A Doctor to Come Home to

by Gill Sanderson

  ‘You forget, I have a young daughter, I can’t just go out in the evening. Anyway, I’m not sure I want to talk—not yet anyway. You’ve known about this for, well, days. It’s new to me and I’m still...still a bit shocked.’

  ‘I can see that. But the sooner it is done, the better it will be.’

  She knew he was right. They had to talk in private. ‘I suppose so,’ she said.

  She frowned as she thought about what was possible. She knew her mother was out tonight so she couldn’t babysit. So there was no way she could leave Elizabeth. And although she didn’t want this meeting, the best thing to do would be to get it over quickly. There was only one answer. Hastily, she scratched her address on a piece of paper. ‘This is where I live. If you want to come round—say, about eight—we could have a coffee together. But you can’t stay long. My house is along the Buxton road. When you get—’

  ‘I’ll find it. I’ll buy a map. If I’m coming to live here, I’m going to need one, aren’t I?’

  She shivered. Buying a map brought it home, that they would be working together. He would be finding his way round her territory, probably visiting some of her patients. But she merely said, ‘Is eight all right for you?’

  ‘Perfect. There’s a film on TV, which Johanne wants to see. I’ll be there.’

  Johanne banged back into the room. ‘No photos there, Dad. You must have left them somewhere else. I think you’re losing it.’

  ‘Comes with old age,’ he said.

  Johanne went on, ‘So will we...?’

  Behind them another door opened and one of the two senior partners of the practice, Dr John Wright, came in. He smiled at Amy and said, ‘Things will be easier for everyone now. I gather you’ve met Dr Ross before. I’m pleased that you recommended us to him, he’s going to be a real asset to the practice.’

  ‘It was his decision to come here,’ Amy said. ‘I didn’t really try to persuade him. Now, there are things I must do.’

  She turned and had to stop herself from running into the practice staff room. She received several cheerful greetings, and no one seemed to notice that her world had been turned upside down. Someone poured her a coffee and handed it to her.

  ‘Met our new doctor yet?’ asked Rita Jones, the receptionist. ‘A bit dishy, isn’t he? Daughter seems a nice girl. I wonder what his wife is like.’

  Amy just couldn’t go into it all just yet. ‘I’m sure we’ll find out,’ she said.

  Somehow she got through the rest of the day, doing the flu jabs for the over sixty-fives. She was kept busy, smiling, saying hello to the many familiar faces. There was always the danger that patients would think this was an opportunity for a chat so they had to be gently hurried on their way.

  The work stopped her thinking, brooding over what had happened—and what might happen. She wondered fearfully if Adam might just drop in to see her at work—but he didn’t. The work was simple and mechanical so there was no danger of making a mistake. But she was still happy when it was all over and she could get away a bit early.

  She collected Elizabeth from her mother’s house, had a quick cup of tea and a short chat. All she said about Adam arriving was that a new doctor was starting and that things might be a bit easier now. Then she drove home, Elizabeth strapped firmly in her car seat.

  Heather Cottage was a perfect place for Amy and Elizabeth to live. Amy had been glad to move out of her previous house, which had been large, detached, on a pretentious estate on the outskirts of town. This suited the two of them much better. It was a stone, end-of-terrace house, with a garage at the side. There was a small back garden, easy enough to keep tidy and somewhere for Elizabeth to play. Downstairs was a big sitting-room with an open plan kitchen at the back, upstairs was a bathroom and three tiny bedrooms. It was cheap to run and heat, easy to keep clean. Just what Amy wanted and needed. She had got rid of nearly all the new furniture from her previous house. She hadn’t liked it much anyway.

  Now Adam was coming to visit and she wondered what he would make of it. It was certainly different from where they had first met.

  Quickly out of her uniform and on with jeans and sweater. ‘We’re going to play now, Elizabeth, aren’t we?’

  ‘Bricks,’ said Elizabeth joyfully. ‘I want bricks.’ So Amy shook out the box of wooden bricks with the letters on, and together they made walls and towers with words on them.

  Amy loved her evenings playing with Elizabeth. All right, Elizabeth was her child, but she knew from experience of other people’s children that Elizabeth was a good child. From her earliest days she had been easy to get to sleep. Now she smiled, laughed, was everybody’s friend and was nearly always happy.

  So they played, then had tea, then went up for a bath, bed and a story. Elizabeth fell asleep quickly. Amy kissed her daughter’s cheek and went downstairs. Happy time was over.

  It was seven o’clock, and Adam would come in an hour. Amy tidied the room and then put on coffee to percolate, arranged biscuits on a plate. Or perhaps she should offer something different? She found a bottle of wine, fetched and polished two glasses. Then she looked at the label on the wine bottle. It was one that she had brought back from Spain, a vintage that they had drunk together. No, they couldn’t drink that one. Too many memories. She fetched another bottle, a birthday gift from Dr Wright.

  What was she doing? Why all this fuss? He had practically invited himself here, she hadn’t wanted him to come. But perhaps she could hide behind the appearance of being a hostess. It would make her feel more confident. Hostess? Dressed like this in jeans and old sweater? Perhaps she should show herself as a working mother, clean but slightly scruffy.

  She stood in thought a moment. Then she went upstairs, showered and then searched through her wardrobe for a dress. She didn’t have much use for dresses—she didn’t go out much. But she found a pretty blue one that would do.

  She opened her underwear drawer. Her eyes passed rapidly over the lacy things in the back of the drawer—no, too many memories. She picked out a white bra and knickers, plain and sensible. Which was what she had to be, plain and sensible.

  It didn’t take long to dry her hair and put on a touch of make-up. Appearance checked in the mirror, yes, quite presentable. He would be here in fifteen minutes. She went back downstairs and took a glass of iced water from the fridge.

  As she sat, she realised that since she had first seen Adam that afternoon, she had resolutely refused to think about him. She had found other things to occupy her mind—it was called displacement activity. But now she had to work out some kind of plan of action. She wondered what he would make of her. Then she wondered what she should make of herself.

  Her thought drifted backwards. It was now mid October. It had happened six or seven weeks ago. It seemed so close! Life before then had been grey, but tolerable. Then those few golden days and life after that had been... She would be honest with herself. Without him it had been hard.

  Chapter Two

  It had started in this very room. It had been a Saturday morning, her mother had called in and they had been having a coffee together. The post arrived, the usual collection of junk mail, letters to do with her being a district nurse, most easily discarded. And just one official-looking letter from her solicitor. Amy had slit it open, read the letter and blinked.

  ‘Ma! It’s a cheque! Fifteen hundred pounds. Some late payment to Paul’s estate from an insurance company.’

  ‘Very nice,’ said her mother. ‘More than enough to have a really good holiday with.’

  ‘Holiday? I don’t need a holiday. I was thinking of a new kitchen in a year or two. Now I can—’

  ‘Your present kitchen is fine and you do need a holiday. You’re getting thinner every day, and getting irritated far too easily. You need a complete break for a couple of weeks and you need to be pampered. This has not been a good year for you.’

  Amy was bewildered. ‘But I just can’t go... There are things I ought to do...’

  ‘Like what?’ her
mother demanded. ‘Amy, you’re just making excuses.’

  Amy tapped the side of her chair. ‘People just don’t go on holiday like that,’ she said crossly. ‘I’d have to...’

  And then it happened. Her wedding ring slipped off her finger. It had been loose for a while; she had lost so much weight. She bent to pick it up but her mother was there first and grabbed it.

  ‘It’s a sign, Amy! Let go! Your husband is dead; you’re not married any more. You even changed back to your maiden name.’

  She held the ring in the air as Amy tried to snatch it from her, and went on, ‘Look, you’ve always been honest with yourself. That man was never anything but evil. He looked gorgeous but he stole your money and hit you when he was drunk—which was most of the time.’

  ‘Ma, he was my husband. And he’s dead!’

  ‘Dead? And whose fault was that? You finally told him you were going to divorce him. So what does he do? Gets drunk yet again, smashes his car into a wall and is carted off to hospital. They told you there that he was never going to recover consciousness again— he was in a persistent vegetative state. He didn’t even have the decency to die. And for two years you visited him three times a week, though all feeling for him had gone!’

  ‘He was still the man I married.’

  ‘We all make mistakes. Yours was bigger than most. We both know that man was bad and would never have changed. Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself and say you’ll go on holiday.’ Her mother’s tone softened. ‘You need it Amy.’

  ‘But I can’t just... There’s Elizabeth and—’

  ‘Yes, you can just! Elizabeth would love to go on holiday! And look at you! You’re thin, pale, got rings under your eyes. If ever a woman needed a break, you do.’

  Amy didn’t know what to say. Of course, it was quite impossible. It was a lovely idea but she would have to say no and...

  Coaxingly, her mother said, ‘Give me one good solid reason why you can’t go on holiday and I promise not to say another word. Just one real reason.’

  So she sat there, mind churning, not able quite to say what she felt. Because she didn’t know what she felt. She just didn’t want to be pushed, just wanted to be left alone in her own little world. But...

  ‘When should I go? You know I’d have to clear things at the surgery...’

  ‘Details,’ her mother said with some satisfaction. ‘We can work them out later. Now, this ring.’

  She gave it back to Amy who fumbled, about to slip it back on her finger. Then her mother held up her hand. ‘Amy, you’re not married any more. And there’s certainly no happy memories with that bit of jewellery. So drop it in there with the rest of the junk.’ She pointed to a brass jar on the mantelshelf, full, as such jars were, with rubbish.

  Amy paused, felt that she was making an important decision. Then she dropped in the wedding ring. There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘I feel better,’ she said.

  So she decided to go on holiday. Both her mother and the staff of the surgery thought it was a great idea. Dr Wright especially urged her to go. ‘I’ve had my eye on you for a while, Amy,’ he said. ‘You’re not at your best. I couldn’t prescribe anything better than a fortnight in the sun.’ And then she found she was, rather looking forward to it.

  Once her mother had got a firm decision from Amy that she would go on holiday, she moved quickly to prevent her daughter from changing her mind. ‘You haven’t bought anything new for years. This is to be a luxury holiday in a luxury hotel. You need a few luxurious clothes.’

  She took Amy to Manchester so they could buy a complete new wardrobe. ‘Just a few clothes,’ she said. ‘And get some new make-up, it’s time you changed your image.’

  ‘Didn’t know I had an image,’ said Amy.

  She had thought perhaps an item or two from a popular chain store. Her mother had different ideas and had marched Amy first to an expensive underwear shop. ‘We’ll dress you from the inside out,’ she said to Amy. ‘Nothing like fancy undies for making a girl feel good. Get six pairs of those, in different colours.’

  ‘They’re not going to keep me very warm, are they?’ Amy asked, blinking at the price. But she had bought them—and the shoes, T-shirts, shorts, bikini and three dresses for evening.

  ‘Who am I supposed to impress?’ she cried as they finally moved towards the accessories department.

  ‘You’re impressing yourself.’ Her mother smiled. ‘If you look good you’ll feel good. And if you feel good you’ll be better.’

  It was a wonderful hotel, in Cala d’Or, on the south coast of Majorca. The travel agent had picked well, and at her mother’s insistence he had found a place that offered a babysitting service. Amy had said it wasn’t necessary, but her mother had said serenely that it was optional. Anyway, she was very happy.

  She had a large bed in a large room, with the balcony overlooking the pool. Elizabeth was delighted with her smaller bed which had been placed at one side. Amy stood on the balcony, leaned out and smelled the scent of orange trees. ‘We’re going to enjoy ourselves here,’ she told Elizabeth.

  ‘Want to swim,’ said her daughter.

  It took a couple of days for her to settle down. She laid by the pool in her bikini, liberally smeared with sunscreen, a thick holiday romance in one hand, a long iced drink by her side. And suddenly she would jerk upright, as if it wasn’t right, as if there were things to do.

  Every morning Elizabeth went off for a while with the kiddie reps and played with other children. They had face-painting, swimming competitions, modelling. She was a happy child who made friends easily, and at times Amy wondered why she herself couldn’t be as happy. But it was good to hear Elizabeth’s shrieks of laughter.

  She phoned her mother the first two nights. ‘I’m fine, Lissom’s fine, the practice is fine,’ her mother said waspishly after the second call. ‘If not, we’ll let you know. Now, stop worrying and enjoy yourself.’ So Amy stopped phoning.

  And after two days she found that she could. She was beginning to realise just how tense she had been. And she was realising that this new calmness was what she needed.

  Breakfast and lunch were buffet service, but in the evening dinner was more formal. They dined outside and Amy loved it. Most people made an effort to dress for the occasion, the women in cocktail dresses or something long, the men in lightweight suits. The place looked cosmopolitan, sophisticated.

  There was one thing her mother had insisted on. ‘Promise me you’ll use the babysitting service. Or at least find out what it’s like.’ Amy had been doubtful, but had discovered that she could hire a middle-aged English woman to sit with Elizabeth. Mrs Gonzalez came from Birmingham but had married a Spaniard. Elizabeth took to her at once, and Amy felt comfortable leaving her child with her.

  After dinner the guests would walk a few feet to the terrace by the side of the pool, sit at small tables and drink. There was a small dance floor there, sometimes a band played, sometimes there was dancing. On occasion she was asked to dance, usually by people she had talked to over breakfast or lunch. Always, Amy politely refused. She was here to sit, to take things easy.

  On the fourth night something different happened. Amy felt tired, and thought that she would go for a last, walk around the grounds before going to bed early.

  There were a number of little paths curving through the hotel grounds. They were lit by foot-level lamps and rich with the smell of flowers and the distant salt of the sea. Amy looked upwards and through the drooping fronds of a palm tree she could see stars that were brighter than any she had seen in England. She liked it here.

  Near the edge of the sea was a smaller swimming pool. The lights by it were out, the gate leading to it closed and locked. After a certain time no one swam here as it was unsupervised.

  There was no one nearby. Amy heard a splash. Someone was in the pool.

  It wasn’t her business. If someone chose to be foolish, they were entitled to. But Amy’s work often dealt with people who had chosen to be fo
olish. It wouldn’t hurt just to go and look.

  Looking might not hurt but it wasn’t easy. Somehow she had to negotiate the locked gate. By the time she had forced her way through the shrubbery around the pool she was not in a good temper.

  Although there were no lights here, Amy could see that there was a girl or young woman wading into the pool. She saw a towel and a pile of clothes on a chair. The girl heard Amy approaching, turned and placed her hands on her hips. Amy recognised the body language. This was a girl, not a woman. And she was ready for an argument.

  ‘It’s a lovely evening,’ Amy said, and sat on one of the chairs.

  After a pause the girl said, in an aggressive voice, ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that it’s not allowed and unsafe to swim here on your own.’

  Amy shook her head. ‘No. You obviously know it already and it is your decision. Isn’t it a lovely evening?’

  There was no reply. After a while the girl waded farther into the water. Amy made herself relax; the best thing to do was say nothing. Then the girl said, ‘I just got fed up with people in there. All that noise and shouting. I needed to get away.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Amy. ‘When you say “fed up with people”, do you mean people in general or just one or two?’

  The girl considered this. She said, ‘Just one, I suppose. My dad. We had a row and he left me in my room. I waited till he’d gone then came here for a swim. OK?’ Her tone was truculent.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ said Amy. ‘I can’t talk you out of something you really want to do. Where’s your mum?’

  ‘She left us,’ the girl said. ‘About three years ago.’

  Amy picked up on the word ‘us’. She thought it was important.

  ‘Your dad,’ she said, still in the same careless tones, ‘does he love you?’

  The girl was indignant. ‘What kind of question is that? Of course he loves me...I suppose. He just doesn’t understand me.’

  Where have I heard that before? Amy thought, but said nothing. ‘You know you could come to harm here,’ she said conversationally. ‘I’m a nurse, I remember working on A and E one night when a girl about your age was brought in, she’d been midnight bathing on her own.’