Richard wanted to talk some more on a different level, to reassure her and tell her how brave she was and that there was no one in the world like her, but he knew anything he said would be a clichéd pat on the back and he wasn’t sure how to open his heart without hurting her even more.

  ‘I don’t doubt it for a moment,’ he finally said. ‘I’ve been back long enough to see how you work and I’ve no complaints.’

  Joanna sipped her coffee.

  ‘I’m a bit of a cappuccino junkie. This is good, but I really must go.’

  She stood, leaving half her drink.

  ‘You’re going to Maltilda?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘To see Danny and his dad?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Mind if I come with you?’

  She smiled again and the warmth of it enveloped him like a curative hug. It was like the old days but he knew he’d have to work hard at keeping Joanna on his side.

  ‘Of course not. We’re playing on the same team after all.’

  She was right. And for once in his life he believed winning was important, not just how you played the game.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THEY visited Danny together and Richard learned a lot about his young patient and a little more about the new, independent Joanna. And what he discovered, he liked…a lot.

  She seemed to have a natural rapport with teenagers by somehow tapping into that unique kind of humour that allowed them to stick a finger up at authority but at the same time laugh at themselves. The haircut definitely helped. He knew he was being selfish but an image of those stunning, lustrous locks haunted him as he put his signature to the last patient folder, filed it away and stood up to leave.

  After he left the ward, picked up his saxophone from the receptionist in the department of surgery, bought enough food from the deli opposite the hospital to put together a light meal and headed for home.

  Home?

  It was a house full of someone else’s furniture he didn’t particularly like; a house decorated in sombre, neutral colours he would never have chosen himself; and, in a weird subliminal way, it reminded him of the hospital.

  It was a comfortable two-storey terrace house that would fill the gap nicely until he found a place of his own, but nothing more. He doubted he would ever think of it as home.

  He rinsed his plate under the tap and left it on the draining board, poured himself a glass of wine and settled on the sofa. Withdrawing his hand midway on its journey to the TV remote control, he sighed. He’d always believed that watching television was what you resorted to when you had neither the motivation nor energy to do anything else. He’d watched a lot of TV in England but he’d used the excuse that it was often late at night after working a twelve-hour day and a way of turning off his brain from the highs and lows of his job. He didn’t want to get into that same rut and one of his New Year resolutions had been to make time in his hectic schedule for two things—exercise and socialising, preferably involving an activity that combined the two.

  His first dalliance into meeting people—the concert auditions—had been a failure. During his first week at Lady Lawler, despite the abundance of eligible and attractive females, he’d not had the slightest inclination to ask a single one of them out. Even if he had fancied any of the hospital staff, he felt so out of practice when it came to dating, he doubted he’d have the courage to ask.

  Knockbacks hurt.

  He was in the process of wading through the result of the ultimate knockback—a divorce—and he didn’t really want to visit that place again any time soon.

  So that left exercise.

  He got up, went to his bedroom and rummaged in the bag of new purchases, retrieving a large, fluffy, navy-blue bath towel. Then he found the chlorine-faded swimming trunks he’d taken with him to the U.K. but had hardly worn. He
threw them both in a small backpack he used for hand luggage when travelling by plane, grabbed a handful of change, his car keys and headed outside.

  * * *

  Swimming was the most restful form of exercise Joanna knew. Up until Richard had mentioned joining a gym with a lap pool, she’d forgotten how soothing cutting through cool water, stroke by rhythmic stroke, could be. One of the things Richard had insisted on was that their son learn to swim at an early age.

  ‘We live in a country surrounded completely by water. Australia has some of the most beautiful…and treacherous…beaches in the world.’ Richard’s words echoed in Joanna’s mind. ‘He doesn’t have to be a champion swimmer, just fit and strong enough in the water to be safe. Or as safe as he can be.’

  They’d started him in the baby classes at the local public pool and he’d taken to the water with the grace and playfulness of a dolphin. He’d loved swimming, just like his father. A month before his fifth birthday he’d been accepted into the Seals Squad with the distinction of being the youngest member of the group. Richard’s heart had almost burst with pride. It had been a father-and-son activity and attending Sam’s swimming meets had been something Richard had always seemed to be able to make time for.

  Because of Richard’s work commitments, Joanna had usually been the one to take Sam to training, though. One of the high points of her week had been the twenty minutes she spent with him simply having fun in the water before the formal session began.

  Sam had endearingly called it his warm-up, probably so as not to lose face with his pint-sized mates by admitting he enjoyed mucking about in the pool with his mum.

  As well as regular visits to the pool, on every warm Sunday Richard had had off work, they’d gone to the beach. They’d taken Sam to the beach the week before he’d died. It had been a heart-wrenching experience for Joanna to see her husband gently carry their fragile son to the water’s edge and ease him into the calm sea of the bay until they had been waist deep. Over the many years they’d been coming to the coast, a pod of dolphins had appeared, probably half a dozen times. Miraculously the dolphins had come that day, swimming quietly and with unprecedented curiosity. They’d actually come close enough for Richard to guide his son’s hand to touch one of them.

  It had been the last time Joanna had seen her son laugh.

  She’d been convinced they’d come to say goodbye.

  And it had been the last time she and Richard had shared the raw emotion of the love they had for their precious child. Tears had been streaming down Richard’s face when he’d emerged from the shallows. Tears that had dried up and been replaced by solid calm.

  The memories flooded back.

  They’d been the perfect family, living a perfect life.

  She’d often thought Sam had been growing up too quickly. But then he’d had his childhood stolen from him…

  At the age of six years and four months.

  A tear trickled down her cheek as she smoothed the electric-blue one-piece swimsuit she’d chosen to wear in preference to the way-too-revealing ice-white bikini Richard had bought her for their fourth wedding anniversary—along with a wonderful romantic holiday to Coral Bay. She scrunched up the garments and jammed them back into the corner of her underwear drawer then opened the door of her wardrobe and looked in the full-length mirror. She straightened her back, pulled in her stomach and had fleeting second thoughts that she knew she mustn’t let take hold.

  ‘If I don’t do it now, I never will,’ she muttered as she pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, grabbed her bag and headed out the front door.

  * * *

  The pool was a couple of kilometres away from where she lived, far enough away for Joanna to take her car.

  When she pulled into the parking area of the recreation centre Joanna could hear the booming music of an aerobic dance class and nearly collided with a family group tumbling out of a people-mover van that pulled up next to her.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said as she jammed herself flat against her car door to let the four children pass, and almost succumbed to an impulse to get back into her car and drive home.

  ‘No, I can do it,’ she whispered with new resolve. She needed the exercise, she loved swimming and coming back to where she had spent so many happy hours with Sam she hoped would be cathartic.

  ‘What did you say? Were you talking to me?’

  Joanna looked up to see a woman carrying a large bundle of towels and what appeared to be various floaties and pool toys suitable for pre-school-aged children. The driver, who Joanna assumed was the children’s father, was already halfway to the entrance of the recreation complex with three children of various ages and sizes following. The youngest straddled his shoulders.

  The woman looked vaguely familiar.

  Joanna smiled. ‘No I’m just talking to myself.’

  The woman was now out of the car and staring at her.

  ‘Joanna? Joanna Howell? Your hair—I hardly recognised you.’

  Joanna squinted, trying to make out the stranger’s features in the half-light of the electric lamps illuminating the car park.

  ‘Sorry, do I know you?’

  ‘It’s Teresa. Teresa Deleo. Angie and Sam used to swim together.’ She chuckled. ‘And your Richard and my Rick used to be way more competitive than the kids ever were. We used to get so embarrassed.’ Her expression turned serious. ‘I wanted to contact you after…er…Sam passed away, but Rick said it was too soon. That seeing our kids might upset you. And then we heard you’d gone overseas.’

  Her friend had got it wrong but Joanna didn’t have the energy to explain that it had only been Richard who had moved away. That they’d separated. It was way too personal to go into the details in the leisure centre car park.

  Suddenly Teresa’s arms were around Joanna’s shoulders, embracing her in a heartfelt hug. It felt so good—the unconditional hug of an old friend.

  At the beginning, Joanna hadn’t intentionally avoided the friends she’d made through play group, then pre-school and school. There hadn’t seemed to be common ground any more. It had been a time when she definitely couldn’t have coped with the well-meaning gestures of a group of mothers where the glue of their friendship was their children. It had been partly her fault. She’d shrugged off the phone calls and occasional visits with the often brusque explanation that she was coping as best she could, in her own way, and she didn’t need their help. After a few months they’d given up trying to contact her.

  At the time she’d wondered why Teresa hadn’t got in touch.

  Teresa dropped her hands and took a step back. Joanna was suddenly aware of the chill of the night air and shivered. Her companion noticed.

  ‘Hey, let’s go inside and then we can chat.’

  Joanna felt oddly off balance as she obediently followed Teresa through the car park to the entry of the large public leisure centre and the pool area beyond. Her friend chatted continuously, asking questions and not seeming to require answers, but it had the effect of distracting Joanna from her own demons, which had come close to sending her running home with her tail between her legs.

  ‘Shall we go out to the play pools where the kids are?’ She smiled. ‘Or are you seriously into fitness?’

  ‘I have to admit I haven’t been here since…’ Somehow she couldn’t finish the sentence with the painful truth. Teresa paused and sensed her discomfort.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘Of course, I should have kept my big mouth shut. How could I have been so insensitive?’

  In all the years Jo had known Teresa, she had never seen her blush, but her cheeks were glowing crimson now. In a roundabout way, her friend’s discomfort helped Joanna regain her own composure.

  ‘There’s no need to apologise. In fact, I’m glad we bumped into each other. I was close to chickening out and going home.’

  They’d reached the noisy area where twenty or so small children were competing with each other to see who could make the most noise. Interspersed were a half
a dozen supervising adults, including Teresa’s husband. He was a big, hirsute man with Mediterranean features and a face that seemed to naturally accommodate a permanent grin. When he spotted his wife he hitched a small boy of about two or three years old onto his hip and waved, gesturing with his free hand in a form of sign language that Teresa seemed to understand perfectly.

  She glanced at Joanna.

  ‘He wants me to take over with the littlies. Vince has time trials in ten minutes and Rick wants to watch.’

  ‘Vince?’

  Teresa pointed to a sullen adolescent sitting on the edge of the ‘big kids” pool, making no attempt to disguise his preoccupation with two giggling teenage girls.

  ‘I know. It’s hard to believe he turned twelve last birthday and started high school this year.’ She took a sighing breath. ‘And of course our youngest was born…er—’

  ‘That’s right, you’d just found out you were pregnant—’

  ‘And I’d vowed to stop at three. I blamed Rick for not having the snip.’

  Joanna laughed. It was just like old times. But before she had a chance to get maudlin, Teresa began peeling off her clothes. She hesitated a moment, as if she was gauging Joanna’s mood, then she broke into a grin as broad as her husband’s.

  ‘Last one in’s a rotten tomato.’

  It didn’t take Joanna long to be swept up in the moment and she wondered why she hadn’t had the courage to venture to the pool before today. The combination of water, happy, energetic children and lots of noise was a potent enough antidote to the blues to be packaged and sold. She whipped off her shirt, stumbled out of her shorts and, ignoring her friend, plunged into the shallow water. It was truly therapeutic. When she surfaced for air she suddenly found herself in possession of a small child thrust at her by a large man who was making a hasty retreat. Teresa splashed up to her.

  ‘Rick must remember you too.’