by Penny Parkes
Dan sighed, exhausted beyond measure and struggling to keep his cool. ‘Well, it wouldn’t hurt,’ he said flippantly, with a lop-sided smile.
He didn’t even see the stapler until it glanced off the side of his forehead and the hot sweet smell of blood filled the air. He lifted his hand as though in a daze and stared at the red stain on his fingers in detached disbelief.
Julia’s hands were over her mouth as though she were trying to stifle the words that she had already spoken. Her eyes were filled with horror at what she had done; aghast with herself no doubt for losing control, but also for hurting Dan.
‘Well then, I guess it must be true,’ said Dan dazedly, ‘you always hurt the ones you love.’ He picked up a wad of tissues from the desk and pressed them to his temple, pushing away Julia’s jerky and disjointed attempts to help.
‘Get some help, Jules,’ he said coldly, unable to muster even a scrap of affection in his voice. ‘Take some time off work. Go visit your mother, visit a therapist. Just get your act together, would you, please. If not for me, then for yourself. And, if you really are as self-loathing as it appears, then maybe just do it for The Practice. Alcoholic mothers raging in the press, we can cope with. Abusive and unstable GPs are a slightly harder sell.’
He stood up, ignoring the swell of nausea that undulated through him. ‘And for the avoidance of doubt,’ he said as he grabbed another wad of tissues to replace those saturated with his blood, ‘you and me? There’s no going back. We’re done.’
Slumped on the sofa at Taffy and Holly’s house, Dan wondered whether he had done the right thing in coming here. It was all he could think of at the time, unwilling to call in external help. On some level, no matter what he’d said, he couldn’t bear to see Julia’s tantrum splashed all over the tabloids and a First Responder would have been forced to file a report. Instead, losing blood and with a searing headache, he’d blundered through the darkened streets of Larkford, arriving at their front door looking like a train wreck. Thank God, he thought now, that the twins had been in the bath, or he would have frightened the life out of them.
Now, with Taffy having sterilised and sealed the two-inch gash in his hairline with Steri-strips – forehead wounds always bled like the devil – he could finally stop to think. Holly was upstairs reading the twins The Gruffalo for the umpteenth time and Taffy was rummaging in the freezer for frozen veg – some to make their supper stretch to another portion and some to stick on Dan’s head.
So much for modern management, he thought ruefully. With four equal partners, they had all been so invested in the future and growth of The Practice. They’d joked about how incestuous it was – two couples running a business together. God only knew what they’d been thinking.
Perhaps they’d been caught up in the romance of saving The Practice from closure against all odds, in finding each other amongst the stress and debris? Taffy and Holly had certainly felt like a foregone conclusion to him – their orbits set to collide the moment Milo was removed from the picture. In their haste to find their own happy ending, it looked as though he and Julia had forgotten everything they’d learned the first time round.
Taffy came in with a bag of something orange and two mugs of tea. ‘Pureed veg,’ he clarified, passing him the frozen block. ‘Could be peaches, could be sweet potato. Hard to tell at this point. Although Holly did try and make some apple sauce last week with what turned out to be cauliflower.’ He shrugged. ‘I suspect she got carried away with the whole weaning programme, because those lads have been eating more than me for the last year now, but there’s still bags and bags of pureed shit in that freezer . . .’ His voice petered out despondently.
Dan lifted his mug in thanks and acknowledgement that Taffy was trying his best to find normality in an incredibly surreal situation. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he said simply.
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping at their tea.
‘Weird,’ said Taffy eventually.
‘Yup,’ said Dan, slightly moving the brick of orange on his forehead that appeared to be slowly melting into putty.
‘And she actually meant to throw it at you? She wasn’t, I don’t know, gesticulating wildly?’ Taffy was reaching for straws, but it wasn’t anything that Dan hadn’t already attempted.
Dan shrugged. ‘To be fair, she did look pretty shocked.’
‘Not surprised,’ said Taffy seriously, ‘I mean, to manage to hit your teeny-tiny head from that distance – it must have been a fluke.’
Dan attempted a scowl and winced. ‘Can we leave the piss-taking until I’ve stopped bleeding at least?’
‘Do you think that she’s a bit unhinged, then? Because if she is a raving loony, we should probably keep her away from the patients . . . I mean, if she gets one of those whiney women who think they’ve got problems because they get stressed going to Tesco, she might legitimately throw a stapler at them too . . . Not that I haven’t considered it myself from time to time. That Cassie Holland? Christ – she’s enough to make anyone snap. The last time she was in, I genuinely wanted to shove cotton wool balls in her mouth just to shut her up . . .’
He rambled on and on and, in a way, it was oddly soothing. By the time the two of them had been through their own individual lists of Top Five Patients I’ve Had Murderous Thoughts About, they were both much calmer.
Another cup of tea and a quick check that Dan was showing no obvious signs of concussion and they flicked the TV on. An old episode of Inspector Morse was playing and Dan finally began to relax.
They both jumped out of their seats when Holly came downstairs and flicked the light on. She didn’t look or sound very happy and Dan immediately felt guilty for dumping on them. In all honesty though, where else was he going to go?
She sat on the arm of the sofa and took a sip of Taffy’s tea. ‘Now, since the kids are in bed and the food is burned to a crisp, I guess there’s two things we need to discuss: one – who’s going out for the take-away and two – what the bloody hell has been going on?’
Chapter 35
Julia sat in her car and shivered. She didn’t trust herself to drive until the hammering in her chest had settled. Still in shock at what she’d done, Julia replayed the scene over and over in her mind.
Was it the sheer frustration that had tipped her over the edge, or the very fact that Dan and Holly had succeeded where she had failed? Gaining her mother’s trust and getting her to voluntarily ask for help?
It seemed incomprehensible that, after all these years of struggle, her two friends had just swept in and made it happen. What kind of a daughter did that make her?
The summer rain lashed against the window of her car and the smell of wet tarmac filled the air. Her phone vibrated beside her with social media alerts, one after another – all her dirty laundry laid bare for Middle Britain to scrutinise and judge. All those years of work and commitment and always, always keeping her nose clean and now this? Her mother had barely been in Larkford for a fortnight and the scenes of devastation were so much worse than Julia could possibly have imagined.
The bitter taste of disgust made Julia’s mouth go dry. She looked across the Market Place and for the first time, she could understand the attraction of sitting in the pub with a glass of wine in her hand. Before she could stop and analyse the feeling, she was striding across to the welcoming lights of The Kingsley Arms.
She’d sabotaged any hope for a friendly post-break-up relationship with Dan, her personal hell was on the internet for all to see and Julia’s inner-demons suddenly couldn’t give a shit about what anyone else thought. Even as she rummaged in her bag for her purse, she could imagine so easily the enterprising young snapper who could upload a tweet of her this evening, sodden and sozzled – ‘Like Mother, Like Daughter?’
‘A large glass of white, please, Teddy,’ said Julia hoarsely, plucking at the wet clothes that now clung to her body.
‘White wine?’ he queried, as he’d already got a bottle of Julia’s usual tomato juice in his hand.
He poured a large glass and slid it across the polished oak of the bar. ‘This one’s on the house, okay. Seems like it’s medicinal.’ His voice was so soft and sympathetic that Julia dared to look up. ‘Nobody here is judging, Julia. We’ve all got families too and God knows, if people judged me by my brother Peter . . . Well, let’s just say that he’s the success of the family and I’m the poor imitation.’
He poured a packet of Twiglets into a bowl and they munched companionably for a minute or two. It was another sign that Julia was in a bad way, that she didn’t even query the volume of carbs and additives she was shovelling into her mouth. She just knew that she wanted to feel – better. She’d regret it later, but when your worst nightmare was laid out in column inches, did it really matter whether her size 8 jeans still fitted to perfection?
The Major and Marion came in from the rain, shaking their soaking umbrella and looking in need of a drink. Grover trotted obediently at the Major’s heels, his wiry fur bright with raindrops. He shook violently, showering them all and looking almost delighted with himself as he set off around the bar looking for titbits. They pulled up stools beside Julia without even hesitating, something that Marion certainly would not have done a year ago – a year ago when Julia was still perceived as stand-offish and rude. A year ago, when the Major had been one of the few souls in Larkford to see behind the mask. Since then, the whole community had welcomed this softer, more amenable Julia into their fold – she was good enough for their beloved Dan, ergo she was okay by them. Julia wondered what they would say if they knew what she’d done this evening. From the ill-disguised pity on their faces, they already knew what she’d been doing for the last three decades.
Teddy had their drinks in front of them before they’d even got out of their wet coats. ‘Pork scratchings, anyone? Or is this a Twiglets evening?’ he asked.
Marion chuckled as she leaned across and snaffled the last handful from the bowl in front of Julia. ‘Fill her up, Teddy. And get this one another drink while you’re at it. She’s a face as long as Livery Street and I’ll wager she’d rather have a gin than a hug from me.’ Marion gave Julia’s taut shoulders a squeeze anyway and Julia did her best not to tense up even more.
Never great with physical contact at the best of times, she did struggle with the way everyone around here was so touchy feely. And it didn’t end there – they all knew each other’s business. Even those who didn’t share childhood memories of growing up here entered into a weird social contract of sharing the minute they moved in. It was one of the things that had made Julia so unpopular when she first arrived. After all, she’d happily lived in London for years without even knowing her next-door neighbours’ names, let alone how ‘Our Cathy’ was doing with the breastfeeding.
The minute people discovered you were a doctor, they shed all boundaries and inhibitions.
Well, Julia quite liked boundaries and inhibitions; they kept her feeling in control. She took a large mouthful of wine and tried not to gag at the grapey flavour, whose very smell triggered all sorts of memories she would rather forget.
She felt such a failure – and now she couldn’t even hit the booze when times got rough. There would be no comfort in the bottom of this wine glass, because every sip just assailed her with hideous childhood memories. She pushed the glass away.
Without missing a beat, Teddy poured a glass of tomato juice and set it down in front of her. ‘It’s not for everyone, Jules. And I can always add a sneaky shot of vodka to that, if it’s oblivion you’re craving.’
Marion and The Major supped at their matching pints of Guinness and the general hubbub in the bar around them meant their silence was not uncomfortable. There was no urgency to fill the void with pointless chit-chat and Julia was actually grateful for their company. Whilst the promise of alcohol had summoned her in, it was the warm camaraderie and familiarity that made her stay, chomping quietly on Twiglets and trying not to think.
It was Marion who decided to stop pussy-footing around the obvious first, but she did it in such a gentle and tactful way that Julia almost – almost – felt like hugging her. ‘I was thinking that you probably had enough on your hands at the moment, Dr Channing, what with being the Face of the NHS and all, not to mention everything else. So we were thinking you might like to stay on at the Gatehouse for a bit, until things . . . well, until things . . . until you’re ready?’
‘That would be lovely,’ Julia said gratefully. The very idea of finding somewhere new to live, whilst juggling work, Dan, her mother and the media beast on her back, was simply too overwhelming to consider.
‘We’ll shut the main gates too, I think, come in by the back lane instead – should keep those ghastly photographers out of your hair for a bit.’ The Major spoke gruffly and didn’t even look up from his pint, but he had obviously been giving the matter some serious thought. ‘Keep the curtains drawn on the front and you should be alright.’
He went back to feeding Grover bits of Twiglet and giving him the occasional sip of Guinness.
Marion tsked at his matter-of-fact advice and gave Julia’s shoulders another squeeze. ‘You’ll be alright, won’t you, love? I mean, at least you know how to handle these media-types and that programme of yours is just charming. So informative. A little set-back like this won’t bother you for long will it, not with your lovely Dan to keep you on the straight and narrow?’
Julia couldn’t help it. Marion’s well-meaning platitudes had hit the mark with such unerring accuracy, it was hard to maintain her fragile composure. She let out a small sob and clapped her hand over her mouth. How would everybody in Larkford react when they found out how hideously she had behaved this evening? Maybe they might have been prepared to cut her some slack about her mother, but pile this on as well? Hurting Darling Dan would have her on Larkford’s Most Wanted List in no time.
Marion tried to soothe her. ‘There, there, love. It’ll be fine. All these newspapers are just tomorrow’s fish and chip paper really.’
The Major harrumphed beside her. ‘Don’t be naïve, Marion. It’s all on the Interweb now, isn’t it? Chin up though, girlie. Don’t let the bastards get you down and all that.’
Even through her own distress, the Major’s bluff outlook on life made Julia want to smile. Until she remembered why she was upset and what the Major and Marion would say if they knew. She stood up abruptly. ‘Time to call it a night, I think.’
Marion’s face was scrumpled in consternation. ‘You can’t drive home all upset, Dr Channing. Dan would be furious if he thought we’d let you. Join us for a bite of something? We’ll have a good rant about the Unfairness of Life, if it makes you feel any better?’
The Major cleared his throat again. ‘Maybe we should be having a chat about inviting the bloody media into our lives in the first place though, eh?’ His tone was just erring on the nice side of judgemental, but Julia had to concede he had a point.
True, it was social media and the weight of popular opinion that had helped their Save The Practice campaign, but Julia had also gone courting fame and success with her appearances on Doctor In The House too. And once they were in . . . well, there was no controlling what they found or reported on. Suddenly Reverend Taylor’s sermon last week on the hand that giveth also taketh away made a lot more sense – so much sense in fact, that Julia half wondered whether it had been drafted with her in mind.
Feeling like a fraud for accepting their hospitality while her guilty conscience eroded at her sanity, Julia pulled her damp coat back on. Marion stood up and gave her a lung-crushing hug, which Julia tried so hard not to resist.
‘Ooh, it’s like hugging a grumpy cat, Dr Channing. You should just relax a bit, love. Maybe get yourself a dog – they know how to give a cuddle. Don’t you, Grover?’ Marion loo
ked around for the little scruffy terrier that was the Major’s one true love – she’d long since resigned herself to coming second in his affections. To be fair though, Grover was the sweetest most intelligent little dog ever to walk the streets of Larkford and there really was no contest.
‘Grover?’ said Marion again, looking around wildly when the little dog failed to appear. They all looked over to the pub door, just checking that nobody had left it open and inadvertently allowed the little chap to wander.
It was the hideous retching sound that caught Julia’s attention first. Quiet but gut wrenching, the pitiful sound came from under the long trestle table behind them.
Without thought for her Armani trousers or what she would find, Julia dropped to her knees and there he was. Poor little dog was spasmed on to his knees, making a rattling sound as he dragged in each shallow breath. God knows how long he’d been under there, with all the noise and chaos around him and nobody hearing him struggle. She lay flat on her stomach and gently pulled him towards her.
She wasn’t even that fond of dogs, but the sight of him, with his ears flattened on his head and his eyes wide in fear just spoke to a part of Julia’s soul that she didn’t know she had. She lifted him onto an empty table and began a rapid assessment. She didn’t stop to think dog or human, she just treated him as though he were somebody’s baby in distress – which in a way of course, he was.
The Major and Marion stood beside her and the pub fell silent as Julia called out what she needed. ‘Teddy, I need a torch, some water, olive oil if you have it and do you have any food preparation gloves?’ Within moments, he had everything she needed plus a towel from the bar to stop him shivering.
She didn’t say that the shivering was more from a shock reaction than the cold, but instead quietly suggested that he phone the Out of Hours vet and call in an emergency. She pulled on the gloves to stop her long fingernails scratching the little dog, who was now floppy in her hands. She lifted his jowls and his gums were the deep purple colour that told her what she needed to know. Moistening her fingers with the olive oil she held his uncomplaining mouth open. ‘Marion. Shine the torch down here for me. Teddy, I need tweezers, or a couple of drinks stirrers if you’ve got them.’