Promises Made- Promises Kept

by Jaclyn Rosamond

  ‘I get it. But what about us? The only way we can actually see more of each other, is if you spend a bit less time at the gym.’ His face remained impassive, his jaw set. ‘Well, how about every time I’m on an early shift you come home instead of staying out? It’s only two or three nights a week. It’s surely not too much to ask you spend some time with me.’

  ‘Let me think about it.’

  He’d let it slide, I knew that, so I pushed him.

  ‘No, Eddie. You make a decision now. Are you going to spend time with me, your wife, or are you going to be single again and we go our separate ways?’ He needed to make the right decision.

  He gaped at me. ‘We’re married. Of course I want to spend time with you.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘How about I’m if home for two nights of your early shifts?’

  He was reluctant.

  Battling anger, I nodded. ‘Good. Let’s give that a go.’

  Our long talk wound down. He seemed relieved, while I felt this would be a trial of his commitment.

  We stood, more relaxed than when we’d begun. Stacking dirty pots in the dishwasher together was amicable.

  ‘You know what bugs me?’ He smacked the dishwasher door closed.

  I shook my head, hoping he wouldn’t mention my weight.

  ‘Your working hours.’

  ‘What about them?’ Shit. Just when we were getting somewhere, I could feel the ground slipping away from under me.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Look, now’s not the time. It’s late and we both have work in the morning. But, we have to talk about how your hours are impacting on us, on time we spend together.’ He reached for my hand. ‘C’mon, bedtime.’

  I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it hard, nipping my tongue and tasting blood. A huge argument loomed. Neither of us would be at our sparkling best for work if we let rip at each other. I bottled up my fury and followed this stranger, my husband, upstairs.

  Washing my face, I studied my reflection. A tired, miserable face stared back. Poor sleep cast dark shadows under my eyes. My skin was puffy and pasty. By contrast, Eddie was the picture of wellbeing, glowing with rude health. Depressed by my reflection, I sat despondent on the rim of the bath, eyeing his retreating back.

  I replayed our tête-à-tête looking for a positive note. We’d resolved something. Eddie had promised to be home more often and he’d agreed to do his share of chores. All well and good. But would this be a pattern for us? Differences defined by minor, or major, skirmishes, instead of harmony and accord?

  We murmured an indifferent goodnight to each other, climbed into bed and turned out our lamps. Deep inside, alarm bells were ringing, because our usual pattern after an argument was making love, but right now we were as far from each other as the bed would allow. His tension permeated the space, his body only relaxing when he fell asleep. Instinct told me he was hoping I wouldn’t initiate intimacy.

  I couldn’t, intimacy was as far from my thoughts as from his.

  I tossed and turned most of the night, looking for inspiration. I woke up woolly-headed, feeling as if my eyes had been dragged through sandpaper.

  Before we were married Eddie had always known my hours were sometimes anti-social. We’d lived together for seven months before the wedding.

  My patience was limited. I no longer worked night shifts and only one weekend every two or three months.

  Why this sudden irritation about my hours? True, I missed a few social events. I wasn’t the only one. All of our gang had other commitments sometimes. My work was important to me and my work hours were decent, for a hospital-based job.

  Our next argument began on Saturday afternoon. Eddie had spent all morning at the gym. Again.

  I’d missed out on our pub and grub Friday night special. Again.

  We were packing away the groceries I’d bought. Figuring he’d feel obligated to do his share, I left the bulk of it in bags on the kitchen bench. Sneaky, but why shouldn’t he participate in chores?

  He launched in, before I could formulate my thoughts on his unreasonable statements about my hours.

  ‘Your work might be important to you. But am I not more important?’ His voice cut like a whip.

  I dropped the bag of apples back on the bench.

  ‘Just what is it you expect me to do about it?’ Stung, I shouted right back at him. The sheer injustice of his accusation! ‘What about me? Am I not more important than the fucking gym?’

  ‘Find a job with normal hours, like the rest of us.’

  He’d ignored my accusation.

  Hurt, I glared at him. ‘Don’t you think it’s a good thing I love my work? What sort of job would make me happy in my work and suit what you want? And what about what I want? I’ve asked for more of you at home, but I haven’t seen that yet.’ I threw my hands up. ‘You’re being completely unreasonable.’

  ‘Don’t you want us to be together?’ Temper escalating, he thumped a dirty mug on the kitchen bench.

  Where this was coming from? And, hello. What about his commitment to be with me? It seemed I was at fault, not him and the inequity of it left me gasping. Taking a deep breath, I reigned in my temper.

  ‘Of course I do. But what could I do to change my hours? If I had small children I’d be considered for family friendly hours, but as things stand I have to work shift hours to accommodate those staff members who have children or who’ve been there for years and have seniority considerations.’

  ‘Get another job.’ He stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door. A few moments later the front door slammed, followed by the sound of his car driving off.

  I picked up the mug he’d slammed on the bench, his favorite, and hurled it at the door. It fell with a crash, smashed to smithereens.

  I had a ferocious headache. Tears ached to fall. I held them back. I needed to unmuddle my mind. Gulping down coffee and painkillers, I took a long, hard look at what remained of us.

  What was I doing wrong?

  I cooked, cleaned, worked, managed the budget. I gardened in my spare time. I enjoyed our sex life. When it happened. On rare occasions. I tried hard not to place too much responsibility on Eddie’s shoulders.

  Apart from being too serious by nature, I couldn’t grab hold of a glaring fault.

  What was he doing wrong?

  He rarely cooked or cleaned, especially now. He surfed the net, while I gardened. He was reluctant to make love.

  Were these differences a huge problem?

  I knew the answer.

  The differences were the issues that make or break a marriage. So far, our marriage sucked. Instead of a happy first year I was utterly miserable.

  And Eddie?

  Outside of the home he seemed to be enjoying himself. Inside the home? Not at all. At least, not with me. I quailed. What was I doing wrong?

  I came up with zip, zero and zilch. He’d declared his love, he’d married me. I hadn’t changed. He had.

  Why?

  Something more sinister must be happening. Eddie’s frequent outbursts were new.

  For a moment I considered a serious problem. Did he have a brain tumor?

  Had he met another woman and regretted marrying me?

  Mental illness? I didn’t think so. Again, apart from anger towards me, he seemed otherwise fine, despite his obsessive attendance at the gym.

  Another woman? A possibility, of course. However, I baulked at the idea of stalking him to catch him in flagrante delicto. For me, that would be a total break in trust. If I pursued that idea, I’d despise myself. If he ever knew, he’d be furious. And rightly so.

  We’d never trust each other again. Unless, of course, there was another woman?

  I sighed. Where to from here?

  This hadn’t been our first argument. Far from it. But it revealed a man I hadn’t known before. Anger and shouting, without the absolution of makeup sex. Where we were going, and what should I do?

  All very well telling me to find a different job, but what? Nursing had ups a
nd downs, but I loved my job, the patients, the drama, the life and death moments, helping those in pain. Even shift hours didn’t matter to me. I loved everything to do with the human body. I came alive at work.

  Brigid and Andy understood. Andy had never wanted to be anything but be a doctor. Specifically, a cardiologist. Brigid loved theatre work, and now mental health. We’d all found our niche.

  Pissed off, I kicked a chair, then hopped around rubbing my toe. How much more convenient it would have been to fall for Andy instead of Eddie.

  I felt a wash of guilt. Followed by annoyance. Why not? Guilt? Why shouldn’t I feel normal human feelings? I indulged in a few minutes of ‘what if’. What if I had fallen for Andy? I was pretty sure he still had feelings for me. Why hadn’t I reciprocated? We were more obviously suited.

  Andy would never have quibbled over my hours, not when his were much worse.

  I knew why I’d never fancied him because he was too earnest, too eager, too serious. I’d have walked all over him without ever meaning to, and he’d have let me.

  Eddie was fun-loving, a great foil for my sensible, sometimes boring personality.

  At least… he’d been funny and light-hearted before tying the knot.

  Was I a killjoy? I focused hard, shaking my head. No. Not really. We’d had a lot of fun together. Fun was like a foreign word these days.

  He was using the gym to escape from me. What other conclusion could I draw? I bowed my head, heart breaking with pain.

  What should I do?

  I straightened my spine.

  First, I would do what he asked – I would find a job with suitable hours.

  Second, if that wasn’t enough, then this marriage had been a mistake and we should either seek counselling or finish it. My heart quailed at the thought.

  I loved Eddie. Therefore, I’d cut back on demanding more time together, to give him more space. I’d stop reminding him about his share of chores. I’d encourage him, laugh more, admire his successes at the gym, spend time doing things on my own or with friends and let him come back to me in his own time. Perhaps I’d become a drag and that’s why he’d gone running away from me.

  A few days later, fate stepped in. Needing a new contraceptive prescription, I went to see my GP, Dr Helen Foster. We’d become work colleagues during her registrar years, before she chose general practice.

  Prescription printed, she sat back, eyes curious.

  ‘My dear, you look exhausted. Are you overdoing it?’

  Dropping my eyes, I fiddled with my wedding band. ‘No, not really. I’m thinking about looking for a job with friendlier hours. Shift work doesn’t suit Eddie.’ I raised my eyes to hers. ‘Trouble is, I have no idea what.’

  Expression dour, she nodded. ‘Hm. It’s always about the man, isn’t it? We have to fall in with what they want. You remember my wedding, don’t you?’

  ‘Sure. It was a lovely day.’ I eyed her sudden flash of disdain. ‘But not a happy outcome?’

  ‘I was in fear of my life,’ she said, her tone flat.

  ‘Oh, my God. Helen, I’m so sorry. He was a bully?’

  She nodded. ‘I divorced him. My lawyer saw the photos of my injuries and she sued the socks off him. He’s in prison now, but he won’t be there forever.’ Her smile was faint. ‘if he comes after me, I have an ace up my sleeve.’ On seeing my questioning face, she said, ‘that’s all I can say.’

  I nodded understanding.

  She took a deep breath, straightening her spine.

  ‘If you’re interested, the practice will soon be looking for a clinical manager for new services we’re introducing here. Give it some thought, as you’d be well qualified for the job. We’re adding a mother and baby clinic, specialist palliative care, pathology collection on site and management of chronic care plans. The work will be broad-ranging, including organizing home visits. For the role we’ll need an organized nurse to manage and run the clinical side of the practice. Do you think you’d be suited to that position?’

  My immediate reaction was to run screaming from her office. Working in a family medical clinic was not something I’d ever aspired to – instead, I demurred.

  ‘But Helen, I’ve never worked in a medical practice before.’

  She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Not a problem for someone like you. You’d pick up very quickly.’

  I will think about it,’ I promised. ‘Thank you for sharing your personal life with me.’

  I drove home, still cringing at the idea of work in the new clinic. Then I had an epiphany. I might have just been handed the answer to Eddie’s problem with my hours. I wrestled with the thought all day, questioning my motives, Eddie’s motives and our future. Finally, I accepted I should at least trial this possibility. What was the worst that could happen? I didn’t enjoy the work? At least, I could honestly say I’d made an effort before going back to what I truly enjoyed.

  I made an appointment for an interview, brought my résumé up to date and went along to find out more. I didn’t talk any of this over with Eddie. I wanted to find out for myself whether I was willing to make the sacrifice without his opinion clouding my judgement.

  Shirley, the Practice Manager interviewed me. Her severe grey cropped hair suited her. Her severe manner, however, wasn’t encouraging.

  ‘Well.’ Her grey eyes assessed me, after perusing my résumé. ‘You’re very well qualified. Why would you want to leave your current role to take on this less hands-on one?’

  She had a no-nonsense approach in keeping with her unadorned appearance. Nails square cut, plain gold wedding band, black skirt, plain white shirt and plain black shoes.

  ‘Thank you.’ I’d thought long and hard about interview questions. ‘I do enjoy midwifery. But I wish to broaden my experience and work in the community. I work in a hospital every day and would like to be delve into other ways of providing healthcare. I grew up locally in Cambridge and really enjoyed being part of a close community where everyone knew everyone and I’d very much like to do the same here.’ I added some suitably gushy words about the value of local community spirit before directing her attention back to my qualifications.

  I meant what I said. I do value knowing the names of the owners of my fruit and veg shop and I do like to pass the time of day with the new and still enthusiastic couple at our local chippie, but I had to work hard to look enthusiastic about the role they were offering at the clinic.

  I offered her a few smiles as the interview progressed. ‘I’m newly married, too, and I’d like to spend more time off with my husband, who, it has to be said, would be happier to see more of me during the week than he does with my current shift work.’

  That last statement didn’t go down well with Shirley. Her mouth turned down, her disapproval evident.

  ‘Young lady, your private life should be just that: private.’ Her face wore a formidable frown. I shrank inside myself. ‘However, since you have volunteered this information, I will comment on it. I have seen far too many women give up a life that was much more fulfilling merely to satisfy their partners. I hope this is not true of you?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Because, if we were to offer you a job here, we would hope that you would take it very seriously and not suddenly leave us at short notice.’

  Her few sharp words intimidated me. I flinched inside a little, but the devil in me asserted itself. Foolish pride straightened my spine. Reluctant as I was to take this job, I was annoyed it might not be offered to me.

  ‘I’m very sincere in my application for this job and, should you offer me this role, I would give it my full professional attention and dedication.’ True, but I couldn’t guarantee I’d want to stay. Sod that. Shirley didn’t need to know I’d leave if I was unhappy.

  ‘Very well. We’ll let you know in due course. If you should suit our needs there will be a further interview with the five directors.’ She stood up. ‘By which I mean the doctors,’ she added.

  Mirroring her straightforward approach, I shook her hand before leaving. D
riving home my mind tumbled between hoping I’d get the job, then praying hard they’d turn me down. With my qualifications, and Helen’s endorsement, a second interview was certain.

  And, despite my foot-dragging, I wanted a second interview.

  In order to deserve another interview, I scoured the internet, boning up on facts and figures on clinical management in general practice. Three days later, after intense preparation, I had my opportunity to impress, while not really caring about the income. The directors’ questions suggested they weren’t business experts. Impressing them gave me a sense of satisfaction.

  On the way home I felt a budding interest in a new challenge. More than half-interested, I hoped the job offer would come through, after all.

  After a week of dread and anticipation, the call came through.

  ‘Good evening, Rose, this is Shirley calling from Calliwell Medical Clinic.’

  ‘Hello, Shirley, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’d like to congratulate you. After careful consideration, we’d like to make you a job offer here at the practice; that is, if you’re still interested in pursuing this path in your career.’

  ‘Oh, wow.’ Words failed me for a moment. I floundered for a few seconds, made suitable inquiries as to details, accepted, thanked her and hung up, mind whirling.

  I was standing at the kitchen sink, gazing out on our abundant garden, my heart beating ten to the dozen, a victory smile on my face. Still torn between pleasure and dismay, I poured a glass of bubbly and toasted my success.

  Chapter Seven

  Eddie came home too late to hear my news. I fell asleep waiting for him. The next morning I cornered him in the kitchen.

  Breakfast spoon suspended halfway to his mouth, Eddie gaped when I told him about my new job. ‘What? I thought you enjoyed working at the hospital.’

  ‘You wanted me to find a job with more suitable hours.’ I shrugged, as if I didn’t care. ‘This is that job.’

  ‘Oh.’ He seemed at a loss for words. Disconcerted, his eyes searched the room, avoiding me.

  ‘Well, Eddie, I should be home every evening now and there’s no weekend work in my new job. Isn't that what you wanted?’