‘What about you?’ Martin asked. ‘I think it’s very important that you don’t enter into this lightly, without thinking it through. I mean, God forbid, but what if you should get divorced in the future?’
Sam blinked. ‘Sally and I aren’t getting divorced,’ he said.
‘Stranger things have happened. I’d hate this to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.’
‘It might just be exactly what she needs—and what she needs, our marriage needs,’ Sam said quietly. ‘As I said, Sally and I aren’t getting divorced—now or ever.’
As he left them, he hoped to God that he was right.
As for working with Sally, well, he’d done it before. He could probably do it again. They’d thrived on it then, before the children had come along.
There would have to be some major changes, though. Changes that both of them would have to get used to.
And then there was the problem of the children and the school holidays.
Suddenly the whole thing seemed insurmountable.
Mrs Deakin, the woman Sally had put on HRT in patch form, came to see her on Thursday and Sally hardly recognised her.
‘You’ve had your hair done!’ she said with a smile.
The smile was returned tenfold. ‘I can’t thank you enough for that piece of advice, or for the patches. I feel so much better!’
Sally was delighted. ‘Good! I’m really pleased. Have you noticed a difference in the night sweats?’
‘Oh, yes, within the first five days or so. And the flushing in the daytime, and I have so much more energy—I find it quite incredible that losing such a tiny little amount of hormone can have such a devastating impact on my well-being, but it has, and getting it back has just transformed my life—and my husband’s. I’ve taken your advice and rediscovered the old lover, and I tell you what, it beats a new lover hands down!’
Sally laughed with her. ‘Well, that’s wonderful. I hope it continues to work. If not, there are all sorts of other forms of HRT we can try. In the meantime, you carry on having fun and enjoying life.’
‘Oh, I will!’ Mrs Deakin stood up to go, then turned back to Sally. ‘Are you still going to be here? I heard a rumour that you’d swapped roles with your husband for a short time. Does that mean you won’t be here any more?’
Sally nodded. ‘It does, I’m afraid. Sam will, though, of course, and he’ll carry on with your treatment.’
‘But it won’t be the same. I mean, he won’t tell me to go and have my hair cut, will he?’
Sally laughed. ‘No, I don’t suppose he will. I can tell him to, if you like?’
She shook her head, smiling. ‘No. That won’t be necessary. I’m going to have it done regularly now so I don’t get in that mess again. Anyway, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to thank you for all your help and say goodbye. I think it’s a shame you’re going. You’ll be missed.’
Sally swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. ‘Thank you—thank you very much. I’m just glad I’ve been able to help you.’
Damn. Stupid sentimental fool. The door closed softly behind Mrs Deakin and Sally went to the window and stared blankly out, blinking away the tears.
Only one more day to go.
What a bleak thought.
She was just going home that night when she was hailed by Mavis.
‘Letter for you, Sally. It was delivered by hand earlier this afternoon.’
She paused at reception. ‘Dr Sally Alexander. That’s me.’ She slit the envelope and pulled out the contents.
A couple of pieces of card fell out of the folded sheet of paper to the floor, and Sally stooped to retrieve them. ‘Theatre tickets? How odd.’
She unfolded the sheet of paper and stared at it in amazement.
Dear Dr Alexander,
We hope we have found the right person, but you have been difficult to track down. We wanted to thank you in some way for saving our lives the other night, because there is no doubt in our minds that if you hadn’t been so brave and sensible, we would have been killed when our car exploded.
We do hope you have made a complete recovery. We both have, and have you to thank for it.
Please, therefore accept the enclosed theatre tickets for this Saturday night. We hope you are able to use them, and to join us for a complimentary meal afterwards at our restaurant ‘Brooks’ opposite the theatre, to give us an opportunity to thank you again in person.
Yours most sincerely,
Bernard and Louise Brook
Sally burst into tears.
Sam was totally frustrated. Everything he tried to do he made a complete carve-up of. He’d done a real meal tonight, with proper vegetables instead of frozen ones, and where had it got him?
Upside-down under the sink was where, taking the darned waste-disposal unit to bits to get the vegetable knife out.
One last thump with the wrench, and the unit was free, landing on his chest and splashing foul water in his face.
Damn and blast!
He came up, spluttering, to find Sally standing in the doorway staring at him in amazement.
‘What are you gawping at?’ he growled.
‘Not bad, thanks. How was yours?’
‘Don’t get witty. I’m not in the mood,’ he warned her.
She laughed. ‘Darling, it’s a good job you told me, I might never have noticed. Um—what are you up to?’
‘What the bloody hell does it look like?’ he growled. God, that water tasted disgusting.
She blinked. ‘Sorry I asked.’
He sighed and sat up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. ‘I dropped the vegetable knife in the waste-disposal unit by accident.’
Her mouth made a soundless O.
He snorted. ‘So, how was your day?’
‘Wonderful, in a rather sad way. Everybody’s been rather nice to me.’
He felt his insides mellow, the hard knot of irritation fading. ‘Were they? Why should you be so surprised at that?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m just not used to people voicing their appreciation.’
Sam felt a pang of guilt. She was right, he had taken her for granted in the past. Not any more, though.
‘That’s my fault,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’
She lifted her shoulders again, the gesture poignant. ‘Are we doing anything on Saturday night?’
Tension suddenly zinged in the air between them. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said slowly, the waste-disposal unit forgotten. ‘Why?’
The question was cautious. He did have plans for Saturday, but tentative ones, plans that rather depended on the next twenty-four hours for their success.
She brandished something at him, little squares of white card. ‘We’ve been given some theatre tickets for Saturday.’
‘Who by?’
‘Bernard and Louise Brook—the people I rescued from the car?’
‘Oh—yes. How kind of them.’ He wiped his hands on a rag and stood up. Theatre tickets, eh? Well, that might even fit in rather well with his plans. ‘No, I can’t think of any reason why we can’t go.’
‘They’ve also invited us to join them for a meal at their restaurant afterwards, on the house.’
He blinked. Even better. ‘Excellent.’
‘So we can go?’
‘Yes—of course.’
‘I’ll fix a baby-sitter.’
Sam opened his mouth to tell her not to bother, and then shut it. He’d just have to find out who she’d contacted, so that he could cancel them.
No way was he telling Sally his surprise—not until tomorrow night!
He was assailed by a sudden attack of butterflies. Oh, God, what if he couldn’t reach her? What if he failed hopelessly? What if he was as inept with her as he seemed to be with everything else these days?
Oh, God, surely not? A guy had to have some breaks!
* * *
Sally woke up on Friday morning with a deep sense of foreboding. It reminded her of when she was a child on the last day of the holidays
, knowing that tomorrow school would start and it would all be over.
‘Here—cup of tea for you.’
Well, it was the last time, so she might as well enjoy it. She struggled to a sitting position and took the mug from Sam with a murmured word of thanks.
He seemed quiet this morning, too—preoccupied. It was almost a relief when the children came in and broke the silence.
‘Last day today!’ Ben said delightedly. ‘Then we’re going to—’
There was a kerfuffle under the bedclothes, and Ben said, ‘Ouch!’ and then blushed.
‘—be on holiday,’ he finished, somewhat lamely.
Sally looked from Sam to Ben and back, and then at Molly. They all looked as guilty as sin.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. Kids, uniform, please. Come on. Let’s not be late today. Darling, why don’t you go and shower?’
He took the mug firmly out of her hands and twitched the quilt off her.
With a sigh she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched, pulling the nightie tight. Sam’s breath caught audibly, and she smiled in satisfaction as she stripped it off over her head and dropped it on the bed behind her as she headed for the shower.
Let him squirm, she thought. Do him good. If Mrs Deakin can do it, so can I.
Her morning surgery was predictably busy. With the weekend coming up and people going away on holiday, every last little ache, pain and sore throat passed through her door, or so it seemed.
She had an abscess to lance, a plaster check on a little girl who had fallen at a swimming-pool the day before and broken her arm, and a whole host of repeat prescriptions to sign and letters to get off. She wanted to leave her desk—Sam’s desk, she corrected herself— absolutely clear for his return, and as the day ebbed away she rang him.
‘I won’t be home for lunch,’ she told him. ‘I’m a bit snowed-under here. I’ll see you about seven.’
‘Fine. You carry on,’ he said, and she wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or if he’d sounded relieved.
Jackie slipped out at lunchtime and brought her back a sandwich, and she ate it while she signed the repeat prescriptions and letters.
She was still in there working away when an elderly lady, tiny and very stooped, came up to the reception counter.
‘Is there anybody there?’ she asked weakly.
Sally immediately went round into the waiting-room. ‘Hello—can I help you?’
‘Oh, I hope so. I’ve got such a pain…’
She was clutching her chest in the region of her sternum, and Sally led her gently to a chair and helped her sit down. ‘I haven’t got an appointment…’
‘That doesn’t matter. Are you a patient here?’
She nodded. ‘Yes—Dr Alexander’s, I think. I don’t know, I hardly ever need to see him.’
‘OK. What’s your name?’
‘Winnie Bell—Winifred. 10 Orchard Close.’
‘Got it,’ Jackie called, and handed the notes to Sally.
Sally didn’t want to move her, so she sat beside her and asked her a variety of questions to try and establish the source of the pain. Her spine was so badly bowed from osteoporosis that she could hardly lift her head straight, so her pain could be musculoskeletal, or gastro-oesophageal, or cardiac in origin. Her gnarled hands rested on her stick, her knuckles white, and she was obviously still in pain.
‘Have you had the pain before?’ Sally asked.
‘Oh, yes, but never this bad.’
‘When do you get it? Is it when you exert yourself, or after food, or if you bend?’
‘Usually if I do too much, but often after food. I spend a lot of time in my garden—it’s only small but I like to see it nice.’
‘OK.’ Sally fished her stethoscope out of her pocket and listened to the woman’s heart, but could hear nothing untoward. It wasn’t perfect, but she was no spring chicken either and one couldn’t expect miracles.
‘Does the pain go anywhere else—down your arm, up into your jaw?’
‘Oh, my jaw, sometimes—up under here, like this.’ She tilted her chin and indicated an area that was served by the same nerve as the heart.
Sally nodded. ‘Do you still have the pain now?’
‘Oh, yes, I do.’
Sally took a little white tablet out of her bag and held it out.
‘Just pop this under your tongue for me and let it dissolve slowly, could you?’
‘What is it? Heart pills? My brother had these— TNT, he used to call them. Said they blew away the pain.’
Sally smiled. ‘That’s right. Actually they’re called GTN—glyceryl trinitrate. If it’s pain from your heart, it should go in a moment.’
After about a minute the woman’s breathing became less tense and she sighed. ‘Oh, that’s better dear. Oh, my goodness, what a relief. Like a weight’s been taken off my chest.’
‘Right. Good.’ Sally was relieved. She didn’t want to have to deal with a full-blown heart attack, and to know it was just angina eased her mind, although that was quite bad enough.
‘Let’s take you through to the surgery, give you a good look and see if we can provide something more long-term to help you.’
‘Can you manage, Dr Alexander?’ Jackie asked.
‘Dr Alexander? But I thought Dr Alexander was a man—rather good-looking, if I remember.’
Sally tried to suppress her smile. ‘He’s my husband. We’ve swapped for a bit.’
‘Put him to work at home, have you, dear?’ Mrs Bell gave a wheezy chuckle. ‘Do him good.’
‘It’s done me good, too. Still, he’ll be back on Monday and I’ll make sure I tell him all about you so he can follow you up properly, because we’re going to have to keep an eye on this so you don’t suffer any unnecessary pain.’
‘Pity you can’t stay—you’re nearer my height, I can see you better. He’s a bit too far up!’
Sally laughed. ‘I’ll tell him to sit at your feet.’
Winnie Bell chuckled again. ‘I can just see that, dear. Oh, well, I’ll just have to bring my periscope with me.’
Sally examined her thoroughly, doing an ECG to check her heart rhythm, and testing and inspecting almost everything. Apart from the evidence of osteoporosis and the angina, she could find remarkably little wrong.
As she helped her to dress, she said, ‘You’re doing very well, aren’t you? How old are you, Mrs Bell?’ ‘Ninety-five. I’ll be ninety-six in the autumn.’
Sally didn’t doubt she would be. In fact, she thought it quite likely she would see the century out. ‘I’ll have to make sure Sam takes good care of you,’ she promised.
‘I’m sure you will, dear,’ she said, patting Sally’s arm. ‘You’ve got a kind face—he’s a lucky man. You tell him that from me.’
Sally swallowed that annoying lump again. ‘I will— thank you. Now, about this pain. I think we need to give you something that will work all the time to combat this problem. I think I’m going to put you on isosorbide dinitrate twice a day to help the blood flow in your heart muscle, because your pain is due to cramp in the heart itself because it’s being asked to work harder that it wants to. I’ll also give you some GTN to take if you get an acute attack like just now, and you can take as many of them as you need to in a day.
‘I also want to take some blood so we can check that you aren’t a little bit anaemic, because that can cause angina, too.’
She took enough for a full blood count, thyroxine level and hyperlipidaemia while she was at it, then put a plaster on and labelled up the bottles carefully.
‘OK? All done now, you can go and carry on with your garden. Just do something for me, though, could you? Don’t work straight after a meal, and don’t get carrried away and do too much at a time. I’m a keen gardener myself, and I know just how easy it is.’
They shared a smile, and Sally helped the elderly lady to the door—not that she needed any help now. She was much more sprightly than when she had come in.
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The wonders of modern medicine, Sally thought, and then remembered that she wasn’t going to be part of it for much longer—five hours, in fact.
She sighed and went back to her prescriptions.
CHAPTER TEN
SAM had the most frightful case of the butterflies. The table was laid, the meal—courtesy of a catering firm, because he wasn’t taking any chances—was all ready to go, the house was spotless.
And Sam was terrified.
It wouldn’t be as bad if so much wasn’t riding on it, but he knew that their whole future together depended on how he handled the next few hours.
Always assuming, of course, that she did still love him.
He thought she did. She’d been sending out signals, either intentionally or otherwise, all damn week.
They’d been received, whatever they were, loud and clear. He sighed and stabbed his hands through his hair. What if the meal was awful?
‘Just turn on the oven to two-twenty and pop the dish in for twenty minutes,’ the woman had said.
Hah! Sam could wreck a dish in far less than twenty minutes. ‘What about vegetables?’ he’d asked.
‘Here—already blanched. All you have to do is add boiling water, return them to the boil and give them three minutes.’
All. Again, hah!
He rang his mother. ‘Hi, it’s Sam. Kids all right?’
‘Of course they are—darling, stop worrying. You’re like an old hen.’
He sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m just nervous.’
‘Darling, Sally loves you. It’ll be fine.’
He screwed his eyes shut and pressed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I hope so.’ Of course, his mother didn’t know about their problems in the bedroom.
Cold sweat sprang out all over him as he thought about it. Cutting the phone call to his mother short, he poured himself a glass of wine and took it to the drawing-room.
He was mightily tempted to get smashed. That way he couldn’t be expected to perform well.
Damn.
He set the glass down. He owed Sally this, and if it killed him, he’d deliver.
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