Noticing that she was standing on tiptoe, stretching to reach up to the top cupboards, he walked over to her. ‘You shouldn’t be doing that, Zoe,’ he said softly. ‘You need to rest up a bit. You’ve been through a lot.’
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, carrying on regardless.
‘You’re not fine.’ Burying a sigh, he reached to still the hand she was wielding the cloth with. ‘The place is so clean we could eat our dinner off the floor. You don’t need to be doing this now.’
‘I’m not ill, Dean,’ she said, closing her eyes, her energy seeming to deplete as she dropped back to her feet.
‘I know.’ He wrapped an arm gently around her waist. ‘But you’re going to be all over the place emotionally, aren’t you? You need to look after yourself. Go out shopping and treat yourself to something nice, why don’t you? I could come with you if you like.’
Zoe glanced at him. ‘We wouldn’t have any food to eat off the floor if I did that,’ she reminded him with a wan smile.
Nodding awkwardly, Dean took a breath. ‘I’ve been putting a bit away. You know, for when …’ He trailed off, his throat tight. ‘Anyway, I have a few quid. You should splash out a bit. Buy a new outfit or get your hair done or something.’
She looked at him, bewildered, for a second, and then dropped her gaze and covered her face with her hands.
Realising she was crying, Dean’s heart lurched. Crap, he’d meant to cheer her up, not reduce her to tears. ‘Hey,’ he said, easing her towards him. ‘It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.’
She pressed her face hard into his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, Dean,’ she murmured.
‘For what?’ He tightened his arms around her. ‘Wetting my shirt?’
She laughed, a short, muffled sound. ‘I don’t deserve you.’
He held her closer. ‘I know. Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.’
She laughed again. A laugh that turned into a sob that shook through her body. She was so petite and seemed so fragile right now that Dean felt he would die to protect her. He wished there were something he could have done to protect her from this. She’d been on her own when she needed him. He would always feel bad about that. Determined to get another job that would allow him to stay at home – he’d get some training if he had to – he held her while she cried, gently stroking her back, soothing her as best he could.
Eventually, when her sobs slowed, he eased the wild tangle of red hair he adored gently away from her ear. ‘I’ll run you a warm bath,’ he whispered, ‘with loads of bubbles, and then give you a nice shoulder massage afterwards. How does that sound?’
She looked up at him, her eyes still awash with tears and filled with heart-wrenching sadness. ‘Like heaven.’ She managed a tremulous smile. ‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re lovely?’
‘Frequently.’ Dean smiled, and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. Actually, no one had ever told him he was lovely, apart from Zoe. Not even his own mum. ‘Come on, let’s get that bath run.’ Giving her a squeeze, he steered her out of the kitchen, down the hall and towards the bedroom. ‘And when you’re ready, if you don’t fancy a bit of retail therapy, how about we take a stroll by the river and grab a pint and a bag of crisps?’
‘You spoil me.’ She gave him a fond squeeze back.
‘I know.’ He sighed theatrically. ‘It’s tough knowing you’re not after my body, but I can live with it.’
‘Twit,’ she giggled.
Leaving her to have a soak once the bath was run, Dean came out of the bathroom feeling marginally better than useless. At least he’d managed to cajole a smile out of her. He was pondering alternative jobs and what he might actually be any good at when the post plopped through the letter box. Assuming it was nothing but bills, he scooped it up and flicked idly through it as he went back to the kitchen. Noticing what looked like a greetings card addressed to both of them, he furrowed his brow, puzzled. An invitation, most likely. Hoping it wasn’t to a christening, he opened it warily, the furrow in his brow deepening as he scanned the simple white card with a cracked silver heart on the front. It was a sympathy card, he realised. His own heart caught in his chest as he read the verse:
Babies who are taken too soon
Are never touched by fear.
It stopped beating altogether as he read the inscription beneath: Was yours, Zoe? So sorry you had to have an abortion. Dean must be devastated.
Thirteen
Jake
Jake was going through Joyce Simpson’s rheumatologist’s report with her, now that he’d finally persuaded her to come in for an appointment. She seemed to think she was bothering him if she requested a consultation. An intelligent, capable woman, she was coping well, but he worried that she might not understand all the technical terms in the letter she’d been sent from the hospital, and the importance of tapering the steroids down slowly. She was responding to treatment well, still having the odd temporal headache, meaning they had to keep an eye on the giant cell arteritis, but she’d had no recent flare-ups of her polymyalgia rheumatica, which was a good sign.
‘You’re doing well, Joyce.’ Digesting the report, he looked up at her with a smile. ‘Your ESR is slightly raised, but everything else is looking good. Your angina is under control, too. I reckon you’re healthier than I am.’
Joyce chuckled at that. ‘Make sure to step aside for me when you’re out jogging. I’ll be whizzing past you in no time. Mind you, I’ll be needing one of those electric commuter-scooter things that are all the rage.’
Jake’s smile widened. It sounded like she’d already looked into getting one. ‘There’s no stopping you, is there, Joyce? Hold your horses,’ he added as she raised herself from her chair. ‘I just want to check for any scalp tenderness and have a quick feel of your temporal arteries before you go.’
‘Now there’s an offer a girl can’t refuse.’ Arching her eyebrows in amusement, Joyce settled back down.
Examining her gently but efficiently, Jake assured her everything seemed fine, and then offered her a hand to assist her up. ‘Such a gent.’ She batted her eyelashes theatrically. ‘I would say I can manage, but it’s not often I get to hold a good-looking young man’s … Oh dear.’ She stopped, her gaze going to the door, beyond which there seemed to be a commotion in reception. ‘Sounds as if there’s a bit of a rumpus outside.’
‘It certainly does.’ He braced himself as he walked her to the door. If he wasn’t mistaken, the raised voice he could hear belonged to Dean Miller, Zoe’s husband, and he sounded upset.
They’d almost reached the door when it was banged open from the other side, narrowly missing them. ‘I need to speak to you,’ Dean said, his gaze gliding between Jake and Joyce. From the palpable fury in his eyes, it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere until he had.
Jake’s heart sank. He knew what it was Dean wanted to talk about. ‘Okay.’ He spoke evenly. ‘Can you just give me a minute to—’
‘Now.’ Dean wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
Jake’s gaze drifted past him to where Nicky bobbed into view, her face pale and clearly worried. ‘Emily’s calling the police,’ she said – for Dean’s benefit, he guessed.
‘No,’ he said quickly, noting the flash of thunder in the man’s eyes. He was close to exploding. That would do no one any good. ‘Tell her there’s no need.’
‘They wouldn’t let me see you,’ Dean said, as Nicky disappeared back to the desk. ‘Kept telling me I had to make an appointment. I told them I don’t need a fucking appointment. I need information. And I need it—’
‘Whoa.’ Jake held up a hand. ‘Calm down, Dean. Take a seat.’ He indicated a chair. ‘Let me make sure Mrs Simpson is safely on her way, then we’ll have a word.’
Dean didn’t move. Swiping a hand agitatedly over the back of his neck, he glared hard at Jake. ‘You need to tell me,’ he demanded. ‘Was it a miscarriage?’
‘Dean, wait.’ Jake’s heart dropped. ‘This isn’t a conversation you want to have
here. Just give me a minute and—’
‘It’s a simple enough question, Doctor Merriden.’ Dean’s voice was full of contempt. ‘Was it a fucking miscarriage or did she have an abortion?’
Christ. Concerned for Joyce’s safety, Jake was relieved to see Emily skidding through from reception. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her cheeks flushed with a combination of frustration and embarrassment. ‘He insisted on seeing you. I told him you were back-to-back with appointments, but …’
Jake nodded, understanding. Seeing the mood Dean was in, he guessed she couldn’t have stopped him. He supposed the whole surgery had overheard what was going on, but that wasn’t his major concern right now. What was worrying him was that if Zoe hadn’t been honest with Dean – and judging by the state he was in, she hadn’t been – then how did he know? ‘I’ll come out to reception shortly,’ he said, scanning Emily’s eyes warily. The information had come from here, as had the information in the letter sent to Michael. It had to have done. The question was, who would leak it, and in God’s name, why? Lives were being destroyed here. He couldn’t believe that anyone would do that.
Making sure Joyce was well out of the fray, heading back to reception with Emily, he closed the door and turned to face Dean. The man’s eyes were shot through with a mixture of bewilderment and anger. He wasn’t going to leave until he had answers. And Jake simply couldn’t give him any.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘Sit down, Dean, please.’ Jake nodded again towards the chair.
Folding his arms across his chest, Dean didn’t budge.
Jake wondered where the hell to start. ‘I understand your frustration, Dean. I—’
‘Right,’ Dean sneered. ‘I doubt that, Jake. I doubt that very much. Are you going to tell me what I need to know, or not?’
Jake sighed inwardly. ‘I can’t, Dean,’ he said apologetically. ‘I can see you’re upset, and I sympathise, but I can’t disclose private patient information.’
‘Well someone can, obviously,’ Dean retaliated, his look now bordering on murderous. ‘Do you realise some bastard sent a bereavement card?’
Jake furrowed his brow in confusion. Had Zoe confided in a friend or her family? he wondered. If so, how had Dean learned what he obviously had, unless they’d mentioned—
‘“So sorry you had to have an abortion”, it said.’ Dean cut his thoughts short. ‘So are you going to stand there and tell me she didn’t?’
Jesus. Jake drew in a tight breath. ‘I’m not telling you anything, Dean. I can’t. It’s just not within my power to—’
‘I don’t give a flying fuck about your bureaucratic claptrap,’ Dean spat. ‘I have a right to know. We’re talking about my child. You can’t keep the information from me.’
‘I have no choice but to, Dean. You need to speak to Zoe. I’m sorry, I can’t tell you what you want to know.’
Tipping his head to one side, Dean eyed him narrowly. ‘You just did, though, didn’t you?’
Jake held his gaze for a second, and then looked away.
‘So was it on medical grounds?’ Dean pressed him.
Jake sighed heavily. ‘Dean, I can’t help you. You need to speak to Zoe.’
Dean spun around. ‘I intend to. And she’d better damn well have answers.’
Christ, what was he going to do? ‘Dean, wait.’ He followed the man as he charged out of the office, but Dean wasn’t about to stop. ‘Dean! You need to calm down,’ Jake yelled after him.
Dean kept going, striding through reception and straight out of the main door.
‘Shit!’ Jake cursed, causing patients’ gazes to swivel in his direction.
He needed to call Zoe. He shouldn’t, but he couldn’t just leave it. The man was consumed with rage. Ignoring the heated hushed whispers around him, he turned back to his office and straight into Tom, who presumably had been tied up with a patient while all this was going on.
‘I gather there’s a problem?’ Tom asked, his brow knitted curiously.
‘You might say that, yes,’ Jake answered curtly, making to move past him, desperate to alert Zoe. He also wanted to try to establish whether she’d confided in anyone. Because if she hadn’t, then his fears about the information coming from the practice would be proved right, and that could have dire consequences.
‘Not quite appropriate behaviour, though, is it?’ Tom commented, stopping him.
‘What?’ Jake wondered if he was hearing him right.
His father swept a disapproving gaze over him. ‘Yelling across reception. Not very seemly, might I suggest?’
Jake looked him over in disdainful disbelief. No you may bloody not. Anger rising inside him, he counselled himself to stay calm. ‘I have a call to make,’ he said.
Fourteen
Emily
Seeing Tom knock perfunctorily on Jake’s door a minute later and then walk straight in, Emily couldn’t help thinking he might be treading on dangerous ground. Jake had been upset when he’d come after Dean into reception, for his patient rather than himself. Judging by the tight set of his jaw, he’d been quietly fuming when his father had pulled him up in front of the medical team, including Sally, who’d stepped out of the treatment room wondering what all the noise was about. To say little of the waiting patients, who’d witnessed it all.
Passing behind two women as she came back across reception from the loo, Emily’s step faltered. ‘They say he’s been having an affair,’ said Barbara, who ran the village store, leaning conspiratorially towards the woman sitting next to her.
‘Who? Dean?’ The other woman looked at her wide-eyed, her expression a mixture of shock and anticipation.
‘No. Lord, keep up, Wendy. Dr Merriden,’ Barbara said impatiently. ‘There’s talk of letters being sent. All sorts of personal information being leaked. That Natasha Jameson’s husband had one apparently, telling him she was having an affair.’
‘What, with …?’ Wendy’s eyes flicked towards Jake’s office.
‘Well, this is all second-hand, of course, but …’ Barbara broke off, leaving Wendy to draw her own conclusions. ‘One thing’s for sure, though. With all these personal details coming out, it makes you wonder who might be next, doesn’t it? I hope you haven’t been keeping secrets from your hubs, Wend, or you might be next.’
‘Ahem.’ Emily coughed loudly, drawing attention to the fact that she was there. Barbara looked abashed, she noticed. Wendy, however, had paled to the point of grey.
‘I’ve just remembered I promised to pick my Sam up from sixth-form college,’ the woman said, grabbing her bag and practically running for the door.
Clearly she was keeping secrets. Emily’s stomach roiled with a mixture of seething anger and sick trepidation. Was there a list? Someone systematically targeting people, as Sally had said, out of some sense of spite?
‘It was definitely out of order.’ She realised Nicky was talking to her as she approached the desk.
‘Sorry?’ Thinking she was talking about one of the toilets, Emily glanced distractedly over as Nicky sat back at her PC – the screen of which she hadn’t blanked when she’d left her desk, she noted with despair.
‘What Tom said,’ Nicky clarified, emitting a huff on Jake’s behalf. ‘Given the mood Dean Miller was in, I thought Jake handled things pretty well. There was no need for Tom to show him up like that. I don’t know what he was thinking. He’s normally so charming as well.’
Emily glanced at her askance, a prickle of agitation running through her as she noted Nicky’s pensive expression and realised that Tom had clearly won the girl over. Obviously he was still a silver fox. Emily had no doubt he would have charmed the birds from the trees in his heyday. She’d accused Jake of being just like him. She hadn’t thought he was, up until now. Her heart sank icily in her chest as she recalled the argument they’d had, the anger in his voice. Was there a side to him she didn’t know? Was it possible he was the sort of man who would be cruel enough to try to convince his wife she was going out of her mind r
ather than confess to an extramarital relationship? It was incomprehensible. Yes, he had seen another woman, and might even have been more involved with that woman than he’d admitted, but that was years ago. He and Emily only been together a matter of months, and at the time she had been distancing herself from him, trying to recover psychologically and physically from the damage inflicted on her by another man. If she examined her conscience, wasn’t that the reason she was so determined to doubt him? Because in her heart she couldn’t trust any man?
She needed to talk to him. Calmly. For the sake of Ben and Millie, who’d both reluctantly agreed to go out for a meal this evening, she had to establish whether they still had a future together. She wasn’t looking forward to the meal, nervous about what to say to the children. She was particularly worried about Ben, who was becoming moodier and more withdrawn, leaving her to imagine what might be going on in his mind. What would she say if they asked outright if she and Jake were splitting up? Cold foreboding clenched her tummy. Perhaps ignorance was bliss after all. If she’d never said anything to Jake, waited it out instead, it might just have gone away.
Trust Me: An absolutely gripping and unputdownable psychological thriller Page 10