‘Yes, because I realized I’d never overcome the pain. Never. I’d held out for that moment you see, for being in that house, and then when it didn’t work, I felt such an overwhelming sense of defeat. It was so frightening. When I got back here, to London, I felt this wave of terror literally sweep from my head to my toes. Because I knew that having faced it and failed, I was hollow. Knew that not facing it was the only way I’d contained it all these years. It had given me strength, and now I’d lost it.’
‘And I was no help. No help at all.’
‘But you didn’t know. Weren’t to know.’ He sat up a bit and reached for a box of tissues by the bed. Blew his nose noisily. Then he turned his head again and stared out of the window. We were silent for a while and I digested what he’d said. After a while, a nurse popped her head around the door.
‘Everything all right?’
David didn’t answer. Continued staring out of the window.
‘Yes, we’re fine, thank you,’ I said swiftly.
She came in and glanced at the chart on the end of his bed.
‘Right …’ she murmured. She glanced at David coldly, nodded curtly at me, and then went away again.
I took his hand. ‘Are they nice to you in here?’ I asked anxiously.
‘Not particularly,’ he said wryly. ‘Suicide cases are always treated with disdain, to dissuade them from trying it again. And a doctor who tries it, who wastes their time when they’ve got genuinely sick people to care for … well, I don’t exactly get tea and sympathy.’
I took a deep breath. Let it out shakily. Oh David. My poor, dignified, dapper Dr David Palmer, striding in here as he usually did in his Jermyn Street suit, briefcase in hand, nodding and smiling at nurses on his way up to see a patient …
‘Anyway. I won’t be here for long. I can discharge myself tomorrow.’
‘Exactly.’ I raised a smile. ‘And then you’ll be back around the corner in Sloane Street again, where you belong. When you’ve had a bit of time off.’
He gave a thin smile. ‘Oh no, I’m not going back to the surgery. I’m taking a long time off.’
My heart lurched. ‘You’re not … giving up? No, David, they can’t make you do that, they surely can’t.’
‘I’m not sure what they can and can’t do, but I’m going anyway. A long way away.’ He turned to look at me. ‘I’m going to Nicaragua, Annie.’
‘Nicaragua!’ I was startled. ‘Why?’
‘Because there’s a terrible famine unfolding over there, and the Red Cross are desperate for qualified doctors. I think I could be of some help.’
I stared. He looked back at me. Composed. Implacable. ‘Right.’ I swallowed. Golly. He thought he could be of some help. Did he mean him, or all of us? I thought of the three of us out there, crowded into a little mud hut in the jungle – or was it the desert? My mind spun. Nicaragua. Heavens, where was it? Africa, somewhere? I saw myself frenziedly slapping suncream on Flora’s fair skin, squirting mosquito spray all round the hut, getting water from the well – or the river, even – holding hands with all those poor children with pot bellies, feeding them rice perhaps, or – or no, not just feeding them. No, I’d have to join in. My stomach lurched. Have to – you know – nurse. There’d be blood, and – and worse, and … Oh God. I felt faint.
David was watching me. He smiled. A proper, gentle smile, for the first time since I’d been in that room. ‘No, you were right the first time, Annie. It’s what I’m going to do, not what we’re going to do.’
‘You mean … on your own?’
He held my gaze. ‘Do you want to come?’
I stared. ‘Well, I …’
‘Do you love me, Annie?’
I opened my mouth to speak. His eyes were challenging. Not hostile, but challenging. I glanced down.
‘I … Well. Of course I –’
‘Hey,’ he interrupted softly. Squeezed my hand. ‘That’s enough. Let’s not go there. We both know the truth. I love you to pieces, to distraction, always have done. But somehow I knew that once you’d recovered from your shattered marriage and your pit of despair about Adam, you might fly. Leave me. And you have. You’re streets ahead of me already, Annie. You’ve met someone else.’
I glanced up in terror. ‘I know,’ he said gently. ‘I could tell. In Cornwall. And it’s all right, my darling, I promise. Yes, I’m sad, but it wasn’t the catalyst for all of this. Didn’t help, naturally.’ He looked beyond me. Took a deep breath. ‘When love is withdrawn, you don’t just feel its absence, you feel …’
‘Demeaned?’ I put in. I knew. Had had it withdrawn from me.
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘But now, because another phase of my life is unfolding, and because it’s all going to be so different, I can face it alone. I couldn’t in all conscience take you and Flora on this journey halfway across the world, and it is something I’ve always wanted to do. You know that.’
I bent my head. Rested my forehead on his hand in shame.
‘Oh David, I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I’m so ashamed!’
‘Don’t be. You can’t help your feelings. You can’t help falling in love. Passion is the only true motivation; it’s what it’s all about. And anyway’ – he turned his head away – ‘I think I always knew someone proper might come along.’
‘Proper?’ I raised my head. ‘You met me when you were so low, Annie. I was just what you needed at the time. Necessary ballast to keep you afloat. Keep you safe. And I badly wanted to keep you. Thought marriage, babies – lots of babies, quickly – would do the trick. Bind you to me. But I see now how hopeless it was.’
‘You mean, that sort of control?’
‘It wasn’t about control. It was about survival. My survival strategy.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘This may sound ridiculous, but I’m actually glad I took an overdose. Glad I was rescued too. By doing something so terrible, so drastic, I’ve drawn a line in the sand. I’ve stared rock bottom in the face, recognized it, and now I can only go up. I’ve changed the course of my life completely. It’s made me realize what I have got, and what I can do. And I do want to live. I’m so glad I didn’t die. I panicked, you see. Thought I was losing everything, but actually, there are some things I’ve gained. As soon as the court case is over, which Hugo now says will be short and sharp with possibly an out-of-court settlement, I’ll be off. Jamie – you know, my mate from Oxford – has a brother in charge of the Red Cross out there, and I know he’ll find me something, whatever the outcome of the trial.’
‘And you’ll be brilliant at it, David,’ I said warmly. He would. Because despite everything, he was dauntless. And also … incredibly good in the purest sense. I could see him now, bronzed from the sun, in a white coat, running a clinic in a tent; a row of mothers in turbans with their babies on their knees waiting to see him; other like-minded medics around him, maybe even a pretty nurse …
David looked at me enquiringly. ‘Where are you, Annie?’
‘Hm?’
‘Please tell me you’re not in a Red Cross tent.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You know, with me in a white coat, all sort of Godlike, syringe in hand, orderly ranks of Nicaraguan folk before me in fun, ethnic dress, awaiting their serum from handsome Dr Palmer and his assistant, attractive Nurse Dewy-Eye who’s gazing up at him adoringly? Please tell me you’re not there?’
I flushed. ‘Well …’
‘It won’t be like that,’ he said softly. He took my hand. ‘Believe me. It’s a famine, Annie. The pictures on the six o’clock news, the awful ones with processions of emaciated bodies traipsing hopelessly across the desert, close-ups of babies, their mouths besieged by flies, staring children with huge, swimming eyes, their tummies bloated with air, gazing blankly at the cameras: those are the sanitized ones. The ones they feel we can stomach in our sitting rooms. The ones they feel they can show the Hampshire housewife who’s watching it on the little kitchen telly, stirring the gravy, awaiting her husband’s return on the si
x-twenty-two. But the ones they can’t show are far, far worse. Please don’t think you could have come and sent Flora to the village school, washed your clothes in the river and dried them on a line from the roof of your dear little rush hut. It won’t be like that.’
I hung my head. ‘But I’m delighted you considered it,’ he whispered, lifting my chin so I had to look at him. ‘Thank you. You’re so selfless, Annie. I almost think you would have done it. Married someone you didn’t love so as not to rock the boat. So as not to upset the wedding apple cart. I mean, after all, the reception’s organized, everyone’s bought presents, outfits …’
‘Except it wouldn’t have been selfless, would it?’
‘Not in the end, no. You’d have ended up resenting me, and trying to hide it, but I’d have known. And we’d have had a miserable time. No, this is the right way, Annie. I can’t say I’m letting you go with joy jumping in my heart, because I love you so much, but this is the only way.’
I gazed at him, silent. Marvelling at him. ‘What shall I tell Flora?’ I whispered eventually. ‘The truth. You’d be amazed at how much straight-talking kids can take, and she may not be all that surprised, either.’ He swallowed. ‘It … goes without saying that I’m very fond of Flora, Annie. And I’d hate never to …’ He tipped his head back, inhaled deeply.
‘Oh, we’ll see you often!’ I cried. ‘Stay the best of friends, write to you, keep in touch –’ I broke off, horrified. Keep in touch! The man I’d loved, who so recently had been the core of my universe, the pivot in my world, who I’d been due to marry in a matter of weeks?
Suddenly I lost control. I was overcome with tears which seized their chance and fled hot and salty down my face. David held out his arms and I clung to him as we mourned what we’d nearly had.
After a while though, after much nose-blowing and reassuring nods at each other and exchanging of shaky smiles, he patted my hand. I knew it was my signal to go. I stuffed my hanky up my sleeve, sniffing. Clinging on.
‘But where will you go?’ I whispered. ‘I mean, after here?’
‘I’ll go to Gertrude’s for a bit. She’ll love having me to fuss over, to look after. And I’ll sell the flat and go abroad as soon as I can. I’m looking forward to it. Really, Annie.’ He smiled.
And actually, I sensed that he was. That beyond all of this, like hills rising beyond hills, there was a kind of optimism, which, given the right conditions, would spark out of the darkness of such desperate events. And although I felt stricken that he’d felt he’d reached the end of all hope, had succumbed to total despair and was lying here now, I felt relieved too. Because a new life would course through him, unlike any previous life. I hoped it would enable him to embrace whatever was current and possible, and not to grieve for what had passed. Be his true survival strategy. I squeezed his hand.
‘Go on,’ he whispered. ‘Before I change my mind. Before I beg you to stay and marry me and have babies with me. Before I chain you to me with rows of nappies and tiny hands clutching at your skirt. Go on. Get out of here.’ He smiled. It was an anointing smile.
I managed a watery one back. Then I leaned across, kissed his forehead very gently, hovered for a moment, and left.
Chapter Twenty-five
I sat in my car in the hospital car park for a long while, my head resting on the wheel. It was tempting to wallow in emotion, in profound regret for what we’d lost, David and I, and I sat there, waiting for it to happen, waiting to feel bereft. Instead, as I lifted my head at last, something else flooded through me: something that felt profoundly like relief – albeit guilty relief – yet it was there, as assuredly as if the dam gates were bursting and the water gushing out. In fact, the knowledge that I’d done completely the right thing back there came to me with such resounding clarity that I was faintly shocked. Not that I’d actually done anything, I realized with another guilty pang as I switched on the engine. It was David; all David’s doing. Letting me go, cutting the ropes, giving me an out – and he’d been right, timorous creature that I was, I might not have gone of my own accord; might have shuffled along, sheep-like, with all the arrangements if he hadn’t taken the whip hand. Anything to keep the peace.
Except – I swung out into the busy main road – except no. No, I wouldn’t have, actually. In my heart I knew I couldn’t have gone through with it. Would have put a stop to it eventually, but probably right at the last minute, much too late, of course. At the altar, no doubt: nice and dramatic, running back down the aisle, veil flying, tossing my posy, making things far, far worse. And the reason I couldn’t have gone through with it – this, again, came to me with all the subtlety of the Rank gong – was because the force driving Matt and me together was already far too strong. We were already too deeply in … what? Was it love? I nearly drove off the road. Yes. Yes, that was it. I’d fallen in love.
Swallowing hard but feeling horribly euphoric, I beetled off down the Fulham Road towards the M4. Towards the sun. If any sense at all prevailed, everything told me that after a four-hour drive from Devon I shouldn’t even be contemplating doing the same again plus another hour to Cornwall, and should be heading for my home around the corner to spend the night before setting off the next morning. I dithered for a moment at the junction to my road. OK. I’d pop home and collect the post, I decided, but that was all. There’d be no sensible overnight stay. I hadn’t fallen slowly and judiciously in love with Matt, I’d fallen headlong and impulsively, and in the same manner did I joyously swing the wheel to flit – only very briefly – home.
The familiar road was dry and dusty, suffering in the late July heat, and on my doorstep the geraniums and petunias wilted forlornly in the sun. As I went in, the mustiness closed around me like a shawl: the fug of a forgotten townhouse in summer. It all looked so small, so dingy. Familiar, but in a long ago, regretful sort of way. It made me feel sad. I stooped on the mat to collect the sea of post, then went down the passage into the kitchen. A coffee cup David had used was in the sink, and I gulped when I saw one of his cashmere sweaters hanging over the back of a chair. It seemed to me the arm waved reproachfully at me. No doubt he would come in and pick up his things when I was away, I thought. Yes. Much easier. A clean break, no fuss. I clenched my fists. So clinical after all we’d … No. Not down that sentimental path, Annie. That way nostalgia lay, not my heart.
I had a quick glass of water then headed purposefully back outside, double locking the front door behind me and walking to the car. Another great wave of relief washed over me. Made me stop still in the street, actually. Because it was true, I was secretly pleased it would all be cleared out while I was away. Pleased that I’d come back to find all trace of him gone. How callous was that? Except the thought of being there on my own again filled me with another sort of dread. Would I, though? Would I be on my own? Surely not. Or was I imagining more with Matt than there really was?
My mobile rang as I drove off down the road, cutting into my thoughts.
‘How is he, love?’
It was Mum. ‘He’s … fine, Mum. Fine. Recovering.’
‘And you?’
‘Yes, I’m OK, too. We’ve sorted everything out. There …’ I faltered. Licked my lips and started again. ‘There isn’t going to be a wedding.’
She paused. ‘I thought not.’
We were silent a moment. She knew. Didn’t have to ask. The details would come later. If necessary.
‘And how do you feel?’
‘Well, the awful thing is, I feel rather relieved.’
‘Not awful,’ she said slowly. ‘The only awful thing is realizin’ how quietly influenced you’ve been. Not maliciously, in David’s case, but influenced, none the less. But you don’t realize that until they’ve gone. Then you feel … liberated.’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s just what I feel,’ I said, surprised.
We were silent another moment, each considering the other’s life. I felt suddenly still and soothed. Something deep inside me relaxed.
‘How’s Flor
a?’ I asked at length. ‘Well, that’s what I was ringin’ to tell you, love. She went off with Clare, back to Rock. Clare had a lovely night out with Michael by all accounts last night, very starry-eyed she was at the breakfast table this mornin’, very unlike Clare. I don’t know what their bust-up was about, but it’s done them the world of good. Anyway, she couldn’t wait to get back this mornin’, and she took Flora with her to stay with the cousins. We didn’t know how long you’d be, love, and Flora seemed keen enough, and we weren’t sure what to do for the best. An’ I thought: Well, if you was heading back to Cornwall, silly to make a detour here. Flora’s got your bags an’ that, so you’ll need to pick her up first …’ She sounded anxious.
‘No no, quite right, Mum. You were right. I would have been going back there. I need to … sort some things out.’
‘I thought as much,’ she said. ‘Well. Good luck. I hope he’s worth it. Hope you’ve got it right this time.’
I stared into the receiver. My mum. My wise old mum. ‘He is,’ I breathed. ‘Yes, I have got it right, Mum.’
It was a long drive but I didn’t mind. In fact I felt quite energized, and concentrated on driving well and fast, and overtaking a lot instead of sitting lazily in the middle lane as I usually did. I was certainly tired – I’d driven miles already that morning – but there’s a kind of tired you can get that has its own energy. Its own momentum. I was hungry too, and suddenly glad of the sandwiches and coffee Mum had packed and which I hadn’t been able to face on the way up, but polished off now with alacrity. Finally, just as the evening sun was setting and the sky turning a dusty pink, I rounded a bend in a country lane, and there was the sea, stretching out in a huge expanse before me.
When I got to Clare’s house in Trebetherick, all was quiet. In the peaceful cul-de-sac on the hill overlooking the beach, the little white bungalow – one of so many in a grid, which every year packed families in, Tardis-like – was empty. The back door was open though, so I went in and almost tripped over. Buckets and spades littered the sandy kitchen floor, and surfboards and wet towels were draped decoratively on the table. Through in the sitting room, wetsuits lay strewn across the floor like headless black corpses in the aftermath of some terrible uprising, and all the beds were unmade, I noticed, as I wandered from room to room, stepping over piles of dirty washing. I was impressed. In all the time Clare had been taking this house I’d never seen it submerged in such glorious two fingers existence, and yet Clare had beaten me back here: I could see her overnight bag dumped on her bed. She’d had time to clear up. Progress, I thought with a wry smile as I went out into the garden through the open French windows. Definitely progress.
The Wedding Day Page 33