by Ruth Hay
Certainly Aylward Beck could not object to this evening’s program; a chat and meal with a colleague to suss out how she was perceived in her new work environment. The Zoomer crew were closely bonded together and she wanted to feel secure there.
Attired in an attractive outfit consisting of loose, silky sweater that accented her light complexion and fair hair, over a slim skirt just above knee length and of a particularly striking aqua colour, she searched in the bottom of her closet for complementary shoes. The remaining item to complete the look was a beige-gold-toned raincoat with a broad belt to cinch around her waist.
There was a full-length mirror attached to the inside of the closet door. She stood admiring the effect, turning left and right. When she was satisfied, she selected a small clutch purse and went to the elevator with a pleased smile on her face.
* * *
Sarita was a pleasant companion although conversation was more difficult than Abi had imagined.
The sushi bar was very busy for a Sunday evening. They selected items from the extensive menus and took advice about suitable drinks to accompany their meal. They were perched on stools beside a circulating display of delectable dishes which occupied the initial minutes of their meeting. Sarita was watching how many items people were choosing. She commented on how long it took the servers to assemble and replace those dishes. Abi thought this speculation was typical of the kind of mind Sarita needed to keep track of the magazine’s business expenses and deadlines.
“I think,” she confided to Abi, “that couple opposite may have indulged in too much alcohol, or perhaps they are independently wealthy. They have a fortune’s worth of dishes in front of them and he seems more interested in munching on her ear at the moment.”
Abigail turned from the fish she was attempting to lift onto her chopsticks and was suddenly struck dumb in shock. Kevin Osbourne was the man opposite, nibbling on a very young woman’s ear. She was giggling like a fool and it was obvious his hands were wandering.
Any thoughts Abi had entertained regarding the outside possibility of hooking up again with Kevin flew out of her mind forever. This was who he really was; a good-looking player with few morals and no sense of decorum. She stared across at the spectacle he was making of himself and the poor drunk girl. Clearly, neither of them cared who was looking.
Everything her mother had said rushed into her brain. She instantly forgave Devon, her mother, and whoever else had contributed to this moment of truth. The sheer relief was intense.
“I think we should finish here and go somewhere quieter. I have important questions I want to discuss with you, Sarita. I hope I have a solid future at Zoomer and you are the one to point me in the right direction.”
Jillian Beck kept smiling long after eleven o’clock showed on her small, discreet and expensive wrist watch. There were only two tables left occupied but these were important supporters of the restaurant; business people who entertained clients at Beckoning Cuisine and who spent vast amounts of money knowing they would be treated like friends and eat the best of foods.
She had checked on Terry in the kitchen and saw he had sent the under-chefs home. The dishwashing machines with the super-quiet turbo action were humming in the background and Terry was drinking his one glass of red wine before changing for the drive home. He did not mind waiting. He had some notes to make on next week’s menus and wanted to compose a personal e mail to Juan commending him on a week of exceptional plating designs. He suspected it would not be long until he had to give Juan more responsibility in the kitchen or else he would take his superior artistic skills elsewhere.
* * *
The lights were dimmed outside and no one would be likely to arrive at this time on a Sunday night.
Jillian called Chris over with a hand signal.
“Refill the coffees, Chris, and put out a plate of those after-dinner chocolate mints his wife likes so much. All the other staff have gone home happy with the evening’s tips. In a few minutes I’ll ask if the bill is to be on account and make it clear my usual cab service is available to them. You can head off now and don’t come in until noon. Monday morning is quiet and it’s a short day with the family meal later.
Thanks for your excellent work tonight as usual.”
She patted his hand and smiled. Chris managed to look just as fresh and eager as he had done when he arrived earlier in the day. It was a testament to his love of the job.
“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Beck.”
“I thought we agreed you would call me Jillian?”
“I am happy to do that in private, Mrs. Beck, but not when there are customers still here.”
“Always a professional, Chris!”
She smiled again as he bustled off to fetch a carafe of fresh coffee. She would take the remainder of the carafe back to Terry. There was no point in rushing now. The streets of Toronto, though never exactly empty, would be much quieter. Their ride home would be fast.
Not for the first time she thought about how they might one day sell their car and rent a vehicle on the few occasions when they would need to drive out of town. It would be another benefit to living closer to work. It might be a good time to discuss this with Terry. They had had a profitable week, he was relaxed, and Monday was an easy day for them.
With the last of her energy, she escorted the replete diners out to the waiting cab and locked the door when they had driven off. She took the carafe and two cups into the kitchen and set them down on the wall shelf beside the padded stools. Terry looked up curiously from the print-out of receipts from the day’s takings. Jillian was usually keen to leave for home after the doors were locked. What was up?
“Come over here and relax for a minute. If your feet feel anything like mine, they need a shoeless break about now.”
Terry laughed the deep chuckle she loved to hear. It was a sign he was coping with the inevitable stress of his job. He did not argue, but drew up a stool and poured cream into his cup.
“It was a good idea setting up this spot for staff. I’ve started to send some of my guys here to cool off when things get heated in the kitchen.”
Neither one responded to the obvious joke opportunity. They had heard many times over the years, every possible version of ‘If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen’.
“So, Jill, what do you want to talk about?”
“I can’t get anything past you, can I?”
“No, Ma’am!” He sipped, and waited.
“It’s not what you think. I’m not going to bend your ear about moving house. When the time is right you’ll see that is a good idea. I was just thinking how lucky we are.”
“How so?”
“Well, here we are together for one thing. A short time ago I would never have believed this to be possible. We have a successful business and a stable marriage. That’s quite an accomplishment these days!”
He reached over and smoothed the top of her head where the hair was springing out of its confinement.
It was a paternal act, but a loving one. He was not a demonstrative man. Jillian knew the gesture was meant to convey his appreciation for her partnership.
“We have raised three very different children to independence. Not without difficulties, I hasten to add, and not without the invaluable assistance of your father and mother. That’s another essential aspect of the luck I mentioned. I see good things ahead for all of us. Perhaps you’ll think I am being naïve. The future is always uncertain. There is so much we can’t control.”
She stopped because that last statement was true and also frightening.
Terrence Beck understood his wife’s hesitation.
“Look, here Jillian. You are right to stop and see where we have come from. We are lucky beggars and tomorrow we will find out what has been happening with our nearest and dearest.
No matter what the future holds, we are together. Let’s go out for a late breakfast tomorrow. I want to see what the Trump Tower can do to match our lunches and evening meals.
We need to check out the competition once in a while.”
Jillian stood up, stretched, and put on her flat shoes. Terry was unstoppable. He was living his dream and she was happy to be sharing it with him.
Didn’t people say it’s only after dark days in your life that you can truly value the light? She would never forget the times when she despaired about her marriage. Those memories would remind her how much she had gained and how careful they must both be to preserve their present happiness.
They left, arm in arm, to cross the street. The city was theirs with its lights, its buildings reaching into the night sky, its sirens and its never-ceasing changes. As long as they valued the results of their mutual hard work and pledged to pull together, nothing would halt their progress.
There was not much in this uncertain world about which any person could feel totally secure. The restaurant business was one of the most volatile occupations they could have chosen. And yet, if they remained hand in hand as they were at this moment, success would be guaranteed no matter what happened. It was enough.
Seven Days With Zoe
About This Book
Zoe and Wesley Philips had everything a couple could possibly want. The birth of their son would complete the perfect picture.
But life doesn’t always go as planned.
Nothing happens unless first a dream.
Carl Sandburg.
Chapter One
A Wednesday in April.
Wesley Philips woke to the realization that it was exactly two months since Zachary had arrived home.
He turned his head to listen for any sound from the crib next door. He was sensitive to the tiniest squeak, the smallest sound of the little body turning, the first intake of breath signalling a cry.
There was no untoward noise.
The absence of noise had once been a matter of his concern but now, he had learned to cherish the quiet moments before Zach awoke and the day began.
He raised his head enough to see the face of his wife. Zoe was sound asleep; likely the effect of the anti-depressant medication. At least she had rest and she was not disturbed during the night when he soothed Zachary back to sleep again.
Two months.
On the day when Zachary was born, neither he nor Zoe had any reason to expect trouble. The pregnancy had gone smoothly, Zoe was relaxed and happy, Wesley was eager with anticipation.
The birth had taken longer than expected. The doctor said he would have to do some manipulation to get the baby into the best position for birth. “It means some discomfort for Zoe but it will prepare them both for a faster delivery process.”
The process, as he called it, had eventually produced his son and left his wife tired and uncomfortable. Wesley was sent home after holding his son for the first time and crying tears of joy. He hardly slept that night and returned to the hospital in the early hours to find Zoe still dazed and unresponsive. A kindly nurse assured him it was normal and his wife would be fine after she had slept some more. He sat by her bed with his son in a wheeled crib beside him and watched both faces while they slept. When Zachary awoke and his little face crumpled up as if to cry, he quickly lifted him into his arms and rocked him so as to allow Zoe to get the rest she so obviously needed.
The nurse came by and announced it was time for breakfast for both mother and child and it would be best if Wesley went off to the cafeteria while the ‘latching on’ was accomplished.
“It’ll be easier for the mother to concentrate without you there Mr. Philips. Come back in half an hour.”
He did as asked, but when he returned it was clear there had been a problem. His beautiful Zoe was in tears and the nurse had removed Zachary for ‘a small feed’ with the intention to return and ‘try again’.
When he asked for an interpretation, Zoe tearfully confessed she had not been able to feed her child and Zachary had cried with hunger.
It was at this moment that a cold hand gripped his heart for the first time. He comforted his wife as much as he could, and left as soon as she slept. He checked the chart at the foot of her bed and set off to find the doctor in charge. He was doing rounds with a cluster of students around him but Wesley was not about to wait on protocol. He insisted on a private conference in the doctor’s office and began with a summary of his own credentials so as to forestall any more of the pap he had been handed so far in the hospital.
“What’s wrong with my wife and son?”
“Doctor Philips, I imagine this is a very difficult time for you as a first time father, but experience tells me your wife is reacting normally. She had a difficult birth and she is a mother in her thirties who may have a problem with breast feeding. It’s not that unusual. When you get her home in her comfortable and familiar circumstances this will all change.”
Wes had allowed himself to be persuaded…….. for a time. The dream of a smiling wife and calm baby that had nourished both of them during the final months of the pregnancy, soon vanished into thin air in the face of the reality with which he was now faced. The hospital was unprepared for whatever was happening and he, alone, would need to sort this out for his family.
* * *
Slipping out of bed with an ease born of many mornings of practise, Wesley tiptoed next door to greet his son. Zachary Morton-Philips was waving his arms in the air as if to reach for the dancing mobile hanging above his bed. His chubby little face was intent and happy and he began to gurgle when he saw his father approaching.
Wesley could not stop tears from forming in his eyes. Why could Zoe not see what he saw? Why was she afraid of their son? He was unquestionably the most darling, beautiful child in the world. His father’s love overwhelmed him as it did every time he saw the little face. That same beautiful little face crumpled in tears and loud wailing whenever he saw his mother, which was not all that often these days.
As an experienced psychiatrist, Wesley could see what was happening. Zoe tensed up when the child she thought had rejected her at birth, came near. The child sensed the fear in his mother and reacted normally. What made the entire sequence intolerable for Wesley was the first time he heard his wife say these desperate words, “Take it away, Wes. Please take it away!”
His heart quailed. He had heard these words before and they always signaled deep disturbance. Characterizing their son as an ‘it’, instead of a ‘him’, was the indisputable sign of disassociation.
At first he had convinced himself it was merely a temporary situation. How could she reject this child for whom they had yearned and loved before they had even seen him? Of course everything would be fine. Of course!
At night he searched all the medical internet sources he knew, for help and advice. The news was not good. Much time and expert help was required before this problem could be fixed. Well, he was expert help. No other person could possibly have the desire and determination to turn this situation around.
He swore on all he held dear he would apply every strength and skill at his disposal to put this derailment back on the right track and his worries would all disappear.
He gave Beth notice that he would be absent from his practice for several weeks and he applied himself to understand and sympathize and convince and reassure his wife that the worry was all imaginary and their baby son loved her with all his heart. She had carried him for nine long months. He had heard her voice before he was born. He knew her and she knew him in the most intimate of ways. She had given him life. What greater gift could she bestow? Of course Zachary loved her.
After weeks of sleepless nights and endless attempts to cajole and comfort and care for both members of his family, Wesley Philips had to acknowledge he was at the point of exhaustion.
He had to admit defeat.
It was a bitter pill to swallow. He consulted the best experts London had to offer and the consensus was that he could not do this on his own, neither should he.
A new regimen was established. On the advice of his psychiatric consultants, he returned to work half time and a baby n
urse was employed to look after Zachary.
Zoe was given light doses of medication to relieve worry and promote better sleep patterns.
Life went on. Hope still endured.
Wesley’s torn soul gradually healed as he saw how much more empathetic and considerate he could be with patients suffering from a variety of mental ailments. It was a modicum of consolation.
* * *
Today was another day. He hefted Zach up from his cot and cuddled him in his arms all the while repeating the words he said every day.
“Hello, my beautiful boy! Daddy loves you, Mummy loves you and Iris is waiting. What a good day you will have!”
Downstairs he could hear the cheerful humming of Iris O’Malley. He smiled. She was the chosen one from a long list of interviews he had conducted in his office premises. She was a warm, ruddy-faced, motherly figure with bright red hair and an even brighter smile. He had spotted her potential immediately, although she was number five on the day’s schedule. He politely dismissed numbers one through four, all young girls with family sisters and brothers as experience, and welcomed Iris into his office, into his heart and into his home. She was, at first, somewhat overwhelmed when she saw Dunstan’s Close but in no way was she overwhelmed by the task ahead of her. She grasped the dilemma at once and made sure Zoe was comfortable and gently handled and, most important of all, she incorporated his mother into every possible opportunity to watch, and participate in, her son’s care.