The nurse called out another patient’s name and led the way through the set of double doors. Blake knew it was time to make his move. He stood up, stretched his aching legs and walked towards the staffroom. A quick glance at the two remaining patients assured him that they weren’t looking at him, with one deeply engrossed in a magazine and the other texting on his mobile phone.
Within seconds Blake had removed the stethoscope, secreted it beneath his jacket and returned to his seat. He waited until the penultimate patient was called and led through to see the consultant. Retrieving the stethoscope from his jacket, he draped it around his neck, stood up and walked towards the front desk. He only had a minute at the most. He had to be quick.
With only one set of notes left for the morning session, Blake quickly scanned the pile of medical paperwork for that afternoon’s appointments. Several X-rays were filed alongside the notes. The remaining patient coughed. Blake looked up. The man nodded and smiled before returning to his magazine. Feeling emboldened, Blake continued to shuffle through the notes. He glanced up at the door leading to the consulting rooms. They were still closed.
He lifted a black and white plastic film to the light. It wasn’t clear what the image was of, so he took another. The second one clearly showed an X-ray of a skull. He looked once more at the door. He could only have seconds left. The third picture highlighted defined ribs with a small white smudge on one of the lungs. Perfect. He slid it back inside its brown envelope, hid it beneath his jacket, removed the stethoscope from his neck and walked out of the oncology department. All he had to do was to cut off the name of the patient at the top of the plastic film and Tess would get to see the image she’d been nagging him for.
Chapter Ten
Daniel picked up his jacket from the pew before shutting Goya and Gogh in the kitchen. December was months away, but he wanted to get everything in place so there’d be no panic close to Christmas. If he didn’t find someone local to cater for his exhibition, he’d either have to provide all his guests with beans on toast or use a big impersonal company with set menus. He must come back from The Royal Oak with a name of a caterer.
Daniel closed the front door and checked that it was locked. He turned the handle a second time, then hesitated.
‘You don’t need to do this,’ he said to himself.
He set off determinedly, yet after only a few steps he felt the familiar invisible elastic band tighten around his feet. Something was willing him to return to the door and check a third time. His strides became smaller. His inner voice goaded him.
So, you dare to leave the door checked only twice, do you? If something terrible happens to your loved ones now, you know it’ll be your fault, don’t you? Go back. If you check it one more time, one more protective third time, you can relax. Everyone will be safe.
Daniel swore. He marched back towards the front door. He hated this weakness in himself. Time and new friendships had tempered his anxieties and obsessions, but he still couldn’t stop himself from performing some tasks three times.
Daniel grasped the handle and turned it. It was locked. His shoulders relaxed but his frown remained etched on his forehead. Rationale told him that what he was doing didn’t make any sense, yet as he walked down his drive, he felt as if the protective shield had been raised once more around his family and friends.
The church bell tolled ten times as Daniel walked across Halston’s cricket pitch in the evening gloom. The chimes drew his eyes to the distant spire of St Mary’s Church, silhouetted against the sunset. Dark, wispy clouds obscured the apricot skies as if a vandal had smeared grey paint across a Turner sunset. Roosting birds chattered in the treetops that swayed and rustled in the cool breeze. Daniel relished the serenity of the evening and the fragrance of the blossoms and hawthorn hedges. Recently mown grass lay wilting and withering on the village green, sticking to the bottom of his shoes in damp clumps. A mournful bellow from a distant cow echoed across the empty expanse. His inner voice was now silent and forgotten – until the next time.
The lights of The Royal Oak grew brighter and laughter carried on the breeze each time the front door was opened. A smile played on Daniel’s lips at the thought of the camaraderie and banter awaiting him. He stepped into the bar, leaving behind the peaceful village green. Artificial light, the musky smell of beer, the sound of Sky Sports on the television and cheery hellos, all greeted him as he entered the room. A group of men argued amicably in the corner, a barmaid flirted outrageously with two young builders who were still wearing their concrete-splattered overalls, and groups of women had their heads huddled together in conspiracy.
Daniel walked across the room and sat on a stool at the quieter end of the bar. Joe, the landlord, came smiling towards him.
‘Good to see you, Daniel. How’s life treating you?’
He held out his arm and the two men shook hands.
‘Good thanks, Joe. Yourself?’
‘I never complain when we’re busy. What can I get you?’
‘A glass of red, please.’
Joe slid a wine glass from the rack above his head and turned to fill it on the counter behind him. He looked over his shoulder as he uncorked the bottle. ‘What are you up to these days? I haven’t seen you for a few weeks.’
‘Trying to keep out of trouble.’ Daniel laughed and took a notebook and pencil out of his jacket pocket.
Joe turned and winked. ‘Have you been in trouble with the ladies?’ He placed the glass of wine on the counter. ‘Is your book full of names and numbers?’
‘Sadly not. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to socialise. I’ve been busy with an art exhibition I’m presenting in December. It’s a way off yet but time waits for no man, as they say. I’ve called in because I’m hoping to pick your brains about something.’ He held the notebook up and gave it a shake.
‘Be glad to help if I can. Wow, an art exhibition?’ Joe whistled in awe. ‘Are you holding it at The Rookery?’
‘Yep, I’m using a few rooms around the back for a buffet and the main gallery. Then a marquee in the garden for dancing and a bar.’
‘I think it’s a great idea. Very avant garde.’
‘More like avant got a clue, I’m afraid. That’s why I need a little help.’
Joe laughed loudly. ‘Be with you shortly, just give me a tick.’
Daniel began doodling spirals around the edge of his page while Joe turned to serve another customer. He picked at a bowl of mixed fruit and nuts on the bar, avoiding the shrivelled sultanas. He hated the grainy dehydrated fruit. They reminded him of Denise’s teasing when they were young. He was five when he developed a liking for Garibaldi biscuits, so their mother would buy a couple of packets at the weekly shop. Denise had hated the plain biscuits full of currants, so she’d hatched a plan to reinstate iced rings and pink wafers back into the pantry. While they’d been searching for caterpillars and ladybirds to keep as pets in jam jars in The Rookery’s garden over a quarter of a century ago, his sister had pointed to a group of foraging ants. She told him that they were the black bits in Garibaldi biscuits. He’d been horrified and ran inside to ask his mother. Even when she’d assured him that Denise was only teasing, he’d never eaten dried fruit or Garibaldi biscuits again.
Daniel checked his notebook. He’d organised a marquee and a band, but needed to book a DJ and arrange a bar with seating. Denise had suggested flowers to decorate the tables for the diners and displays to be arranged around the areas of the house where the guests would be. She’d also urged him to make it festive, with a huge Christmas tree in the hall. If he could find a local caterer, it would be one more job to cross out in his notebook.
‘Hello, handsome.’
Daniel had been deep in thought so when a voice spoke in his ear he looked up in surprise. The barmaid, who had been flirting with the builders earlier, was smiling at him.
‘Sorry?’ said Daniel.
‘I’m Lizzy. Would you like my number for your little black book?’
&n
bsp; Daniel laughed, politely. ‘It’s not that kind of book.’
She pouted. ‘Shame. I was thinking… if you don’t like sultanas you could try a date.’
He shook his head. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘I was watching you pick out the nuts and leave the dried fruit. It was a play on the word, “date”. Come on, a girl shouldn’t have to explain.’
‘Ah, very observant.’
‘I finish at eleven.’ She tilted her head in a coquettish manner.
‘I’m actually working at the moment.’ He shook his notebook again. ‘Another time maybe.’
Daniel felt uncomfortable. He didn’t want to be rude but nor did he want to flirt with someone so much younger than himself. Besides, he’d never liked the full on approach, even in his youth. He was old-fashioned when it came to getting to know someone; he liked it to be subtle and understated.
‘Lizzy, another customer needs your attention,’ said Joe.
She puckered her lips and frowned her disapproval at being interrupted. Straightening her skirt, she winked at Daniel and sashayed towards a middle-aged couple that were patiently waiting to be served.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Joe. ‘She’s only been here a fortnight and I actually think she’s losing me business.’
Daniel grinned with relief. ‘I was getting a bit hot under the collar, but for all the wrong reasons.’ Daniel shook his head. ‘I’m losing it, Joe. Even a young temptress leaves me feeling self-conscious and embarrassed.’
‘I wouldn’t compare Lizzy with other women. Most men would need their wits about them with madam on the prowl! She’s still under review but I don’t think I’ll be keeping her on. She’s scaring half my customers away.’
Bill, the local farmer, bustled his enormous belly through the pub door and was greeted by a chorus of welcoming cheers. He shook hands and exchanged a few words with several neighbours before joining Daniel at the bar.
‘Evening. A pint, please, Joe.’
‘Have you heard about Daniel’s new venture?’ said Joe, pulling down on the pump.
‘No. What you up to, lad?’
‘Trying to plan an art exhibition for December. I sell my artwork on the internet and occasionally to private collectors, but I was thinking that if the exhibition went well, I’d apply for planning permission to the local council and design a permanent gallery and maybe a small café.’
‘Sounds great. We need a little enterprise here in Halston. Don’t suppose you fancy opening up a village store as well, do you? Jackson’s prices keep rising.’
‘Sorry, Bill. I hate shopping at the best of times.’
‘Pity. How’s that sister of yours and her little ’uns?’
Daniel hesitated. He didn’t want to divulge Denise’s recent personal bad news. His sister had phoned him a few days earlier and told him that she had a hospital appointment to investigate a suspicious lump. She had been uppermost in his thoughts ever since.
‘My nephews keep her busy. They’re all fine, thanks.’
Daniel and Bill talked for half an hour, laughing into their drinks and occasionally greeting other regulars. The banter flowed as freely as the beer. Daniel relaxed with his friends and looked up, smiling. He caught the eye of the barmaid again, who waved back thinking that Daniel’s smile was for her. With a jolt, he remembered that he’d come in for some information.
‘I wonder if any of you guys can help me with something?’
‘Of course. What’s troubling you?’
‘I want to put on a bit of food for my guests at the exhibition and I was wondering if anyone knew of someone local who can cook? I don’t want to deal with a big impersonal company from the city.’
‘My Mrs could knock you up a few steak and kidney pies,’ said Bill.
Daniel was touched by the offer, but was thinking of a bit more refinement.
‘That’s a kind offer, Bill, thank you. But I’ll be catering for a hundred or more people, so I think I’d better not ask your wife to bake fifty pies.’
Joe was frowning. ‘Ooh, now what’s her name? You know, that pretty dark-haired lass. She cooked some delicious food at a couple of charity events we’ve had here.’ His face lit up when he remembered her name. ‘Tess. Tess Fenton. I’m not sure where she lives in Halston and I don’t have her number, but when she comes in next, I’ll give you the nod.’
‘That’s great, thanks, Joe. I really appreciate it,’ said Daniel. He made a note in his book.
Tess Fenton — FOOD.
Chapter Eleven
It was mid-August and the heat of the last six weeks had petered out. The long dry summer had left trees parched and wilting, and the grass on the village green was now beige and crisp.
It had been six weeks since Blake had revealed that he was sick, and Tess was exhausted from stocktaking at work and running around after Blake at home, although she had to admit she was impressed with his mental attitude and courage. He cooked her dinner occasionally and even bought her a bunch of chrysanthemums now and then.
Whatever medical treatment he was receiving, it appeared to be working wonderfully. When he’d shown her his X-ray last month, she’d been shocked. A shadow on his right lung was clearly visible without the need of an explanation from a doctor. Then, a week following that revelation, Blake had calmly walked through her front door with his fair hair cut so short that at first she thought that he was bald. He’d explained that as it was falling out anyway, he may as well cut it all off.
Tess was cautiously optimistic that his cough seemed to have almost disappeared and that he looked well. Yet again she’d offered to support Blake on his trips to hospital for treatment, but he’d told her it was a depressing place full of super bugs. They’d laughed at the thought that it’d sounded like huge insects were running round the hospital corridors, wearing pants over their tights and capes flowing behind them. She hadn’t pestered him again. Some people preferred to be on their own to deal with things privately and that was okay.
Tess had arranged to meet Holly that evening at The Royal Oak. It had been a long time since their last girls’ night out, and she was looking forward to relaxing and catching up on the latest gossip. Blake had sulked at first about her planned night out without him, and although Tess had almost given in when his cough had suddenly reappeared, she’d stood firm. Holly had been very supportive and understanding about their recent non-existent social life. So much so, that Tess had refused to stay at home and watch another repeat of Star Trek. Blake could stay in with Mr Spock, while she would boldly go where man had been many times before – the pub!
She heard Blake padding up the stairs.
‘What’re you doing?’ he asked.
Tess was kneeling on the floor in her underwear with her bottom in the air, reaching under the bed. Clothes were strewn around the floor and she was mumbling inaudibly to herself.
‘What?’ she snapped.
‘No need to bite my head off.’
She sat back on her heels. ‘I’m sorry. I’m late and I haven’t put a wash on for ages because I’ve washed your sheets and towels. I haven’t got any clean jeans or T-shirts.’
‘Why don’t you stay in then?’ His foot suggestively ran up and down her bare slender thigh.
Tess looked at his grey sock rubbing her leg. She noticed the worn heel and pink hint of big toe trying to escape an equally worn area at the front of his sock. She pushed his foot impatiently away and stood up.
‘I haven’t had a night out for ages.’
‘Why do you want to dress up, though? You’re only meeting Holly, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but it’s a girl thing. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘What about these?’ He held up a yellow pair of cropped trousers. They’d looked great when she’d had a tan in the blistering heat wave of July, but Tess could hear the wind picking up outside. She looked at her watch.
‘They’ll have to do. I’m going to be late and no one will notice my legs under the table.’
>
She hopped around the bedroom floor, with one leg in her trousers and the other leg trying to find the second leg hole. Blake picked up a brown polo neck jumper and threw it to her.
‘This’ll keep you warm.’
Tess pulled it over her head, thankful that she didn’t have to make a decision of what to wear on top. She turned to look in the dressing table mirror at her yellow and brown ensemble.
‘I look like a geriatric Brownie!’ she wailed.
‘Just make sure you stay away from any Scouts with shiny toggles.’
Downstairs, rifling through the shoe cupboard, Tess wasn’t having much more luck. Her first choice of footwear was outside the back door awaiting a good clean. Damn those cows! Her trainers would have been okay but they were at Holly’s and she wasn’t going to wear her work shoes. It would have to be her ankle boots. She looked down at the pale, bristly six-inch expanse of leg on show between her boots and cropped trousers. This really wasn’t how she had hoped to be feeling just before going out with her best friend. As she only had five minutes before she should be there, it would have to do. At least Brown Owl would have been proud of her. She would have been presented with a dressing as a vagrant for the sake of a neglected best friend badge.
Inside The Royal Oak, Tess ordered herself a white wine and settled down at a quiet table in the corner of the pub in order to hide her legs. Ten minutes later, with her first glass empty and Holly still nowhere to be seen, Tess sent her a text.
Whr r u? I look desperate on my own. Pls hurry. X
Someone entered the pub, along with a chilly blast of wind that whipped around her bare calves. Trust her to be wearing cropped trousers when the next ice age was developing outside. She pressed send and read the word delivered, aware of noisy camaraderie and laughter at the bar.
Someone shouted, ‘What are you drinking, Daniel?’
It couldn’t be, could it? Could it be the Daniel who she owed two pounds to? The one who saw the messy contents of her handbag and the crusty fish scales on her cheeks? Could it be the Daniel who entered her thoughts as regularly as unwanted pop-ups on her computer?
You've Got My Number: Warm your heart this winter with this uplifting and deliciously romantic story! Page 6