by Sarah Morgan
Catherine had been so kind and welcoming, but she was always perfectly groomed and looking her best. Rosie didn’t feel comfortable mooching around in her pajamas, so she’d been up, fully dressed and made-up for breakfast each morning. And Catherine was such a superwoman. She was always on her phone, solving people’s wedding problems.
Rosie thought about her own mother, and the hours they’d spent chatting at the kitchen table. Maggie worked, but work didn’t dominate her life in the way it did Catherine’s. Would she and Catherine even get along?
Tension squirmed in her stomach.
She’d been excited about her family flying over, but now she wasn’t so sure. What happened when two families didn’t blend, but collided?
Was it going to be a happy family Christmas, or a recipe for disaster?
She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.
If she needed evidence that a whirlwind romance could work, she had only to look at her parents. They’d married a few months after they’d met and were still happy together thirty-five years later. Take that, Katie!
The more she thought about that one simple fact, the better she felt.
Her parents’ marriage was strong and indestructible. They were rock solid. Why shouldn’t she and Dan be like them?
Her parents were a shiny example of what a marriage should look like.
She’d confess her worries to her mother, although she could already imagine what she’d say. Your father and I met and married in a whirlwind, too, and we’ve done fine together for more than thirty years.
Feeling better, Rosie smiled.
If anyone could put her doubts to rest about marriage, it would be her mother.
Katie
Katie unlocked the door of the small two-bedroom house she’d rented for the past decade and dropped her bag on the floor.
Vicky appeared in the doorway, wearing a thick red Christmas sweater over spotted pajama bottoms. “Who are you?”
“Very funny.” Katie slid off her coat and hung it on the peg. It had been raining nonstop for a week and London was gloomy and cheerless. Her fingers were frozen, and her hair was lank. She’d never felt less festive in her life.
“I’m serious. I used to share this place with a friend, but I reported her missing weeks ago. The police are looking for a body.”
“Great. If they find one, let me know. I’ll swap it for the one I’m walking around in.” Her shoulder throbbed. It kept her awake, not because of the pain, although it was painful, but because of the memories that came with it. She glanced at Vicky’s feet. “You’re wearing two pairs of socks. Did the heating break again? Please tell me we have hot water.”
“You look like hell, Katie.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“You’re at work the whole time, you hardly ever go out, and when you’re home you’re either Cactus Katie or you fall asleep in front of the TV.”
“‘Cactus Katie’?”
“Prickly. Dangerous to be close to.”
“Oh. Well, if you’re planning to water me, use vodka.” She pushed her damp hair away from her face. “I admit I may be on a short fuse at times, but we have a staffing crisis.”
“You’ve had a staffing crisis for the past few years. We used to manage to eat together at least once a week, and now I can’t even get to speak to you on the phone. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’m fine. Is the kettle hot? It’s cold out there. If I don’t warm up soon, I’ll be treating myself for frostbite.” She walked into the kitchen and put her phone on the table next to a take-out pizza box. “Any of that left?”
“One slice. If I’d known you’d be home, I would have saved more for you.”
“A slice is enough.” Katie pulled it out of the box, took one mouthful and pulled a face. “What is this?”
“Christmas pizza.”
“That exists?”
“Apparently. I was trying to get in the mood.”
“I’m not even going to ask what sort of mood. Turns out one slice is more than enough. I should warn my colleagues. It might be a new cause of death.” Katie put the half-eaten slice back in the box. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten a healthy meal. She should probably cook something, but by the time she arrived home she was too tired. “Sorry I haven’t been around much.” Her phone started to ring and she glanced at the screen. “How are you?”
“Better than you.” Vicky put a cup of tea in front of her. “Aren’t you going to answer that? It’s your mum. She might want something.”
“I know what she wants. She wants to take me to lunch and talk weddings.”
“Weddings?”
“Rosie is getting married at Christmas.”
“This Christmas?”
“Yes. In Colorado. And before you ask, no, I won’t be going home to Oxford. Somehow I have to get myself on an airplane and fly to Aspen and stop her doing something she’s going to regret forever.” She lowered her head onto her arms and closed her eyes. “It’s a long flight. At least I can sleep all the way.”
Although these days she didn’t sleep. She collapsed into bed exhausted, but her mind refused to cooperate. Instead of shutting down it came alive, producing a slideshow of images she was trying to forget. There was no respite. She’d been on the what if and if only roundabout for so many weeks she was dizzy.
This wasn’t like her. She had no idea how to handle it.
“Wait. You’re intending to stop the wedding?”
“Absolutely.” Katie lifted her head. “She’s known him for a few months, Vick.”
“So?”
“So I have cheese in the fridge that’s older than their relationship. What can you possibly know about someone after a few months? It takes time for a person’s worst traits to be revealed, but I intend to fast-track that part.”
Vicky blinked. “To be clear about this—you’re going to Aspen in order to dig up dirt on the man your sister is in love with?”
“Thinks she’s in love with. I’m glad you understand. And I won’t be digging as such. I’ll be spending time with him. I’ve had so much more experience than Rosie at seeing the bad side of people, and I’m not emotionally involved so I won’t find it hard to ask the tough questions.”
Vicky let out a long breath. “This could be your future brother-in-law.”
“Not unless he passes the interview process.”
Vicky shook her head. “I’ve suspected it for a while, but this confirms it. You need help.”
“You mean Rosie needs help. I agree. That’s why I’m doing this.”
“No, I mean you. You’re the one who needs help.” She leaned forward. “Katie, I love you, we’ve been friends since the first day of medical school, but I’m telling you now this is not rational behavior. People don’t fly across the Atlantic to stop a wedding. Normal is going as a guest. You buy a dress. Maybe a hat. Take a gift. Throw confetti. You don’t ask tough questions of the groom and tell the bride you think she’s making a mistake.”
“I don’t think it. She is making a mistake.”
“If it’s a mistake, then it’s her mistake. This isn’t your responsibility, Katie, and it isn’t even your business. Do you want to know what I think? I think you should go to the wedding and relax for once. Stop trying to fix everything and everyone. Aspen is stunning. My parents took me skiing there when I was sixteen. If I had the money, I’d go again. Breathe in fresh air. Chill a little. A Christmas wedding in the snow sounds like fun.”
Not to Katie, but nothing much seemed like fun at the moment.
Maybe Vicky was right. Maybe she needed help. Not because of her reaction to Rosie, which seemed entirely sane to her, but because of the way she felt generally.
Was she clinically depressed? She had no idea. These days she didn’t even have the energy to diagnose herse
lf. “Are you not even the tiniest bit sympathetic that I have to drag myself on a fourteen-hour journey when even the half-hour commute almost finishes me off?”
“You’re going to spend Christmas playing in the snow at a luxury mountain resort and you expect me to feel sorry for you? You’re going to have to work harder.”
Katie tried to smile, but her head was filled with everything serious. She’d forgotten how to laugh and have a lighthearted conversation. She was consumed by guilt, and doubt and—yes—anxiety. And now she had her sister to worry about, too. How was she going to get through a week with family without falling apart? She honestly had no clue.
She knew she wasn’t good company either at work or at home.
Vicky sat down opposite her. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Katie lifted her head and looked at her friend. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“A few weeks ago you came home looking worse than you do now, if that’s possible. You didn’t want to talk about it and I respect that, but—you looked traumatized.” Vicky reached across the table and took her hand. “I know something happened at work and I know it’s eating away at you. I’m your best friend, Kat. We’ve known each other forever. You can talk to me.”
“Not about this.” Katie tried to pull her hand away but Vicky tightened her grip. “I’m handling it.”
Vicky finally let her go. “If you don’t want to talk to me, fine, but you have to talk to someone. You can’t carry on like this. Even before that night, your life was ridiculous. You move from home to work and work to home.”
“Plenty of people do the same.”
“But do you even enjoy it? You used to be happy. You used to talk about how much you loved it, and the cases you saw. You were animated, but now you’re...”
“I’m what?”
Vicky swallowed. “Like a robot or something.”
“Thanks.” Had she loved it? It was true that she had satisfaction from meeting goals. She’d always been the same. Work for an exam, pass with top marks. She’d worked hard at each step, enjoying the forward motion. Onward and upward. “I don’t think anyone enjoys dragging people back from the brink of death every day.” The pressure was so intense it felt like being squeezed by a nutcracker.
“But you used to find it satisfying. You loved making a difference.”
Her heart beat faster. “Do you think we do make a difference?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“Most of the time I feel like I’m trying to stop the Titanic from sinking by putting my fist in the hole. It’s not working. We do what we can, but it never feels like enough.”
And since that night she was questioning everything.
She’d lost trust in herself. In her judgment.
You made a bad decision, Katie.
Bad call.
The blood pounded in her ears and her breathing grew shallow.
It didn’t matter how many times people told her that it wasn’t her fault, it felt like her fault.
“Well, if you have your fist in the Titanic, I can tell you that you’re sinking with the ship, Kat. We do our best. That’s all we can do. But you’re giving too much. You’re working at the expense of your social life. You’re working at the expense of your health! When did you last kiss a guy?”
“There was that guy in the pub a few weeks ago.”
“That was in June. And the fact that you remember it so clearly means you’ve had no action since. And by the way, one drunken kiss in a pub does not a relationship make.”
“Is it my fault he didn’t call?”
“I don’t know, is it? Karen.”
Katie felt her cheeks burn. “It’s very close to my real name. And he had my number.”
“Not your whole number. You always change the last two digits.”
“What can I say? It’s easier than saying I don’t want to see you again.”
“Have you ever given your real number to a man?”
“Yes. And I ended up having to get a new number when he wouldn’t leave me alone. I prefer to keep things simple.”
Vicky leaned forward. “What you’re doing at the moment isn’t living. You’re existing.”
What she was doing was trying not to lose her grip. If she kept busy, everything would be okay. She almost told Vicky then, but part of her was afraid that if she exposed that single pulled thread in the fabric of her life, the whole of her would unravel. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need a break. I’ll be fine when I’ve had time off.”
“Will you?”
“I don’t know.” She pushed the pizza box away from her. “I feel as if I’m going crazy. Damn it, Vick—what’s happening to me?”
Vicky stood up and put her arms around her. “You need professional help. Would you talk to someone?” The kindness and compassion in her voice almost tipped Katie over the edge.
She could barely force words past the lump in her throat. “I have you.”
“But you’re not talking to me, and all I have to offer is turkey pizza—you need someone with expertise.”
“Your turkey pizza wasn’t up to much. You’re a lousy friend.”
Vicky didn’t smile. “Go to occupational health.”
“And what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they’ll sign you off sick.”
“I have a holiday coming.”
“Not long enough.”
“Staff taking sick leave is one of the reasons it’s so bad at the moment. If I go off, too, that would make things a thousand times worse for my colleagues.”
“You can’t be a good doctor, feeling the way you do. How are you supposed to make good decisions?”
She hadn’t. She hadn’t made good decisions.
She stood up abruptly. “I need to get to bed.”
“So that you can get up and do the same tomorrow morning.”
“That’s right.” She finished her tea and put the mug in the dishwasher. “Thanks for the tea and the listening ear. And the pizza. It was an experience.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you feel better in the morning. Oh, and, Katie—”
Katie paused with her hand on the door. “What?”
“Just so you know—from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look as if you’re handling it.”
* * *
The following morning she didn’t feel better, nor did she feel better for any of the twenty mornings that followed. She booked her flight on automatic, an open ticket because if things went the way she expected them to she’d be coming back after a couple of days. She approved Rosie’s suggestion for her dress even though she’d barely glanced at it.
The conversation with Vicky played round and round in her head.
You can’t be a good doctor if you’re in a state yourself.
Katie had never failed at anything in her life. She badly wanted to be a good doctor, and that was how she found herself sitting in front of a doctor as a patient for once.
It felt enormous to be admitting that she wasn’t doing well. If she said it aloud to a professional, then that would make it real. There would be no more pretending these feelings might blow over.
The occupational health doctor was brisk and to the point.
“I read your medical record, so I know what happened to you.” She removed her glasses, her expression kind. “I’m wondering why it took you this long to come and talk to me.”
“I didn’t feel I needed to.” Katie fidgeted. “I was doing fine. I haven’t missed a day of work—”
“Why not?”
“Excuse me?”
Dr. Braithwaite glanced briefly at the notes. “After what happened I would have expected you to have time off. And perhaps counseling. Have you considered talking to a psychologist?”
“No.” Her heart r
ate increased. She clasped her hands in her lap, hoping that the woman across from her couldn’t see that she was sweating. “I don’t want to spend what little free time I have talking about something I’m trying to forget. I prefer to deal with it my own way.”
The doctor nodded. “But you’re sitting in front of me now, which tells me that you’re not finding that as easy as you thought.”
Katie felt tears burn her eyes and blinked. “I think about it all the time. Flashbacks.”
“To the attack?”
“Yes, but mostly to events leading up to it. I keep thinking what might have happened if I’d done something different. He—he said it was my fault—”
“And you believe him?”
“It was my fault. But we were so busy that night, I didn’t give him the time he needed. It’s about triage. Always about triage. What you don’t realize is that risk is not always obvious. Sorry.” She grabbed a tissue from the box on Dr. Braithwaite’s desk. “I’m not normally like this.”
“How are you normally?”
“A coper.” She smiled through her tears. “I’m a coper. Never a day off sick. And a perfectionist. Never an exam I couldn’t pass, or a problem I couldn’t handle. You name it, I aced it.”
Dr. Braithwaite nodded. “Do you see perfectionism as a good thing?”
“It is in medicine. In medicine you’re expected to get it right every time.”
“But how could you? Humans are flawed, are they not? Errors are inevitable, and of course we should do our best to avoid them when lives are at stake but there is a difference between setting high personal standards and perfectionism. One makes you strive to do the best you can and the other, being unobtainable, makes you self-critical and unhappy. It also makes people afraid to reveal anything that could be perceived as weakness and prevents a person taking risks because failure is not seen as an option.”
Katie blew her nose. “Your advice is to go out there and fail?”