by Maria Ling
"Good luck," Janine said mechanically. "What about your Mum?"
"She'll be fine. You wouldn't believe the change in her these last few weeks. She's joined the choir, she's selling the house and moving to the Ropery where she's got some good friends, and she's pretending there was never anything wrong with her ankle at all. You'd think she'd lost thirty years. I've never seen her so happy. I don't know what you said to her, but it must have worked."
"It probably wasn't me," Janine said. "I'd give credit to the therapist. And to your Mum, for having the courage to take charge of her own life. That takes a lot of faith and commitment, and it's a real achievement."
"You're right," Matthew said. "Anyway, I've got to get packing. I don't know for sure where I'll be staying yet, but I'll send you a postcard with the address once I know. You'd better come out and see me once in a while."
"I will," Janine said, but her heart felt like lead. Matthew was moving on without her, and he sounded so happy about it. It broke her soul to hear him, but she tried to feel pleased about his success.
"Look forward to it," Matthew said. "I love you." He hung up.
***
"I don't see the problem." Janine's mother cut her fillet of Dover sole into thin slices, each topped with its own little crown of caper dressing. "Just go out there and see him. You'll know pretty soon if the relationship is worth investing in."
"It's not that simple," Janine objected.
"Of course it is. You're just making it more complicated than it needs to be."
"No, I'm not." Janine wondered why she always felt so defensive around her mother. Maybe it was the way her mother always treated everything as if it were cut and dried, obvious to the meanest intelligence, too simple to bother thinking about. It annoyed Janine. Human beings, and human affairs, were more subtle and complex than that.
Or maybe she was just deluding herself. Her mother certainly seemed to think so.
"I'm just not sure what I want," she said. "I'm not interested in moving to Paris. I've got a life of my own here. And I don't want him to give up his life either. I think it's great that he can pursue a career that he loves. And much as we both adore Whitby, I don't think we really want to live there. At least not yet. Maybe in ten or twenty years time, but not now. So I don't really know what I do want, from him or from myself."
"That's called being indecisive," her mother said without sympathy. "It's got nothing to do with the situation being complicated, which it isn't."
"It looks that way to me."
"That's because you want it to be."
Janine sighed.
"We'll just have to agree to differ," she said. "I don't see things the way you do. But anyway, right now I'm in a quandary. I don't know what I want to happen, so I don't know what I want to do. That's all."
"Simple," her mother said. "You're undecided. So decide. Then you'll know."
"Yes, of course," Janine said, failing to stop a note of mild sarcasm from creeping through her voice. "Just decide. Flip a coin. It's not like anything hangs on it."
"Well, what does hang on it?" her mother demanded. "What is it about it that matters so much to you?"
Janine was quiet. She wasn't sure herself.
"I love him," she said at last. "At least I think I do. But I don't know how much I love him. And I'm just not sure how far I'm willing to compromise the circumstances of my life because of love."
"There you are, then," her mother said. "That's what you've got to decide." She took a bite of Dover sole and chewed it thoughtfully for a while. "If it makes you feel any better, I went through much the same thing myself after your Nan went into hospital. I just wasn't sure how much I wanted to give up of my own life to keep her dream -- or yours -- alive. It's not that I didn't love her -- I did. And it's not that I don't love you -- I do. But I have my own concerns, my own ambitions, my own life to live. I decided I wasn't willing to sink that just to keep the two of you happy in your dreams."
"At least you didn't say delusions."
"No, I left that to you. Seriously, though. That was the decision I had to make, and I made it. Sounds to me as if you're facing exactly the same choice now."
Janine pondered.
"Do you regret it?" she asked, looking straight into her mother's chill grey eyes.
Her mother shook her head.
"Not at all," she said. "I never have regrets."
"You're lucky," Janine said. "I do."
***
By the time she got home, Janine had made a decision. She was going to phone Matthew and ask him outright to stay in the country and not go to Paris. It meant so much to her, and she would tell him so.
She got back to find the message light glaring red. Her heart leapt. Perhaps it was Matthew, phoning to say he loved her.
It was. His voice trickled through her and around her, warming, soothing.
"I've got here, and things are fine. I've sent a postcard with my address on it. Miss you lots. I'd love for you to come out and stay with me for a while, but I know you're really busy. Anyway, I'll be swamped this evening, so I'll try to catch up with you tomorrow. Take care. Love you."
Janine replayed the message over and over, glowing with happiness. This would be perfect, she thought. She could hand in her resignation this week, wrap up at the clinic before the month was out, and be in Paris with Matthew in time for Christmas.
Eventually she got around to checking the second message. It was terse and depressing.
"Hi, this is Ann. David's wife. I just want to let you know that he's been diagnosed with pneumonia and will be off work for at least three weeks. He'd phone you himself but he can't talk for coughing. I hope this doesn't put you out too much at the clinic. He says he's really sorry and he'll be back as soon as he can. I've left a message on the clinic phone as well but I thought I'd better let you know right away. Take care. Bye."
Janine grimaced. That did put a spanner in the works.
She rang David's wife first of all, expressing commiserations and reassuring her there was no rush at all to get David back at work. That wasn't actually true, but she couldn't bear to have either of them worrying about it. The sound of a man's hacking cough in the background made her wince.
"Just keep him on the antibiotics and make sure he drinks plenty of fluid," Janine said. "Tell him not to worry about a thing. I'll handle his patients if I can, and if I can't we'll have to divide them up between us. Might get someone in to cover for him for a few weeks. Anyway, we'll sort it out somehow. He's not to worry about it, and nor are you."
"You're wonderful," David's wife said. "I feel better just for talking to you."
"How is he taking it?"
"Not very well. He's in a lot of pain -- his chest is so clogged up, he's having trouble breathing. The doctor said it should clear in a couple of days, once the antibiotics kick in. I hope he's right."
"So do I," Janine said. "Keep me posted on how he goes along. I'll try to pop in and see him at the weekend if I can. Look after yourselves." She rang off.
After that, she sat for a few minutes indecisive. There was not much point in phoning Matthew now with her enthusiastic plan for moving to Paris. The clinic needed her, if only for the next few weeks. And she didn't want to make promises she wasn't sure she could keep. Once David was fully fit and back at work, she would be free to pursue her own plans.
She thought about phoning Matthew anyway, just to say hello, but decided against. He did say he would be busy. She would phone him tomorrow, and everything would be fine.
***
The next day proved extremely busy. It was Janine's first official day back at work, and she had a full schedule plus as many of David's patients as she could squeeze in. The others were seen by her colleagues, and luckily there was a flurry of last-minute cancellations, giving them a bit of breathing room. But by lunchtime, it was clear that they'd have to get a locum in -- and fast.
"I'll find one," Janine said. She snatched ten minutes to eat a cottage chees
e and salad sandwich and to phone their usual agency, who gave her no encouragement.
"I'm sorry, but we don't have anyone to spare at the moment," the pleasant lady at the other end of the line told her. "We're fully booked until the end of next month. Everyone seems to be having disasters. I could get you someone to cover starting in six weeks time, if that's any use to you."
"Probably not," Janine said with a grimace. "Thanks anyway."
She broke the bad news to her colleagues, and then sat down with the appointments book to try and work out some sort of arrangement that would ensure all their patients got seen. It took well over an hour, and she cut hard into her admin time for the day. After that, she had wall to wall patient appointments until six o'clock, and then it was time to do the paperwork she should have covered during lunch.
She finally got home at nine in the evening, grabbed some toast and marmalade, then checked her phone. There was another quick message from Matthew, just to say he was busy and still loved her. Janine smiled over that, and promised herself she would make time to phone him tomorrow. She watched the news with little interest, and then put herself to bed.
***
For the next month, it proved just about impossible to reach Matthew. When he was around, she was at work, and when she came home, he was at the restaurant. Their messages got briefer, their phone calls less frequent.
Finally, Janine set her Monday morning alarm for six a.m. instead of her usual time of half an hour later. She was determined to make time to talk to Matthew, and she knew that the restaurant was closed on Mondays.
When she rang him, groggy with sleep, he wasn't at home. She let the phone ring -- twenty times, thirty -- and then kicked herself as she remembered that he was an hour ahead of her. Even so. At ten past seven on an ordinary day, he'd probably be out of the door and on his way to work. But on a Monday? She squinted at her watch to check that she had the time right, then hung up, bewildered.
Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the shower to find the answerphone light on. The message was from Matthew.
"I'm sorry I missed you -- I'd gone out to buy some bread. If you get this before you go to work, call me. I'm in until nine."
Janine pounced on the phone, her wet hair dripping water all over the side table. She clutched the receiver with both hands, and waited breathlessly for Matthew to pick up.
He did. A hot gush of relief flooded over her at the sound of his voice. They spent a blissful ten minutes catching up on the trivial details of each other's days.
"I've got to go," Janine said at last, regretfully. "I'm really sorry. Are you in this evening?"
"Probably not. We've got some competition two streets away, and I'm going over there to check them out. I'll be back by ten-thirty or so, if you want to try then. That's nine-thirty your time."
"I'll try to remember," Janine said.
She kept obsessively repeating the times to herself all day, so as to be sure she wouldn't forget them. Three separate clients all commented on how absent-minded she seemed. One even suggested she might need a holiday. Janine apologised to each of them, explained that the clinic was busier than usual, and tried hard to be her usual attentive self. It was a battle, though, and she was relieved to see the last patient for the day walk out through the glass door.
Mary at reception had long since left work -- her hours were only nine to five. Janine checked the next day's appointments, made a few quick notes, and locked up for the night. She had decided to extend late opening hours to eight o'clock three nights a week, in a bid to cover all of David's patients as well as her own, and it had been a great success. Everyone was getting seen. It almost made her wonder whether they really needed to keep him on after all. He had taken a lot of sick leave in the past two years, and it all added up.
In the past, she would have been consumed with guilt at even thinking such a thing. But now, some of Matthew's hardheaded sense had rubbed off on her. Naturally, she wanted to make sure that David took good care of himself. But it wasn't her job to be his best friend, locum and nurse all at once.
She talked it over with Matthew that evening. He seemed a little distant, but she put it down to tiredness. So it was a shock to her when he suddenly said:
"You know, I don't think this is going to work."
"What isn't?" Janine asked absently, her mind full of the clinic and its problems.
"You and me. Us. This long-distance relationship thing. Well, listen to us. It's a board meeting, hardly a relationship at all."
"I don't understand what you mean. Of course it's a relationship."
"I thought it was," Matthew said. "Back in Whitby. But things have changed. You're so obsessed with your work, I feel as if you don't have any time for me."
"That's rich," Janine said, anger sparking in her heart. "Coming from you, who hardly does anything but work."
"That's different."
"Why?"
"Because being a chef means a lot of work. It comes with the territory. But a physiotherapist in private practice -- you ought to be able to set your own hours. If you don't, it's because you choose not to."
"Thanks for telling me about my working day," Janine said coldly. "Because it's obviously something you know far more about than me."
"Don't be stupid."
"I'm not stupid." The spark caught on dry wood and flamed.
"Look, I don't want to argue. I'm just saying that I don't think this is going to work. I'm sorry. I really care about you, and I wish it could be possible, but it just isn't. Not unless you're willing to trim back your workload."
"Or you."
"I can't. You can, but you don't want to. That's the difference."
"I think you're being absurd," Janine said. "We'll have to talk about this properly."
"When?" Matthew demanded. "I've been chasing you for weeks."
"Well, things are busy at the moment. You know that. It will ease up over Christmas. Can't you wait that long before pulling the plug on the whole affair?"
Janine knew she sounded belligerent, she could hear it in her own voice, but it was better than bursting into tears as she longed to do. And she really was angry with Matthew. He was being completely unreasonable.
"I suppose so," Matthew said. "Look, I'm sorry. I miss you. I'd really like to see you. Can't you come out here for the weekend?"
Janine hesitated. A mound of paperwork awaited her, and she had planned to take Saturday to tackle it. But a wave of longing washed over her. She wanted to see Matthew, to be with him, to touch him, to hear his voice. The admin could wait.
"I'll try to get hold of a ticket," she said.
"That's great." His voice was warm and joyful, his earlier petulance forgotten. "I'm looking forward to seeing you."
***
The taxi deposited her at the mouth of a cobbled alleyway. Janine stood for a moment irresolute, clutching the scrap of paper on which she had written down the address that Matthew so painstakingly spelled out for her. 14 Rue Martre, just off one of the tree-lined boulevards of Paris. Now that she was here, though, she hesitated. It all looked so completely un-English, so entirely unlike the Matthew she thought she'd known.
She squinted up at the tall ornate buildings that blocked out the sun. Just at that moment, a sash window flew open and a dark shadow leaned out.
"Wait there!" Matthew's cheerful voice rang through the streets and echoed between the walls. "I'll come down and get you."
Within a matter of minutes he was with her, wrapping her in his arms, strong and warm and laughing. The tension of travel drained away from Janine's body. She felt happy, too.
"This is all very posh," she told him mock-critically as they juddered up towards the third floor in the rickety little lift with its wrought-iron grille door. Janine suppressed a shiver of fear. She hated lifts -- she always had the most horrible feeling they would crash at any moment. And this one was the most crashworthy she'd ever been in. But Matthew didn't show any sign of being worried, so she was dete
rmined that she wouldn't either. She'd had enough of being the skittish one. She was a strong, tough woman who could handle herself.
The lift creaked. Janine gave a startled gasp, and then laughed at herself. So much for staying confident.
"Nervous?" Matthew murmured. He stood comfortingly close to her, one arm around her shoulders.
"A little," Janine admitted. "I'm not a great fan of lifts."
"We're nearly there."
The flat proved to be gorgeous. It was a tiny bedsit, with only a single combined living and sleeping room, a dainty kitchenette, and a miniature bathroom. But the ceilings were high and the windows large, which gave a marvellous open-air feel to the place. Janine looked around her, shining-eyed, and for a moment was tempted by the thought of moving to Paris.
The sash window still stood open, and the sound of distant traffic flooded past the heavy maroon curtains that hung on either side. A cold dank breeze fingered its way into the room. Abruptly, Janine shivered.
"It's a bit chilly," she said. "Do you mind if I shut the window?"
"Of course not." Matthew did it for her. "Well, this is my little place. What do you think?"
"It's beautiful," Janine said sincerely. She tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. "Sorry. That flight really took it out of me. I don't know why -- everything went really smoothly."
"I'll get you a coffee," Matthew said. "Better still, you can come and have one at the restaurant. Unless you'd rather take a nap first?"
Janine shook her head.
"I'd love to see where you work."
The bistro lay just around the corner, on a boulevard parallel to the one Janine had arrived by. It was a cosy, open-fronted little place with tables and chairs spilling onto the pavement. Janine gratefully accepted a seat tucked away in a corner by the windows, where she was served coffee and a roll by the owner. He proved to be a tall Algerian man with a vivid smile and a charming habit of calling Matthew "my darling" without any visible sign of irony. Janine stifled a laugh, as she wasn't sure whether it would offend him.