The Country Doctor's Choice

by Maggie Bennett

Derek rose at once. ‘Thanks. Could we perhaps lay on a cup of tea?’ he asked, and Daphne rose to do her duty. Philip told her to sit down, and said he’d make the tea. ‘That takes care of the TV,’ he muttered to his brother. ‘We mustn’t let Mum miss the Queen.’

  Derek greeted his visitors with a smile. ‘Hello, Jeremy, hello, Peter. I expect you’d like a cup of tea or something stronger?’

  Jeremy half rose from the chair. ‘I don’t want anything – only to talk to somebody who’ll listen, preferably somebody with a bit of sense. I’m at my wit’s end.’

  ‘All right, old chap,’ said Derek lightly. ‘Shall we ask Mark to take Peter into the other room? The Christmas tree’s all lit up, and you might find something nice on it, eh, sonny?’

  Mark beckoned to the child who looked somewhat bewildered, but he followed Mark, and the door was shut. Derek turned to his guest.

  ‘Sit down, Jeremy, and I’ll take the other armchair. I keep them for the truly troubled – the hard wooden ones are for the time-wasters.’

  There was a pause while Jeremy briefly covered his eyes, and Derek saw that his hands were trembling. ‘Take your time, Jeremy – whatever you say won’t go beyond this room.’

  Again there was a pause, and then Jeremy burst out with, ‘I can’t endure life at home any longer, Derek. My family is – is undoing me. My elder daughter had a son when she was twenty, that’s Peter, apparently born without a father, but he’s a dear little chap, as you can see, he lives with us at home, my one and only comfort at home. Now I suspect she’s pregnant again with no father in sight, and she’s lost her job at the coal merchant’s because she was always off sick. My younger daughter looks like going the same way, can’t hold down a job, boyfriend’s in prison where at least he can’t impregnate her and my son has been chucked out by his wife for drinking – so he’s come home to be cosseted by his mother, leaving a poor little daughter fatherless – God knows what ghastly scenes she’s witnessed. That’s the family, Derek. My wife has so spoilt and indulged the three of them – she’s ruined them in every sense of the word, can’t see that they’re responsible for the mess they’re making of their own adult lives, and blames me for everything, says I’m cruel and heartless, a headmaster who’s a saint at school and a devil at home. I’ve tried to make her see the harm she’s doing, but I’ve lost all authority in my own home, she thinks the sun shines out of their arseholes, and I’m actually beginning to dislike them. She and I had a wonderful marriage while they were young, we had great sex, we loved each other, but now she’d throw me out if she could afford to. Oh, how I envy you your sons, Derek – I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do for Christ’s sake.’

  A light knock on the door announced Philip with a teatray. He set it down on the table and went out, closing the door softly and deciding that he hadn’t seen poor old North blubbing.

  Derek leant over and touched Jeremy’s shoulder. ‘That’s better out than in, old chap. As it happens, you’re not the only man in Everham with family problems. I’m not exempt myself, as you may have noticed this morning. What you need is a break from it all. Is there a relative or friend you could go and stay with until term starts again? You’ve got a sister, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, near Basingstoke, but she and her husband have already got Catherine, the younger daughter, since early December. They’ve managed to talk some sense into her, and got her a job in an old peoples’ home.’

  ‘So she’ll be staying there, then, while you try to sort out the other problems?’

  ‘Yes, but that won’t change things with Fiona. She despises me for what she sees as my harshness, and I despise myself for having lost all authority. We loved each other once, but she’s come to hate me.’

  ‘Hm. It sounds pretty bad, but not hopeless. It takes two to fight, and your best course is probably to keep quiet. Don’t rise to the bait, keep your head down and ignore whatever Fiona throws at you. It’ll be easier when school starts again, and your position there will bolster your self-esteem. You’re very highly thought of at Everham Primary.’

  ‘That counts for nothing with a dysfunctional family, which is what mine would be called in a poor area with social workers and police on the doorstep,’ said Jeremy dully. ‘We Norths are a middle-class professional family, an image of respectability, and the more shame on me for failing to live up to that image.’

  ‘Don’t worry too much about images,’ said Derek. ‘It’s what God sees and knows that’s important.’

  Jeremy gave a non-committal shrug, and hesitated; Derek waited for a sceptical response, but Jeremy had decided to make a further confession.

  ‘There is something else I could mention, Derek, something weighing on my mind,’ he said.

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘There’s a girl – a young woman in the choir who shares my love of music. I’ve been tempted to ask her out for a quiet drink after rehearsals.’

  ‘But you haven’t done so?’ Derek had no difficulty in guessing the young woman’s identity; he had seen the looks that passed between them in church, especially hers.

  ‘Not so far, but – I feel I could confide in her, as if she would listen and understand without condemning me. It would mean so much.’

  ‘Ah! Here I can advise you, Jeremy. Don’t give in to temptation. It would only cause more trouble and would do no good to – to your soprano, and it would give Fiona a real grievance against you. Don’t do it, old chap – it would be a great mistake.’

  Your soprano. Was it that obvious? Did Derek suspect that he and Iris Oates were on the verge of an affair? Suddenly Derek spoke again.

  ‘Look, Jeremy, I should ask you to pray about this, in fact we should both pray together while we have this opportunity. I too have a problem, something that could cause serious harm to my marriage, and I’m equally in need of guidance. So come on, down on our knees, now!’

  Jeremy’s sheer desperation overcame any sense of the ridiculous in the picture of two middle-aged men kneeling together on the worn carpet with an ancient ink-stain between them. He felt that he had been right to come here, and was almost relieved to know that the vicar had his own problems, no doubt to do with that interruption to the service that morning.

  He waited for Derek to voice a prayer, while at the same time Derek wondered what words to use. The Book of Common Prayer, the original version, supplied him.

  Almighty God, unto whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid, cleanse the thoughts of our hearts … the ancient words sounded exactly right and appropriate, and Jeremy said a heartfelt ‘Amen’ at the end. They rose from their knees, and Derek recalled little Peter from his frolicking with the two young men. He and Jeremy shook hands. ‘One day at a time, old chap,’ he whispered.

  It had been a good move.

  Christmas was over, and the New Year yet to come. Mary Whittaker rang the doorbell of 25 Angel Close, half-hoping that Miss Johnson would not be in, but intent on doing her duty as a churchwarden. Beryl came to the door and stared blankly at her visitor.

  Mary smiled. ‘Ah, Beryl, I’m glad to find you at home. Would it be convenient for me to come in and have a little chat? I won’t keep you long.’

  ‘All right, yes, er – Mrs Whittaker.’ Beryl opened the door and showed her visitor into a rather chilly living room, where Mary at once saw a photograph of the Vicar on top of the piano. Beryl noticed her glance, but said only, ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘No, don’t bother. If we could just sit down for a few minutes, I want to know how you are, my dear. Tell me, how are you feeling now, Beryl? I mean after that little spot of bother on Christmas morning? Have you recovered? Forgive me, I don’t want to pry, but I’ve been very concerned about you, and so has Mrs Maynard.’

  ‘Yes, she brought me home in her car,’ said Beryl dully.

  ‘Yes. You do realise, don’t you, Beryl, that such a scene was very embarrassing, not only to the vicar but to Mrs Bolt and their two nearly grown-up s
ons. It really mustn’t happen again, you know.’

  There was a pause before Beryl answered in the same flat tone, ‘The only way to stop it happening again is to stay away from the church, and that I’m not going to do.’

  ‘I’m sure nobody wants to make you feel an outcast, Beryl, though it might be a good idea to attend another church for a while. There’s the Methodist church in Everham, that’s very well attended, especially since Mr Peacock arrived – remember Christmas Eve, when his baby girl was born?’

  Mary gave a little chuckle, but Beryl stared at the floor and did not reply.

  ‘Beryl dear, would you like to confide in me about how you feel? I promise you that it will go no further than this room, and you’d probably feel better if you can talk about it.’

  She waited, and Beryl appeared to be debating within herself how to reply, but in fact she was exercising a rigid self-control. Mary tried again.

  ‘We all know what a sad time you’ve had over the last year, Beryl, nursing your dear mother for so long, and then losing her and having to cope with all the formalities, the funeral and – everything. We all felt for you. Your brother came over from Canada, didn’t he?’

  Beryl’s self-control suddenly gave way. ‘Yes, George came over, not that it affected him that much. He’s got his wife and kids, and kept telling me how much he missed them, couldn’t wait to get back to Ontario. Not like Mr Bolt!’ Her pale face flushed, and her voice rose. ‘He held me in his arms and kissed me. He comforted me as nobody else did, and I’ll never forget the feel of his arms around me, and the touch of his lips on my cheek! How can you wonder that I love him? How could I not? I adore him, he’s the love of my life, as God sees and knows. I don’t want to go to the Methodists, I want to go where I can see him, listen to him – I know you mean well, but you’ll never understand a love like this!’

  Mary was taken aback, for this was a confession indeed, and she needed to proceed with caution. She got up from her chair, and went to place a hand on Beryl’s shoulder.

  ‘But my dear Beryl, he’s a consecrated man of the church, a married man with a wife and two sons. You must try to see this from his point of view – he comforted you at your mother’s funeral, but it meant no more than that. I’m sorry if I sound unkind, but you’ll have to get over this – this, er, obsession. You must pray for help to get over it.’

  ‘Oh, shut up! Don’t pretend that you understand, because you don’t!’ Beryl shouted, so that Mary recoiled. ‘Go and leave me in peace!’

  Mary put on her gloves. ‘I’m sorry to find you in this state of mind, Beryl, and I can see that I’ve been wasting my time and yours. Just think over what I’ve said, and if you are so strongly affected by Mr Bolt, keep away from him for his sake as well as your own. I’ll leave now – don’t get up, I can see myself out. And I’ll pray for you.’

  She chided herself as she got into her car. I’ve only made things worse, she thought, and done more harm than good. Her annoyance at her clumsy handling of a delicate situation was equalled by her apprehension of what the silly woman might do next.

  Alone, Beryl fell to her knees, facing the armchair where Mary had sat.

  ‘O Lord, almighty Father, you see, you know, take pity on me and lead him to pity me, too. I only ask for a kind look, a word, a touch, a handshake, even a little note, that’s all I ask, anything to relieve this emptiness, this terrible longing!’

  She remained on her knees for several minutes, then got up and went to the china cabinet, unlocked it and took out a paperweight of Venetian glass, a smooth, circular object with a swirl of rainbow colours expertly caught within it. She kissed it, and took a carved wooden box from the top of the cabinet, reverently placing the costly object upon its crimson velvet lining.

  ‘My New Year present for you, my beloved, to stay on your desk and remind you of me every time you use it.’

  Bridget Hammond called it ‘No man’s land’, that week between Christmas and New Year, too late and yet too early. Shelagh remembered her mother’s words as Paul turned and seized her.

  ‘God, Shelagh, I’ve been needing this!’

  ‘And I too, Paul – oh, how much!’

  From kisses they progressed to breathless culmination, and Paul groaned aloud as he climaxed. She wondered if anybody could hear beyond their locked door, not that it mattered, for they were unknown here. She felt his weight lie heavily upon her as his muscles relaxed and he slowly withdrew from her body. Outside the snow which had begun to fall on Boxing night continued to cover the whole countryside.

  ‘Wonderful, darling,’ he said thickly, lowering his head to lie beside hers on the pillow. ‘And you, darling Shelagh, did you come with me?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, Paul – you took my breath away!’

  It was not true. She had not reached a climax. The unfamiliarity of the room, her weariness after the drive, the knowing look of the woman who had booked them in as Mr and Mrs Thompson, and always the thought of her mother’s decline and the dreadful possibility of her death during this one night away – it never left her mind. Suppose Aunt Maura were to phone the hospital – oh, God forbid! If only it were possible to wipe away all memory just for a day and a night, to let her enjoy their lovemaking without being racked by guilt: guilt because she was here with the man she loved, in a discreet B & B near the sea at Eastbourne, and guilt because she was deceiving her mother. She could not abandon herself to his urgent lovemaking, and had to pretend that she had.

  Slowly, gently, she rolled herself from beneath him – he was already asleep – then lay on her back, looking towards the darkened window, hearing the distant sound of waves upon the shore and his deep, contented breathing. A couple taking time off in No Man’s Land to commit adultery – but no, neither of them were married, which made it the lesser sin of fornication, though just as bad in her mother’s eyes; but her mother did not know, and would never know. Shelagh’s thoughts whirled round in her head, and sleep evaded her for what seemed like hours. Paul did not stir until the knock at their door at eight o’clock warned them that it was time to get up.

  ‘Shelagh darling,’ he murmured, reaching out to touch her, but her head ached and she needed the lavatory and the shower where he joined her, holding her tightly against his body beneath the cascade. They towel-dried each other and went down to breakfast where they were served by the same woman who had booked them in, and who obviously saw them as an unmarried couple celebrating the approaching New Year with a snatched night in each other’s arms.

  But Shelagh had come to a decision. While he ate eggs and bacon and she had toast and coffee, she suggested that they went for a walk along the shore – ‘to clear our heads and get some fresh air into our lungs’ – and he agreed, though added that they would have to leave by ten at the latest to get to Everham by midday; they were both on call for the afternoon and the rest of the day and night.

  Beneath a grey sky, beside a grey sea, they strode against the whirling snowflakes.

  ‘Paul.’

  ‘Yes, my love – you’ll have to shout!’

  ‘Paul!’ She raised her voice. ‘When will you take me to meet your parents?’

  ‘Not yet, darling. It’s a long way to Carlisle, but we’ll go there all in good time. It’s a case of finding the right moment.’

  ‘What about when we get officially engaged?’

  ‘Not yet, Shelagh, not just yet. There are all sorts of factors – money, a home, our careers – as we’ve always agreed,’ he shouted, holding his scarf in the teeth of the wind.

  ‘My mother’s dying,’ she said, loudly enough for him to hear. ‘And it would be wrong to tell her that we have definite plans for the future when we haven’t. She’d be heartbroken if she knew that we – if she knew about this. But I’d like you to meet her before she – she goes, just as a close friend of mine.’

  She had said rather more than she had intended, but he had heard what was not said, and knew that an answer was required.

  ‘Li
sten, Shelagh my love, I’d like to meet your mother, and I’ll tell her that we’re getting engaged at midsummer – and married by the next midsummer. Is that how you want it to be?’

  ‘Oh, Paul, dearest Paul, you know I do! I’m sorry – I’ll take you to meet her just as soon as you like.’ She stopped to kiss him. ‘Only – she mustn’t know that we – that we are more than friends – you do understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘’Course I do, darling, just as you wish, as soon as you can fix it up. Come on now, it’s time we were on the road, especially with this snow piling up!’

  Talk of the scene in St Matthew’s church on Christmas morning rumbled on.

  ‘What an exhibition! She must be completely infatuated with him.’

  ‘Poor soul.’

  ‘Silly woman, behaving like that in public!’

  ‘What on earth must Mrs Bolt think? And those two nice-looking boys!’

  ‘What d’you think he’ll do about it?’

  ‘Don’t know. What I say is, there’s no smoke without fire.’

  ‘What d’you mean by that?’

  ‘He may have led her on in the first place, we don’t know.’

  ‘He was kissing her at her mother’s funeral.’

  Daphne Bolt could not keep silent. ‘You’ve been seen outside her house, talking to her in the street, walking together in the churchyard like a couple of lovesick teenagers. It’s hard enough being a vicar’s wife without this sort of humiliation. Let me tell you, if anything like this ever happens again, I’ll deal with the woman myself.’

  Derek Bolt saw that she meant it. He understood her fury, but what could he do? He could hardly forbid Beryl Johnson her right as a parishioner to attend her church.

  ‘Bridie darlin’, here’s your tea.’

  ‘Ah, Maura, you’re a saint! What time is it?’

  ‘Nearly eight o’clock, and gettin’ light. How did ye sleep, dear? I didn’t hear ye movin’ around at all.’

  ‘Sure I had a grand night – just out to the commode once, and then I slept again.’