The Country Doctor's Choice

by Maggie Bennett

  ‘Hm. Bit of a blow for Sykes, then,’ said Marie. ‘Did you hear that, Dr Hammond?’ she asked Shelagh who had just entered the office.

  ‘Hear what?’

  They took great pleasure in repeating the news, and Shelagh raised her eyebrows. She could well believe it to be true, and wondered whether Diane had told Paul before the press caught up with her.

  ‘What will Leigh McDowall say when he hears it?’ asked Marie, glancing at Shelagh.

  ‘Laugh like a drain, I should think,’ said Elsie the auxiliary, coming in with the coffee tray, at which everybody chuckled, except for Dr Hammond who could not help reflecting on the man who had been her lover. Leigh had been talking about their future.

  ‘We’ve both done our stint on obs and gynae now, my love, and I’ve been looking at general practices,’ he had said. ‘There are a few vacancies, including one in Essex, which sounds interesting. I’ve written off to ask for a few more details, and if they ask me for an interview, would you care to come along?’

  ‘Anywhere in the world, Leigh, you know that.’

  ‘Yes, but there’s a bit of a problem, you see.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  He deliberately put on a worried expression. ‘Well, they’d want me to start as soon as possible, which means we would have to get married in a hurry.’ Shelagh laughed.

  ‘In that case, I suppose I’ll have to make the best of it and marry you, as long as you don’t mind all the mental arithmetic, how many weeks, and so on.’

  ‘Oh, bless you, Shelagh, my angel – oh, come here and let me—’ There was no further need for words.

  As soon as Jeremy North turned the key in the lock and entered the house, he was greeted by Peter-poppet, who cried and clung to his grandfather’s leg.

  ‘G’andad come home! Stay here, G’andad!’

  Jeremy picked him up, and the little boy put his arms around his neck. In that moment Jeremy’s future was sealed.

  Denise and Catherine, their eyes red from crying, were making half-hearted attempts to tidy the house. There were unwashed dishes in the sink, the beds needed clean sheets and the soiled linen basket was filled to overflowing. Roy had come to visit his mother in hospital, and had looked in on his sisters hoping to be offered supper.

  Still holding Peter, Jeremy spoke to the three of them. He did not raise his voice.

  ‘Roy, have you still got that garage job, and are you still sharing a flat with your drinking companion?’ When his son tentatively nodded, Jeremy continued, ‘Then you can go straight back there, because I don’t intend to keep you. Off you go.’

  Roy did not argue, but obeyed with a grimace. Jeremy faced his daughters.

  ‘Denise, you’re to look after the home properly, and care for your son. Daisy and Danny will be discharged from hospital at some point, and they’ll be your responsibility round the clock. You either take care of them or they will be fostered out and put up for adoption. Catherine, you’ve got to get a job, any job, and stick to it, because you’re going to have to earn your keep. I shall pay the bills and make an allowance for food and household requirements, nothing more.’

  They stared at him, wide-eyed, and Catherine asked tearfully, ‘What about Mum?’

  ‘We don’t know yet whether your mother will recover from the stroke, probably caused by slogging day after day for you lot, but if she does, she’ll need a lot of care. Time will show. It’s not going to be easy, and I shall expect you both to pull together and make a home fit for children to grow up in. You are going to have to grow up!’

  There were tears and protests, but his words had sunk in. He ordered Denise to get supper ready; there were sausages in the fridge and potatoes in the vegetable rack – ‘so we’ll have bangers and mash this evening, and tomorrow you’ll have to get out and do some sensible shopping, Denise.’

  That was all. He had said his piece, and turned to Peter, who was smiling broadly.

  ‘You heard what G’andad said, didn’t you, Peter-poppet? No more tears, you’ll be all right. G’andad’s back with you again.’

  It had to be by telephone.

  ‘Iris, my love, I’m going to have to stay here for a while, until I get things straight. It’s a mess, and—’

  ‘How long will it take?’ she asked.

  ‘It could be a while. I’ve read them the riot act, but we’ll have to see how things work out when Danny and Daisy are discharged. And we don’t know yet about Fiona, whether it’s the end or – Iris? Are you still there?’

  ‘I’m here, Jeremy.’

  ‘Did you hear what I’ve just been saying, dear?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was flat.

  ‘And you understand? You do see the position I’m in – my responsibilities – oh, Iris, I’m so sorry, so sorry.’

  There was no answer, and he wondered again if she was still on the line, and then she spoke in the same flat monotone. ‘It’s Peter-poppet, isn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t leave him here as things are, Iris. He needs me.’

  ‘And I don’t?’

  ‘Iris, you’ll have to be brave, and so must I. Look, I’ll come over on Saturday morning to pick up a few things, clothes and stuff. If you’d prefer to be out while I’m there—’

  ‘No, I’ll be in while you’re here.’

  ‘All right, then. I’ll drop in at about ten, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Nothing’s all right, Jeremy, it’s all wrong. But I’ll be here.’

  On Saturday morning he arrived at Number One Elm Grove at ten o’clock. She thought how strained he looked, his eyes shadowed by anxiety. He thought how pale she was.

  ‘Iris, you’re not taking proper care of yourself. I shall worry about you as well as all my other worries.’

  ‘I have something to tell you, Jeremy.’

  ‘Go on. What is it?’

  She could have said that she was about ten weeks pregnant, but she chose a more old-fashioned way of telling him that message. ‘I’m carrying your child.’

  ‘What? What? But you can’t be! I always used condoms, you know that!’

  ‘Except for that first night, Jeremy, when you came to me because you had nowhere else to go. Those were your exact words. So, I lost my virginity and conceived a child at the same time.’

  ‘Good God, Iris, what can I say, what can I do – oh, God, what a – you’re absolutely sure?’ he asked distractedly.

  ‘Absolutely. It’s due about the end of January.’

  He clenched his fists and punched his head between them. ‘Oh, you poor love, and all because of my carelessness. There must be something we can do – let me think – I know a doctor who runs a clinic in London. We were at university together, and I can look him up again. I’ll get in touch straight away, and make an appointment. He – he’ll attend to it, and I’ll pay, of course.’

  The look in her eyes was one that he did not recognise. ‘I – I’ll see to it, Iris,’ he repeated, patting her shoulder reassuringly.

  She drew back a little, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet and firm. ‘If you think that I’m prepared to kill my child – the only child I’m ever likely to have, you can think again, Jeremy. I’m thirty-three, no beauty, and I’ve only had one lover – you. This baby may not be as precious to you as Peter, but it’s all I’ve got left. I’m going to be a mother, Jeremy, and I’m determined to manage. I have a little money put by—’

  ‘I’ll make you an allowance, Iris, it’s the least I can do – oh, my God,’ he babbled like a man demented.

  ‘You won’t have much money left after all the demands of your family. I can claim six months’ maternity leave, and then I’ll go back to work to pay for childcare.’

  ‘I’ll pay for that,’ he said at once. ‘Will you – will you stay in Everham?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I have friends here, I have this very nice flat, and I enjoy my work in Outpatients.’

  ‘But there’ll be such a scandal, Iris, all the talk—’

  ‘T
his has been a year for scandals, what with us and Mr Bolt and Mr Profumo – I don’t mind in the least about having one more. There was talk enough when you left home and came to me, and there’ll be more talk now that you’ve gone home and left me with a baby. They can talk their heads off, but why should I be dismayed?’

  The wedding of Dr Shelagh Hammond to Dr Leigh McDowall was fixed for Saturday, August the seventeenth, to be held at St Matthew’s church; Shelagh knew that her mother would have wanted her to be married at the Convent Chapel of Our Lady of Pity six miles away, but being no longer a practising Catholic, she preferred to stay in Everham where most of her friends were. Her aunt Maura Carlin would be the only relative there to see her married, but there were numerous friends to wish her well.

  ‘It’ll be a bit awkward, my parents being divorced,’ Leigh told her. ‘My dad’s remarried, and he and his wife will be coming, but so will my mother who lives on her own up in Cheshire. My brother Andrew says he’ll bring her down with his wife and young son, but there isn’t much love lost between my mother and Dad and his wife. The atmosphere could turn a little frosty.’

  ‘Families!’ exclaimed Shelagh. ‘It’s such a pity, when ex-wives and ex-husbands have to face each other at the weddings of their grown children – but think of all the friends who’ll be coming, Leigh. Two consultants, Mr Kydd and Mr Fielding and their registrars, that will make an impression!’

  ‘Did you by any chance send an invitation to our friend Sykes?’ asked Leigh curiously.

  ‘Yes, I did, but he’s declined and sent a cheque for twenty-five pounds as a present,’ she answered with a slight shrug. ‘Things aren’t going too well there, I hear. Diane Devlin’s filming on location somewhere in the West Country, and her new leading man’s got his eye on her, according to Laurie Moffatt. Poor old Paul.’

  ‘Poor old Paul, my foot! It was inevitable that she wouldn’t hang around with him once she got back in front of the cameras. And yet – yes, I suppose I am a bit sorry for the silly chump, when I think of what he’s lost and I’ve gained!’

  ‘Iris! So glad to find you in. I wasn’t sure when you had your half-day, and I’ve had such an abundance of sweet peas this year, I’m giving them away by the bunch. Here are yours!’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Phyllis,’ said Iris, guessing the real reason for this visit. ‘I’ll put them in water – mmmmm, what a delicious scent! Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘If you’re having a brew, yes, that would be lovely,’ said Phyllis Maynard, slightly taken aback by Iris’s calmness, having come expecting to offer a shoulder to cry on. When the tea was poured, she spoke of her grandson Donovan and the happiness he had brought to the family. Iris smiled and said she was happy for them all.

  It was time for Phyllis to put down her cup and address the real matter in hand.

  ‘Iris, dear, how are you? I’ve heard the latest news, of course, we all have, and I just want to know how you’re coping.’ She looked into Iris’s face, half expecting her to start crying, or embarking on a tale of loss and betrayal, perhaps bitterness at Jeremy North’s desertion of her. But Iris remained calm.

  ‘Thank you, Phyllis, but you can go back to St Matthew’s and tell them that I’m fine.’

  ‘Oh, Iris my dear, I’m so glad to hear that!’ exclaimed Phyllis sincerely. ‘It’s good, of course, that he has, er, gone back, but I’m equally concerned about you. You’ve got your work at the hospital, and the church—’ She broke off, remembering that Iris had not been seen at church since Jeremy’s departure. ‘You’re not planning to move, then?’

  ‘No, why should I?’

  ‘Good. You’ll find that people are mostly sympathetic, though we believe that, er, Mr North has done the right thing.’

  There was an awkward silence while they drank their tea. Then Iris spoke again.

  ‘I wonder how sympathetic they’ll be when they know the consequence of his time spent here with me.’

  ‘What consequence?’ asked Phyllis in some bewilderment, and Iris looked down at her body, then raised her head again.

  ‘What do you – oh, my dear, you surely don’t mean—’

  ‘Yes, I’m expecting a baby, Phyllis, due early in the New Year. I shall become a mother, and I intend to keep my child, come what may, whatever difficulties there may be.’

  Phyllis Maynard was so astonished that she could only stare for a minute, and then found her voice.

  ‘Will your parents help you?’

  ‘I’m not going to ask them for help, Phyllis. They’ll be horrified when they eventually find out, because even in this day and age, there’s still a stigma attached to illegitimacy.’ She gave a half smile. ‘This will be yet another scandal, but my mind’s completely made up, and I shan’t ask Jeremy North for a penny – he’s got more immediately pressing responsibilities.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, Iris my dear, what a tragedy, when you and he were so much happier, and—’ Words failed Phyllis Maynard.

  ‘Thank you, Phyllis, I appreciate that. But he’s had to go back, and my life will completely change. I feel better each day, so please don’t worry about me. As I said to Jeremy, why should I be dismayed?’

  The August sun shone on the last week of Derek Bolt’s ministry at St Matthew’s Everham, which was remembered for a popular wedding and a christening. The marriage of two doctors took place on the Saturday, and not only Everham Hospital staff but a fair number of ex-patients, some with their babies, turned out to attend the ceremony and see the bride in her powder-blue dress and jacket and flowery hat; the groom wore a grey suit with a white carnation in his buttonhole, and a tie with rainbow colours. Mr North played the organ accompaniment to the one hymn, ‘The King of Love My Shepherd Is’, and their happiness radiated out to friends and family, healing the rift between the groom’s divorced parents, at least for the day of their son’s wedding.

  Mrs Maynard and her friend Mrs Whittaker attended the ceremony, but politely declined a general invitation to the buffet set out in the hospital boardroom.

  ‘I thought Mr North looked rather grim,’ remarked Phyllis. ‘He didn’t smile once.’

  ‘Ah, but he’s doing his duty, and that’s what matters,’ replied Mary. ‘He’s got a big burden to carry, with Fiona in a wheelchair and carers going in each day. Denise has a specially trained health visitor calling to check on the twins, and I’ve fixed them up with a home help three times a week.’

  ‘What about the son?’ asked Phyllis.

  ‘Roy’s going to Alcoholics Anonymous, and Jeremy told me that he hopes he’ll be reunited with his wife eventually, and their poor little girl.’

  ‘Frankly, my sympathies are more with Iris Oates,’ said Phyllis, but Mary did not agree.

  ‘She and Jeremy are both to blame for her pregnancy, but I think it’s wrong of her to stay in Everham, announcing her condition to all and sundry when she starts to show.’

  ‘I wish her well,’ insisted Phyllis, and their talk turned to the christening of Phyllis’s grandson on the following day at the morning service. It was the Revd Derek Bolt’s last duty as vicar at St Matthew’s, and his farewell to Everham; a large turnout was expected, and a buffet lunch was prepared in the church hall.

  Once again Mr North was at the organ, playing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’, and especially for Donovan Gifford, ‘To Be a Pilgrim’. Many handkerchiefs were needed when the little smiling boy was held up in his godmother’s arms to be baptised and welcomed into the church.

  After the service Jeremy North sought out Derek Bolt, alone in the vestry before joining the congregation in the hall.

  ‘So, time to say farewell, Rev,’ he said. ‘You’ll be missed.’

  ‘On the contrary, most of this lot will be glad to see the back of me,’ Derek answered wryly.

  ‘Don’t be daft, there’s a lot of goodwill towards you. I, on the other hand, have to stay in Everham and face the music, a whole orchestra of it.’

  ‘You’re doing the right thing, thoug
h, and so am I, that’s all that really matters,’ said Derek, and added, ‘I noticed Iris in church this morning, and looking very well, I thought. Happy. Nice to see her back again.’

  Jeremy winced, for seeing Iris and knowing that she would bear his child was the hardest part of his self-imposed duty.

  Derek continued, ‘Anyway, old chap, God go with you and, er, the family.’

  ‘D’you think he will? Is he there? God, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, he’s there all right, he doesn’t leave us in peace. He’s the voice of conscience who’s brought us both to where we are today.’

  ‘Dishing out prizes and kicks up the arse, as appropriate.’

  Derek suddenly grinned. ‘God bless us all, old chap. We’re going to need it!’ He held out his hand which North clasped warmly.

  ‘Goodbye, then, Jeremy. Be happy.’

  ‘You too. And good luck.’

  We hope you enjoyed this book.

  Do you want to know about our other great reads, download free extracts and enter competitions?

  If so, visit our website www.allisonandbusby.com.

  Sign up to our monthly newsletter (www.allisonandbusby.com/newsletter) for exclusive content and offers, news of our brand new releases, upcoming events with your favourite authors and much more.

  And why not click to follow us on Facebook (AllisonandBusbyBooks)

  and Twitter (@AllisonandBusby)?

  We’d love to hear from you!

  About the Author

  Born in Hampshire, MAGGIE BENNETT worked as a nurse and midwife until her retirement in 1991. Having been an avid reader and scribbler since childhood, she first began to approach her writing seriously after her husband’s death in 1983. She enjoyed modest success with articles and short stories before the publication of a medical romance in 1992, which won that year’s RNA New Writers’ Award. She wrote six more before turning to mainstream fiction in 1996. Maggie has two grown-up daughters, two grandsons and a granddaughter. She lives in Suffolk.