The Lakeland Doctor's Decision

by Gill Sanderson

  This was getting too difficult! ‘I think he meant another little girl or boy,’ Faith explained.

  ‘But I’ve had tea at your house. And Daddy likes you. He says he likes you a lot.’

  Just being nice for his daughter, Faith thought. Nothing else but that. She couldn’t explain to Molly that she was worried what might happen if she spent too much time with Chris. Despising herself, she said what every adult said to a child when she couldn’t think of an answer. ‘We’ll just have to see.’

  * * *

  She didn’t see Chris that afternoon. It wasn’t that she thought she’d be accused of interfering, but all the same she took care to be on the wards when he was due to finish for the day and pick Molly up.

  It was a gorgeous sunny evening, the roads were quiet and she opened her car window to let the scents of summer blow in as she drove home. Usually, the well-loved hills surrounding her calmed her – but not this time. Thoughts, feelings, clouded her mind. She knew she had a problem, but she wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Oh, what nonsense. Who was she kidding? Chris was the problem. She wanted to know him better. But she didn’t want to get too close.

  And, having admitted that, there wasn’t the usual feeling of peace and tranquillity when she arrived at her cottage. She didn’t feel like preparing herself a meal. Of all things she felt lonely. Lonely! This was her haven, the place where she always felt safe. When the phone rang she hurtled across the room to pick it up. It would be Chris. She’d explain about Molly and the Wendy house.

  ‘Hi, Sis!’ Hope’s cheerful tones rang down the line. ‘Telephone consultation. I need the advice of the best Obs and Gynie person I know. Feel free to send in a bill.’

  Faith beat back the flicker of disappointment. Hope was a midwife, attached to one of the GP practices that fed into Dale Head hospital. Usually she would refer medical problems to one of the GPs. But Faith knew all the GPs – and knew they would be only too pleased to have her expert advice. ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve got a primagravida out in a farm up Yallendale valley. There have been no problems so far, she’s done everything right. But I have this feeling, you know how it is.’

  Faith’s brow wrinkled. She did know. Hope’s feelings were often accurate. ‘Got the case notes there?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Read them out to me.’ Carefully she made notes as Hope read. ‘It doesn’t sound as if there’s anything to worry about. From those results I’d guarantee that your patient is going to be fine.’

  ‘I know,’ Hope said. ‘But I get these hunches every now and again, so if you can hold on to the notes and let your subconscious work on them in the next few weeks I’d be grateful. Now, what’s worrying you?’

  ‘Worrying me? Nothing.’

  ‘Nonsense. I know you. I can tell by your voice there’s something wrong.’

  ‘There isn’t. I’m tired. I’m thinking through life changes and I haven’t eaten yet. As soon as I feel like cooking, I’ll –’

  ‘One of Charity’s patients left a whole salmon on our doorstep. There’s loads left and it needs eating. I’ll bring it round.’

  ‘But I’m knackered! I just want peace.’

  ‘So sit down and put your feet up. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

  The phone went dead. Faith glared at it. She’d heard the concern in her sister’s voice and of course it was good to be loved but ...

  Hope arrived: energetic, good-humoured and just slightly too busy. Faith’s heart sank. Was her sister having trouble with her love life again? She got no chance to ask because Hope was chattering ten to the dozen about the GP practice, the course Charity was on this week and the neighbour who had asked her to feed their menagerie while they were away.

  They sat on the patio to eat the salmon and a tossed salad. ‘Do you remember how you used to make us use a whisk to mix the salad dressing?’ Hope asked as she placed a small glass dish on the table.

  ‘I still do. Home-made dressing always tastes better than shop-bought.’

  ‘Ha! It used to make my wrist hurt so now I compromise. This is home-made dressing made with a battery driven whisk. Try it!’

  Faith took a roll, dipped it into the dressing, tasted. ‘That is good,’ she acknowledged. The sisters smiled at each other.

  Her phone rang again.

  ‘Faith.’ It was Chris and his tone was curt. ‘Molly would like to come over, but I want to talk to you as well.’

  Faith felt her stomach clench. ‘I’ve got a visitor. Can it wait?’

  She could have sworn she heard him growl, but she must have imagined it. ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, OK, I ... ooops, too late.’ A blue-clad figure was already rushing joyfully towards the fence.

  Chris cursed. ‘Sorry, she’s slippery as an eel tonight. I’ll come and get her.’

  ‘No, don’t. I can manage.’ But he’d already rung off and Hope was setting off interestedly for the bottom of the garden.

  Molly had stopped, just through the gap. ‘Who are you?’ she said, staring at this stranger, her lower lip wobbling.

  Hope hunkered down. ‘I’m Faith’s sister. Are you coming to play?’

  Molly nodded, but looked anxiously up the garden towards Faith and then behind her towards where her father was catching her up.

  Faith and Chris reached the fence at the same moment. For a moment the barrier might not have been there at all as they both held their breath to see how Molly would deal with Hope.

  ‘More visitors. How lovely,’ said Hope, straightening up. ‘You must be Chris. Would you like some salmon? And a drink? I’ve been wanting to meet the man who got my sister’s job.’

  ‘Hope!’ Faith gasped.

  Chris shook his head, and Faith saw the amusement in his eyes. ‘Now I know what I’m missing not having a family,’ he said. ‘Faith, I envy you.’

  It was more than she did at the moment, especially when Molly fixed her eyes on Hope and said in a serious voice, ‘She was only looking after the department for Daddy. Sometimes they work Faith’s way and sometimes they work Daddy’s way. Mostly Daddy’s, but Faith doesn’t mind now because it’s better.’

  Faith closed her eyes. ‘Can we start this evening again, please?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Hope with a grin. ‘Go and put the kettle on and make a cup of tea for your guests. I’ll entertain them while you’re gone.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ said Faith. ‘You go and put the kettle on and I’ll do the entertaining.’

  ‘Thanks, but we’re not stopping,’ began Chris, but Molly was already speaking.

  ‘Want orange, not tea.’ She studied Hope a moment more then took her hand. ‘I know where it is.’

  ‘Golly,’ said Faith, watching them trot up the path.

  Chris seemed equally amazed. ‘There’s a family resemblance to you. Perhaps that’s why.’

  ‘Could be. I apologise for my sister’s bluntness.’

  ‘It was refreshing.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Abbey and Molly both told me you’d talked to her today. It seems I have to thank you again.’

  ‘She’s taking a while to adjust, that’s all.’

  He rubbed his chin. ‘Did you really not agree with the briefings to begin with?’

  Oh, why had she said that to Molly? ‘I didn’t see the point. But I do now. I’m cross because I didn’t think of it myself.’

  ‘Why would you? I got the idea from one of my previous Heads of Department. You’ve only really known Freddie Myers.’

  Was that another dig at her inexperience outside Dale Head? Faith sighed. She was tired and conscious of not making a good showing.

  Chris put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Faith, don’t hold it against me that I’ve worked in more places than you.’

  His touch was warm and comforting. His voice was gentle. Faith blew her nose and shook herself free before she could admit to wanting more. ‘Don’t let Molly see you. Maybe you should stay that side of
the fence to drink your tea.’

  ‘No need,’ he said, swinging himself across and glancing at her in a way that was too frank for comfort. ‘These days I’m carrying the damn fence round with me.’

  And just what did he mean by that? Faith pondered the question, noting with some misgiving the way all the way though the conversation that followed, her sister was taking in the fact that Molly knew her way around the house, had asked immediately for crayons and that Faith herself knew how Chris liked his tea.

  ‘We work together, OK?’ she hissed after an unsubtly warm commendation on her home-making skills from Hope.

  ‘Of course you do,’ said her sister soothingly. ‘Well, I must go. There’s a medical journal calling my name at home.’

  ‘Pity it didn’t call earlier,’ muttered Faith.

  If Hope thought she was being tactful, she was thwarted by Chris also getting to his feet and saying they should be leaving. Never one to be outmanoeuvred, she continued, ‘But first we need to tidy up. Come on, Molly. Let’s put the crayons away.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Faith awkwardly to Chris. ‘This is what comes of Hope not having a love life of her own to concentrate on at present.’

  ‘No matter. She’s not to know that we –’

  A shout pierced the evening stillness.

  ‘Daddy! Oh, Daddy! Come and see!’

  Molly, when they raced to find her, was standing in the back scullery and was revolving, entranced at Faith’s garden painting.

  ‘Goodness, this is lovely,’ said Chris. He looked around at the painted walls.

  Faith’s mood plummeted even further. ‘It’s just a mural,’ she said. ‘I had the idea a few years ago that I wanted to bring the garden into the house. So I started painting it and – and it grew.’ And standing here with the cold growing inside her brought it all back. Mike, leaning against the door jamb as she crouched trying to get a flower or a bug right, teasing her, loving her.

  ‘What’s a muriel?’ asked Molly.

  ‘A mural is a wall painting. Like this one.’ Faith could sense Chris studying her, trying to divine why she was so still. She forced herself to smile.

  ‘I want a muriel on my wall,’ said Molly. ‘You said I could have what I wanted in my bedroom, Daddy. I want a garden just like this.’

  Faith barely heard her. The pain was still there. It would never leave. She had been so happy when she painted this, and then within a few weeks of finishing, Mike had been dead and the life had gone out of her. She turned to switch out the light. ‘Let’s go back into the –’

  ‘There’s a ladybird! And a daffodil. What’s this flower, Faith?’

  The little voice was insistent. Faith turned, her hand still outstretched towards the switch. ‘That’s a tulip, darling. Come and –’

  ‘And these are roses, I know them. What are those tall ones? They’re as tall as Daddy!’

  Torture. This was torture. Faith didn’t want to remember painting this. She focused. ‘Those are hollyhocks. I’ll show you them for real outside tomorrow.’

  Molly let out a peal of laughter. ‘Hollyhocks is a funny name. When I’m as tall as Daddy will I be a Mollyhock?’

  There was a sharp ache in Faith’s chest. She found she was smiling and trying not to cry at the same time.

  ‘Faith?’ said Chris in a concerned voice. ‘Are you all right?’

  She made herself answer. ‘I’m fine. Cold. Been outside too long.’

  A sharp glance said he didn’t believe her, but, ‘Then get into your warm kitchen. Right now. Time to go home, Molly. Say goodbye to Hope and Faith.’ With fast, understated authority he got everyone moving. For a moment Faith was terrified he and Molly would be offered a lift – the little girl being enchanted by Hope’s bright pink car – but Hope found herself being waved off alone.

  ‘I want a pink car,’ said Molly.

  ‘Just as soon as you grow up and learn to drive,’ Chris assured her. He put his hand on Faith’s shoulder and said under his breath, ‘Give me an hour to get bedtime over, then if you want to talk, ring me.’

  Faith nodded, knowing she wouldn’t. Alone again, the memory of his hand was the only warm thing about her. She knew she was being a coward. She gritted her teeth and went back into the scullery. Once more, all that past love flowed around her. What would Mike want for her now? She remembered his zest for life, the twinkle in his eyes, and thought perhaps she knew. But it was so hard admitting it. Her gaze fell on the charcoal drawings she’d done the other day. She hesitated, then took the pad into the lounge with her. Sketching wasn’t painting. Sketching was cathartic. Sketching she could do.

  * * *

  Back in his house, preparing his chattering daughter for bed, Chris felt torn. Torn and very confused. Usually when Molly was good, he loved the time he spent with her. He should be enjoying it now – and he was. But in the back of his mind was the affectionate sparring between Faith and her sister before everything had suddenly gone wrong, and in the front of his mind – almost blotting everything else out – was that wrongness itself. Faith, unhappy. Faith, unhappy and cold and looking as if something unbelievably precious had been wrenched from her.

  Chris told himself to calm down, to address the situation logically. First, the teasing between the sisters. That had unsettled him, making him think how pleasant it would be to be part of a family like that. He had been an only child, and now Molly was an only child. Neither of them would have that extra dimension, that playful love which could nevertheless hit home without offence.

  And then there was Faith. At the sight of her sudden, bloodless face he’d wanted so badly to put his arms around her, to fold her against his chest just as he held Molly in the inarticulate aftermath of a tantrum.

  He shook his head. It wasn’t possible. Look how Molly had reacted at the sight of Veronica Beresford’s arm tucked into his. He had to care for Faith from a distance, to forget the feel of her bare shoulder against his palm, forget Hope’s suggestions of barbeques and picnics, and think of his daughter. He had to do what was best for her.

  But Molly was fond of Faith. She was talking about her now as she got ready for bed and picked out a story book about a garden fairy for him to read. Maybe ...

  No! He had to stamp down hard on that possibility! There had been no sign of Lorraine’s instability when he married her. It was the trauma of depression following Molly’s birth that had triggered it. The same could happen with any other woman. He couldn’t take the risk. He couldn’t expose Molly to the possibility of another relationship crumbling around her just when she had begun to feel secure.

  And then Chris gave a short, humourless laugh. All this angst on his part – but there was also Faith herself. What made him think there might ever be a relationship to go wrong? Faith was uncomfortable with the attraction between them. She was frightened of committing herself. It was obvious that something in her life had left an emotional scar. Probably something to do with that lovely garden painting around the walls of her utility room. He shouldn’t open up the wound, even though he desperately wanted to know what the matter was.

  He read the story to Molly with part of him still thinking about Faith. She made a small snuffly noise and he realised she had fallen asleep while he’d been sitting here holding her hand. As he always did when he left her at night, he bent over to kiss her forehead. Molly was and must be central to his life. There was only one conclusion. It hurt, but he had to keep a friendly distance from Faith.

  He walked downstairs, poured the small whisky he sometimes allowed himself at the end of the day, went to sit in the darkened conservatory. He could see the lights in Faith’s cottage. His hand hovered over his mobile. If she’d regained her customary calm, she wouldn’t want to be dragged out of it. But if she was sitting there, cold and alone ...

  He had to know. He phoned, heard her voice. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  She didn’t answer straight away. He heard a sigh. ‘I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ A pause. �
�Thank you, Chris.’

  She rang off. Chris looked out over the dark garden. There was a fence between their two cottages – a symbol of what was keeping them apart. Molly might pay no attention to the fence, but Chris needed to remember it was there.

  Chapter Six

  Chris had always started work early. If he could get to his desk just half an hour before the rest of the staff began to arrive, then he was ahead on points. He was enjoying working in this new hospital. There was a vast amount to do, of course; he was weary every night. But the work was good, he could count on his department not to throw major problems at him without warning, and he was generous enough to know that this was mostly down to the efficient teamwork that Faith had put in place over the past few years.

  Faith. Chris’s stomach clenched. Faith was the one troubling item in his day-to-day life. Every glimpse and every thought of her made him want to know her better. It was like an itch he didn’t dare scratch. There was Molly to think of. And the memory of life with Lorraine. Never would he risk going through anything like that again, not with any woman. But how did he balance the need to keep Faith at a distance with his concern about what was going on beneath her surface control?

  Today, as ever, there was a pile of mail on his desk. Some was for him, some still addressed to his predecessor. Most of it went instantly into the waste-paper basket. Did any doctor respond to the barrage of advertising material that arrived on his desk? He opened another envelope, brightening when he saw the logo for Hadrian’s Wall hospital. At least this one would have some medical interest. But as he read it he felt the pit of his stomach drop away.

  In standard hospitalese it stated that Dr Faith Taylor had applied for the position of Head of the Obstetrics and Gynaecology Department. The board would be obliged if a reference could be supplied.

  Chris was thunderstruck. Also very angry. All right, so Faith was upset about losing out to him as head of this department, but she wasn’t even giving him a chance! He tightened his hands on the request, getting more furious by the minute. Had she no idea of etiquette? Applying for a new job without even doing him the courtesy of informing him? He’d thought they were getting along better than that! Without giving himself time to think, he stormed down the corridor to her office.