Something within her calmed, like the sea after a raging storm. Her grip on his hand relaxed, allowing him to pull her close and kiss her again. She succumbed, allowing her mind and body freedom to enjoy, to feel and to let go. All without fear, constraint, or doubt.
When the kiss broke, he looked at her tentatively. ‘Is that a yes?’
She smiled. ‘It’s not a no.’
He frowned. ‘Anything I can do to turn it into a yes?’
She nodded. ‘Ask me again, a year from now. Let’s see if this thing between us is as amazing as we both hope and want it to be. If it is, one year from today, I’ll say yes.’
He smiled. ‘Deal.’
‘One last request.’
‘Anything.’
She glanced at the kitchen door. ‘Next time you propose, can you make sure my dad and Sylvia aren’t listening in?’
There was a soft thud from the kitchen, followed by muffled voices.
Nate laughed. ‘I didn’t think that one through, did I?’
‘Not really.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you, Nate.’
‘What for?’
‘For everything. For waiting for me, for rescuing my daughter, for reporting Glenda, and for making me believe in love again. I’m a very lucky woman.’
And wasn’t that the truth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Friday, 30 September
Barney had encountered many depressing scenarios during his medical training, from the results of knife crime, to the utter hopelessness of drug use, but this had to be the ultimate low point. It wasn’t that his patient was a prostitute, or that she had the distinctive pallor and track marks of a regular heroin user. His instinct to heal had kicked in the moment he’d seen the cuts and bruising on her face and body, the result of a vicious assault. He wasn’t there to judge, only to treat, and returning to medicine had reinforced that. Discovering that beneath his uncertainty was an intrinsic desire to cure made up for the monotony of long shifts and a lack of free time. But the discovery that the woman’s request for an HIV test wasn’t about a fear of illness, or a step towards improving her health and lifestyle, but a way of charging her clients more for her services by proving she was ‘clean’, depressed the hell out of him. She couldn’t care less about her cuts and bruises, she just wanted to be back on the streets earning money. And he thought the life of a doctor was hard?
Signing off the woman’s paperwork, he left the cubicle and headed for the canteen, needing a strong coffee before finishing up his shift. He’d been back in London for a month, but it had only taken two weeks before he’d experienced an epiphany. It wasn’t medicine he had a problem with, it was hospitals. The cloying smell of disinfectant, the constant threat of death looming around every corner, the stark white walls, and clinical uniforms. Even the artwork decorating the corridors, designed to soften the view, didn’t wipe out the grating of trolley wheels on lino, or the painful sounds of crying, wailing, and drunken ramblings that accompanied each shift. It was miserable and claustrophobic. No wonder patients complained. He didn’t like it either, and he wasn’t ill. But resuming his training, and being assigned to A&E to refresh his skills, hadn’t been a complete waste of effort. In fact, more than anything, it had clarified things for him. He knew what he had to do next.
A vibrating in his pocket alerted him to his phone ringing. Balancing the device between his ear and shoulder, he dug out enough change to pay for his coffee, and headed for the back of the canteen. ‘Hi, Paul. How’s the wedding going?’
Two women were seated at a nearby table. They were crying, the younger one consoling the older one. A familiar sight that never got any easier to witness. Next to them, a man balanced his plastered leg on a chair. One of his crutches slid to the floor when he tried to shuffle closer to the table. Barney picked it up and handed it back to the man, who thanked him, wincing as he tried to get comfortable.
The noise crackling down the phone indicated that the evening reception had started. Paul’s voice slurred as he spoke. ‘The bride looked beautiful. The groom cried. My gran is tipsy, and Uncle Bob nearly got removed by security for pinching a waitress’s bottom.’
Barney smiled. ‘And how about you?’
‘Pissed as a fart, and counting down the minutes until I can unleash Dusty and end the torture of tiresome small talk with distant relatives who begin every conversation with “goodness me, you’ve grown”. Considering I haven’t seen most of them for twenty years, it would be rather alarming if I hadn’t.’
Barney settled into one of the battered sofas. It had been a long shift, and his body was complaining about a lack of exercise. What he wouldn’t give to be back in Cornwall surfing. ‘How will they cope with Dusty?’
‘With shock, I’m guessing. But at least it’ll liven things up. And it might stop my gran trying to pair me off with one of the bridesmaids.’
‘Your nan doesn’t know you bat for the other team?’
‘I rather think she views it like having a bad cold. At some point I’ll get over it.’
Barney laughed. ‘Has she met Dusty before?’
‘Lord, no.’
Barney sipped his coffee. ‘You might want to check your gran’s blood pressure before unveiling her.’
‘She’ll be fine. She’s part of the stoic generation. What’s a little cross-dressing when you’ve survived a war, and all that? And besides, Dusty is so much better at coping with social engagements. I’ve every confidence she’ll win Gran over. It’s the bride I’m not sure about.’
Barney could hear ‘Dancing Queen’ blaring in the background. Talk about irony.
‘Enough about me. Have you told your parents the news yet?’
‘Not yet. My shift’s just ended. I’m summoning up the courage to head home and break it to them. Telling them I cross-dress would be a breeze by comparison.’
‘True, but you’d make a terrible woman. And remember, you’re doing the right thing.’
‘I know. I just need to convince them.’ Barney undid a button on his shirt, an action that reminded him of Charlotte. He took another swig of coffee, trying to eradicate the memory. He’d hoped that moving away might dull the ache – it hadn’t. If anything, he missed her more.
The background music switched from recorded to live, feedback from the speakers forced Barney to hold the phone away from his ear.
‘The band are up,’ Paul yelled. ‘My cue to switch personas. Talk soon. Good luck!’
‘You too …’ But the line had already gone dead.
Smiling, Barney relaxed against the sofa, and finished his coffee. He wasn’t relishing talking to his parents, but it had to be done. Delaying the inevitable wouldn’t make it any easier; the sooner he ripped off the plaster, the better.
Steeling himself for a battle, he downed the remnants of his coffee, and headed for the train station.
The journey from East Acton to East Dulwich took nearly an hour, and he had to change at London Bridge, all of which gave him plenty of time to dwell on what he was about to do.
As nervous as he was about disappointing his parents, it was different this time. Mainly because last time he’d told them he was dropping out of his studies, he’d had no idea what he wanted to do instead. They’d accused him of running away, and they’d been right. He’d had no ‘life plan’ – as Charlotte had referred to it. The reminder caused another momentary flicker of pain to surface. He’d hoped that time and space apart would have healed the rift and she’d get in touch once they were back in London. But despite Dusty’s assurances that Charlotte would call, she never had. Gutted didn’t come close to describing how he felt about losing her. But then he’d never really had her in the first place, had he? It had been a summer romance, a brief liaison with a pre-determined expiry date. It was only him who’d been stupid enough to fall in love.
By the time he reached his parents’ house, it was dark. Both cars were in the driveway. Shifts rarely finished on time, so it was impossible to rely on their sch
edules, but on this occasion, fate was on his side … or not, depending on how things went.
As he opened the front door, he was greeted by music. Nothing like the raucous blare of Abba at Will’s wedding, but Chopin, the melodic piano recital accompanying his mother as she cooked dinner.
‘Good timing,’ she said, carrying a bowl of green beans through to the dining room. ‘Fetch a bottle of white, will you? We’re having fish. Henry, dinner’s ready!’
His dad appeared from the lounge, still wearing his suit trousers, shirt and tie. It looked strangely at odds with his tweed slippers. ‘Good day at the office, son?’
Barney was treated to a manly slap on the back, a father displaying approval towards his son. Whether Henry Hubble would still be proud after hearing his son’s latest plans for a career change remained to be seen. Somehow, Barney doubted it. ‘Not bad. Any reason why we’re eating in the dining room?’ He had a sudden concern they’d invited guests over. An audience would not be welcome, not when he was about to drop a bombshell.
His mum danced past with a huge plate of roast potatoes. ‘We just thought it would be nice to enjoy a family dinner with our lovely son. Isn’t that right, Henry?’
Shit.
His dad smiled. ‘We want you to know how proud we are of you.’
Double shit.
‘Come on, sit down. Dinner will get cold.’ His mum ushered his dad into the dining room, leaving Barney to fetch the wine.
This was going to be tougher than he’d imagined, and that was saying something.
Uncorking the wine, he carried it through to the dining room. How should he play this? Quick and painful, or soft and gentle? Preamble, or cut to the chase?
‘Giles tells me you’re doing well, considering the break you’ve had from your studies.’ His mother seated herself at the end of the table, and shook out a folded napkin.
Barney poured her a generous helping of wine. Not that he was trying to get her drunk or anything.
‘He was surprised at how quickly you’ve got back into the swing of things.’ Her hand reached out to stop him. ‘Not too much wine, dear. I’m working tomorrow.’
‘He’s a good consultant.’ Barney headed to the other end of the table.
‘You’ll learn a lot from him,’ his dad said, not objecting when his son filled his glass to the brim.
Barney took his place in the middle of the table. The table, like the house, was far too big for three people, but it seemed that buying bigger, whether it was a house or a car, was an advert for how well your career was developing. The more successful a person became, the more trappings they were expected to accumulate. It seemed wasteful and pointless to him. Surely there was more to life than just working towards retirement? He wanted more.
‘I have something to tell you,’ he said, pouring his own large glass of wine.
‘I can’t tell you how nice it is working together in the same hospital,’ his mother said, overriding his attempts to confess his crime. ‘That’s my son, I say whenever your name comes up in conversation, which it does frequently,’ she added, tucking into her salmon. ‘You’re making quite an impression.’
‘Which is great, but—’
‘And don’t get me started on the nurses. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been asked for your phone number.’
‘Takes after his father.’ Henry raised his glass.
Alexa lifted her own glass. ‘Indeed.’
Tempting as it was to keep quiet and enjoy his parents’ praise, Barney knew that telling them was only going to get more difficult the longer he left it. He lowered his knife and fork. ‘I’m sorry to tell you, but I’m leaving.’
There was a brief pause before his mother said, ‘Leaving? Leaving where?’
‘The hospital. The programme. I advised HR today.’
An almighty clatter filled the room when his mother’s knife fell from her hand, hitting the ceramic dinner plate. ‘No, no, you’re not—’
‘Please, Mum, hear me out.’
‘Don’t you dare, please Mum, me!’ She threw her napkin at him. ‘We are not going through this again!’
He recoiled at her ferocity. Thank God she’d only thrown a napkin and nothing more lethal. ‘Will you let me explain?’
His dad signalled for his wife to quieten. ‘Let him speak, Alexa.’ His father didn’t look happy, but at least he was prepared to listen before commencing with a bollocking.
Supressing the urge to run off to the pub and get blindingly drunk, Barney knew he had to face the backlash. It was the mature thing to do. ‘Firstly, you were both right when you encouraged me to give medicine another go, so thank you for that.’
‘Well, of course we were right!’ His mother’s hand banged on the table.
Henry glared at her. ‘Alexa? Let him finish.’
Ignoring the sight of his mother physically vibrating in his peripheral vision, Barney focused on the candelabra sitting in the middle of the table. ‘I know I’ve frustrated you. Believe me, I’ve frustrated myself. It’s taken me ages to work out what I wanted and, more importantly, what the problem was. And it’s not medicine. It’s working in a hospital.’
‘So finish your training and become a GP, then you don’t have to work in a hospital,’ his dad offered by way of reason, even though Barney could see it pained him to do so.
‘That wouldn’t work for me either. I’ve realised that I need to be outdoors. I can’t stand being cooped up inside all the time. That’s why I’ve decided to return to Penmullion.’
His mother almost screamed. ‘What? No!’
‘I miss the beach, my friends, singing and acting. I want it all.’
Once again, his dad tried to shush his wife. ‘Wait a sec, Alexa.’ He turned to his son. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying. Are you giving up medicine?’
Barney shook his head. ‘No, but I am changing direction. I’ve applied for a job as a medic with Cornwall Air Ambulance. They’re a charity, funded by the people of Cornwall. The scattered population and rugged landscape means that having a prompt response team is essential. I have an interview scheduled for Monday, so nothing’s certain, but they seem pretty keen to have me. I’m also planning to volunteer for the RNLI. It’s about time I gave something back to the community that took me in and welcomed me into their lives.’
His mother wasn’t impressed. She dismissed his words with a shake of the head. ‘Idealistic nonsense.’
Barney took a large slug of wine. ‘I know it’s not what you wanted, but I thought you’d be pleased my training isn’t going to complete waste.’
Pleased wasn’t an adjective that accurately described the look on his mother’s face. Incredulous would better describe it. ‘It’s hardly the cutting edge of medicine, is it?’
His dad sat back in his chair. ‘I think what your mother means is, it feels like a backwards step, son. It’s a far cry from being a consultant.’
‘But I don’t want to be a consultant.’
‘How much does this charity job pay?’ His mother’s emphasis on the word ‘charity’ revealed her inner snob. It certainly wasn’t one of her better qualities. ‘I can’t imagine the salary is competitive, certainly not with London rates?’
‘The salary isn’t great, but it’s enough for me.’
His dad joined in. ‘What about prospects? Your career development? How do you envisage that progressing?’
‘Honestly?’ Barney looked between his parents, both equally disappointed, one slightly less scathing than the other. ‘I don’t know. All I can tell you is that this opportunity excites me. I feel more motivated than I’ve ever felt in my life. It’s the job of my dreams. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.’ He had Charlotte to thank for his new career path: she’d been the one who’d suggested thinking outside the box. Shame she’d never know he’d taken her advice. ‘Not just that, I get to combine all the things I love. Theatre, music, surfing, adventure, the outdoors, and medicine. It’s the perfect life …�
�
Well, almost. Charlotte wouldn’t be a part of it, but sometimes you couldn’t have it all. No matter how much you wanted it.
His dad sighed. ‘Sounds like you’ve made your mind up.’
Barney smiled at him. ‘I have, Dad. This is what I want.’
He was going home. Back to where he belonged. Back to where he was happy, and could make a life for himself … he just wished that life included Charlotte.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Monday, 3 October
Charlotte was struggling to keep her frustrations hidden from her client. The woman was only in her twenties, but she was one fifth of the latest girl-band phenomenon to sweep the music charts, and she’d used her new-found wealth to purchase a plush town house in Notting Hill. Despite it being mid-afternoon on a particularly dreary day in early October, Freya was dressed as if she was about to shoot an erotic video. Ripped fishnets adorned her legs, teamed with patent lace-up boots and a leather miniskirt that looked more like a large belt. Her make-up was thick, her eyelashes false, and she was chewing gum as she flicked through numerous interior design magazines, dismissing each image with a sneer.
Charlotte tried once again to focus her client’s attention. ‘Can I suggest we look through the mood boards I’ve prepared, and see if they meet your brief?’
Freya chucked the latest magazine onto the floor. ‘I know what I want, but it’s, like, hard to describe.’
Tell me about it, Charlotte thought, laying out her mood boards on the enormous stone coffee table. Freya ‘didn’t do chairs’ apparently, so they were sitting on beanbags, an uncomfortable experience that Charlotte wasn’t keen to repeat anytime soon. Lounging around on the floor, in an inelegant fashion, hardly helped to maintain a professional demeanour. The client’s brief had been a confusing mix of styles that would challenge the most experienced designer. It was probably why Lawrence had given her the job. He was testing her. Punishment for forcing him to rehire her.
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