Joanna had listened with the kind of understanding that came from having been in that same dark whirlpool of guilt, regret and blame. She knew the agony of going over and over in her mind what she hadn’t done and not knowing whether it would have made any difference. She’d suffered the despair of a depression she couldn’t shake when she’d realised Sam wouldn’t survive. And she’d rejected her husband when he had tried so desperately to help her and had probably needed her more than she’d needed him.
Of course, she hadn’t voiced any of her thoughts to the Simses but hoped just letting them express their concerns and pointing out they didn’t have to shoulder the burden alone would help. They’d thanked her and seemed calmer when she’d hung up but it had taken its toll on her own peace of mind. She’d managed to hold herself together until she finally excused herself and finished the call.
Then she’d had to escape. It had only taken five therapeutic minutes in the nurses’ locker room for the tears to wash away at least some of the anguish of her memories. They’d been so vivid. She’d thought time had done its healing work but she’d been wrong. Thankfully she’d had the distraction of work to get her through the long night and she’d managed to fob off Barbara’s concerned enquiries about her wellbeing.
She was glad she had the weekend off—her next shift was Monday night—so if she didn’t get any sleep that day she could always catch up on her days off.
After a light breakfast, a banana smoothie, and a tidy up of her house she finally drifted off to sleep at about lunchtime. She’d turned her phone off and hung the ‘Quiet, Shift Worker Sleeping’ sign on her front door and woke six hours later feeling refreshed…and restless. Usually she was quite content with her own company and had got used to living alone, but tonight she felt she needed people around her.
She looked at her watch and it was just after six. She had plenty of time to have a shower, a bite to eat and make it to choir practice with time to spare.
* * *
Richard called Joanna’s number several times that afternoon but had been diverted to her message bank each time. He’d left several messages for her to contact him but, at five-thirty in the afternoon, she still hadn’t got back to him.
He refused to imagine the worst. She was probably just sleeping. Although it had been a long time in the past, he still recalled how exhausting working nights could be. He made up his mind to call around to see her the following day if she still wasn’t answering her phone and decided not to resist James Francis’s pleas to make up the numbers at band practice that evening. It would take his mind off Joanna. Or that was the plan.
He drove the short distance to his house, microwaved a plate of yesterday’s leftover ravioli and sat in his living room, eating his meal while watching the evening news. When he finished, leaving half the soggy remains of the pasta, he showered and changed into casual clothes, gathered his saxophone case and walked back to the hospital.
When he arrived he was greeted by the dozen or so members of the band as if he was a celebrity and he not only enjoyed playing in the band, but the time passed quickly.
‘See you next week,’ was the farewell comment from James.
‘Yes, I’ll try and make it,’ he said, being careful not to commit himself. Unexpected demands often came up that he couldn’t avoid and he had a clinical heads of department meeting the following Friday afternoon that he’d been told might continue into the early evening.
He strode out of the lecture theatre and set off along the walkway with a much lighter heart than when he’d arrived. Deep in thought in an endeavour to plan the best use of his time off on the weekend, he rounded a corner and nearly collided with…
‘Joanna? Is that you?’
The question was redundant. He could easily tell who it was. She was wearing snug-fitting white cropped pants that accentuated the golden colour of her calves, topped by a sleeveless T-shirt with a scoop neck that revealed a glimpse of gorgeous cleavage. A white-peaked, Oliver Twist style cap shaded her eyes from the glow of the lamps that illuminated the path and made it impossible to assess her mood from the expression on her face.
She hesitated as if in some kind of dilemma about how to answer him.
‘Are you all right?’ he added as she lifted her head. Her eyes connected with his and now he could see she was annoyed.
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Her tone wasn’t exactly hostile but she obviously wasn’t pleased to see him.
‘Er…’ How could he tactfully broach the fact that Barbara had been worried about her and asked him if he would follow up her concerns? Maybe the best tactic would be the truth. He’d never been good at hedging around issues. ‘I wanted to talk to you, and planned to call around and see you tomorrow.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘About the divorce?’
In all honesty he’d managed to put all thoughts of the divorce to the back of his mind and hadn’t yet made a follow-up appointment to see his lawyer friend.
‘No, something else.’ The static weight of his saxophone case was beginning to make his arm ache so he placed it on the paving between his feet. The diversion also served the purpose of giving him another couple of moments to decide what he was going to say. A young couple with a small child in tow walked past and looked at them curiously. It wasn’t the best place for a gently probing conversation about issues that were close to both their hearts.
‘It’s a delicate matter,’ he continued. ‘And maybe we could go somewhere more private.’
Her brow furrowed in a frown.
‘Where?’
‘Are you walking?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I walk with you? My place is in the same direction and maybe—’
‘Okay. I’d rather we go back to my place, have a cuppa, if it’s so important—this delicate matter.’
Richard sighed with relief. He’d been expecting the third degree.
‘Yes. That would be perfect. It shouldn’t take long. When’s your next shift at the hospital?’
‘I have the weekend and go back Monday night. I’ll probably be awake most of the night because I slept this afternoon. That’s the trouble with working nights, you have a couple of days off to get back into your normal diurnal rhythm and then it starts all over again.’
They talked little on the brief walk to Joanna’s and the limited conversation they had was superficial small talk. Richard recognised the house at the front of the block and followed Joanna to her place at the back. She opened the sliding door and Richard followed her inside.
‘Sit down,’ she said, as if she were about to entertain the tax inspector.
He sat on the sofa and watched her walk into the kitchen. Yes, she looked decidedly uncomfortable, which was the last thing he wanted.
‘How was choir practice?’ The question was merely an extension of the conversation they’d started on the walk home when he’d rambled on about the band and the pieces they were rehearsing. It had simply been a strategy to break the silence.
‘Okay.’ She turned her back on him and reached up to a cupboard where several mugs were stacked. ‘Someone suggested we could look into seeing if any of the kids wanted to be involved.’
‘You mean patients?’
She turned to face him. ‘And possibly members of their families or friends as well.’
He took a moment to process what she had just told him. Definitely a good idea from the viewpoint of morale but the practicalities of getting a group of sick and injured children together and transporting them to the town hall, the venue that had been booked for the concert, would make the project difficult to say the least.
‘How would—?’
Joanna smiled. ‘I know what you’re going to say. The physical restraints imposed by half the performers being in wheelchairs or hospital beds or hooked up to IVs and various monitors would make a concert in the normal sense impossible.’
She had his curiosity aroused.
‘Tea or coffee?’ she asked as
she turned off the bubbling kettle.
‘Tea, thanks.’
She poured the drinks and brought them over to the low table near where he sat. Also on the tray was a small plate of home-made coconut slice, one of his favourites. He thought how touching it would be if Jo had made them especially for him, but of course she’d had no idea he was going to visit. As if reading his mind, she picked up the plate and offered him a piece. He took a bite.
‘This is even better than I remember.’
Removing the tea bag, she stirred milk into her tea.
‘It’s probably my downfall. I still love baking.’ She cast her eyes downwards. ‘Although it’s not the same…’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Delicious,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you still like to cook.’
He suddenly realised what a tactless thing that had been to say. He leaving her was no reason to stop cooking the things he’d always liked. In fact, talking to Joanna felt like walking on thin ice. He had no idea where the fragile areas lay and certainly didn’t want a dunking. How much of the past was out of bounds?
‘What were you saying about the concert?’ Talking about the present was a much safer bet.
She leaned back in her chair and rested her tea on her knee, taking a measured breath.
‘Well, if you’re really interested…’
‘I am. After all, I’ve been persuaded to perform so my reputation’s at stake.’
She smiled. Richard was relieved she still showed traces of the sense of humour that he’d thought she’d lost.
‘One of the nurses on General Surgical—I don’t think you know her, Lorraine Henderson…’ He shook his head and she continued. ‘Her husband is a professional video photographer, does wedding DVDs and the like.’ She took another breath and it was evident by the look on her face she was discussing the beginnings of an idea she was already passionate about. He let her go on without interruption. ‘To cut a long story short, the whole concept is to create a movie of the kids without having to necessarily move them from their beds, let alone the hospital.’
She was beaming now, expectantly waiting for his comment. He certainly didn’t want to put a damper on the suggestion before it had gone past the planning stage but he had his doubts.
‘Sounds fabulous. Definitely original.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘Have you got a big enough pool of talent?’
Her eyes narrowed. She’d undoubtedly interpreted his comment as criticism rather than simple caution.
‘You don’t think it would work,’ she said flatly. All her previous enthusiasm vanished.
‘I didn’t say that.’
She took another mouthful of tea and brushed some coconut off the table.
‘Have another.’ She offered him the plate again.
‘No, thanks.’
The both sipped their drinks and it suddenly seemed the most difficult task in the world to broach the subject of her talk with Danny Sims’s parents. Maybe he would leave it to another day but Joanna solved the dilemma for him.
‘So what was so important you’d planned to visit me on my day off to discuss it?’
Right. She’d brought up the subject. And it needed to be discussed. He owed it to Barbara to at least try to find out what the problem had been.
‘Barbara asked me to talk to you.’
She put her cup on the table and crossed her arms across her chest. He took it as a defensive gesture.
‘Barbara? I don’t understand. Why would Barb—?’
‘She was worried about you.’ He leaned across and put his hand on hers, relieved she didn’t pull away.
‘Worried about what?’ He imagined the cogs of her brain turning but he had the feeling she knew what he was talking about.
‘She said you were upset last night after talking to the Simses. I can guess at why—’
‘You didn’t tell her?’ Joanna cut in sharply, and Richard felt her tension increase.
‘You mean about us and Sam? Of course I didn’t. That’s our own private business.’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes connected with his and the look she conveyed was one of understanding, of the bond of a shared past.
‘What did Jenny and Pete want to talk about?’
Joanna withdrew her hand and edged away from him. He didn’t want her to reject him and he felt partly responsible for any distress she was experiencing. Coming back and opening a window to a time that had been so traumatic for both of them wasn’t something he’d planned.
She attempted a smile but it was unconvincing.
‘They were suffering from information overload and started asking questions like “What are Danny’s chances of pulling through? Will he suffer? What is the success rate of the treatment?”’ She sighed. ‘All things I’m sure you’ve told them already but they didn’t want to believe the odds are so heavily stacked against their son.’
‘And what did you tell them?’
‘It’s not my role to spout cold statistics. I told them to ask you.’ She paused. ‘I said you were a wonderful doctor…’ she flushed and looked away ‘…and not to be worried about talking through things with you, no matter how long it takes.’
‘And?’ He wouldn’t let her stop there. Her lower lip began to tremble.
‘I said they’re going through exactly the same emotions as just about every other parent of a child who is diagnosed with cancer.’
Richard knew there was more. He hadn’t lived with and loved Joanna for over seven years without being able to tune in to her emotions. He didn’t want to push her, though. So he waited for her to decide whether she would reveal that little extra. She looked up and her pupils dilated. A single tear escaped and coursed down her cheek. She sniffed.
‘They wanted to know if I’d nursed any patients with Ewing’s before or if Danny was the first.’ Her tormented gaze was again fixed on his as if continuing the conversation was a challenge for her. The look in her eyes said she was determined not to break down. Why? Richard wondered. During the good times they’d had together they’d always been honest with each other, always been able to unburden their worries and share the load. He wanted so much for her to share with him now.
On impulse, without a care for the consequences, he moved to sit next to her. Draping his arm across her shoulders and drawing her towards him seemed a natural thing to do. Again she didn’t resist and leaned into his embrace.
‘What did you tell them?’ he whispered as he reached across and began gently stroking her hair. She sighed and stilled his hand by grasping it with both of hers.
‘I said Danny was the first. Which wasn’t strictly true. I’ve seen one other case—a boy called Callum—but his tumour was picked up early and he survived. I didn’t want to get their hopes up.’ She turned her face to him and for the first time since Richard had been back she dropped her protective shield of guarded coolness and let him close to her.
‘Danny reminds you of Sam?’ Richard said gently.
‘Yes, but Sam was our son and there’s a world of difference…He was our son.’
He knew what he wanted to say but the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to tell Joanna that the pain of losing Sam was the worst thing he had ever experienced; that he’d hid the sadness and guilt because he’d wanted to be strong for his wife and child; that he’d never been able to share the dark depths of his emotions with anyone, not even her.
‘You never cried for him.’ Joanna looked away and began running her fingers back and forth along the back of his hand with a restlessness he recognised. She was still hiding something. He stilled her hand.
‘I never let anyone see me cry.’
‘But you were always a tower of strength, never lost control.’
And that was exactly what he had wanted her to believe. One of them had had to stay at least outwardly strong, and he’d spent years as a doctor fine-tuning the skill of keeping his distance, of not getting emotionally involved. But if he’d known his intentional coolness would drive a wedge between him and his w
ife, he would have willingly shared the truth of how devastating that time had been for him. He hadn’t wanted to be pitied, though. His job, in some ways, had made it worse. He could recite the statistics, he knew the odds, but he’d prayed every day for a miracle. And deep down he’d assumed he’d failed as both a father and a husband and nursed the irrational belief that he had been somehow to blame.
‘It was a facade, Joanna. It was the only way I knew to help you through. I thought—’
‘Oh, Richard. Why didn’t you tell me? I was convinced you’d stopped caring. That you’d fallen out of love with me and I was a burden to you.’
He released her hand and drew her closer. He gently kissed her forehead as relief flooded his senses like the first rains after a brutal and unforgiving drought.
‘I still love you, Joanna.’ He could see the beginning of tears brimming in her eyes but he’d come this far and had to tell her. ‘After I left to go to the U.K. I tried to stop loving you but…’ Words suddenly seemed inadequate. He tilted her chin so he was looking straight into the depths of her dark, unfathomable eyes. ‘It might sound like a cliché but there is no other way to tell you.’ He attempted to swallow the lump in his throat but it stubbornly stayed put and made his voice rough and erratic. ‘The years I shared with you and Sam…They were the best of my life.’
She reached up and placed her hands behind his head. Her touch was an exquisitely sensual caress. He wanted to hold her close in his arms, to rock away the years of hurt and misunderstanding. He wanted to kiss her but the most precious thing for him would be the gift of her love. He realised it was asking too much so soon. He imagined she was more confused than him. They had only touched the surface of a past full of misconceptions, misplaced untruths and delusions. Both their lives had changed and they needed to get to know each other all over again.
How To Save a Marriage in a Million Page 10