by K. L. Slater
She unfolds her arms and the smirk slides from her face. ‘Judi, I hope you’re not offended. I … I’m just thinking of you. I’m sure you’ve got enough to do at home.’
I can’t say anything for fear of bursting into tears. My knees feel like jelly as I walk past her. Part of me wants to throttle her for changing everything I know and love, while the other part longs to reach out to the person my son is replacing me with and explain how I am feeling. But I know instinctively that would be a mistake. Louise she is not, and I’ll just sound like a sad, paranoid woman.
‘I’m not offended,’ I manage, forcing myself to breathe. I reach into my handbag and pull out the car keys. ‘If you want to sort out the ironing yourself from now on, that’s absolutely fine. I’ll pick the boys up from school as usual today and take them back to mine.’
There is no way I’m coming back here with Noah and Josh like I usually do, to feel like an intruder in my own son’s home.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ she says when I get to the door. ‘Then that’s perfect.’
I don’t turn around and look at her again. I just let myself out and make sure I close the door softly behind me.
Once I’m safely in the car, I drive away immediately, in case she’s watching out of the window. But once I’m round the corner, I pull over and sit there, just for a few minutes, until I get my breath back.
I try to swallow down the unpleasant sensation – I can only describe it as a sort of unease – that’s lurking in my bones. An unnerving background buzz that makes me feel like I’m teetering on the edge of panic.
The normality I have gathered around me like a fortress is beginning to slowly crumble, and there’s not a thing I can do but hold on tight and hope for the best.
18
Amber
Amber watched Judi leave in that huffy way she had.
When the car disappeared off down the street, she popped back upstairs to finish putting a few bits into her handbag for the journey she had in front of her.
A smile played on her mouth as she reached for her cardigan. The look on Judi’s face when she’d found her here was one of pure shock and indignation. The older woman was clearly outraged that Amber was riding roughshod over her nice, organised little family life.
She’d only just got back in the house when Judi arrived. She’d been into town nice and early to buy some clothes and one or two other interesting bits that made her smile.
She hadn’t expected to see Henry, but as it turned out, it had been more than a stroke of luck.
Amber realised that moving the iron without prior permission was obviously pure genius on her part. At one stage during the altercation that ensued, she’d honestly thought Judi was going to burst into tears.
She’d had no idea that such small acts of militancy would have such a powerful effect, but she intended to capitalise on it from now on.
Fifteen minutes later, she was driving through the city towards Junction 26 of the M1, which would eventually take her up north to the care home she so hated visiting.
She dreamed of the time she wouldn’t have to travel up there any more. That distant day when she would reach her long-awaited goal of finally putting the past to rest and enjoying a fresh start somewhere else with her new family.
But there was a hell of a lot of work to be done before then.
Everything was coming together nicely, and without even realising it, Henry Jukes had just given her a little extra boost.
There had been an accident on the motorway and one of the lanes was closed, so the journey to Stocksbridge had stretched close to two hours by the time Amber pulled into the small gravelled car park of Sunbeam Lodge.
She got out of the car and stood for a moment looking at the crumbling facade of the building, the rotten, splintering window frames and the gaps in the roof tiles like missing teeth. This place was the polar opposite of a sunbeam, she thought wryly.
She signed the visitor book in the porch and tapped the four-digit number into the security keypad. The door clicked open and she stepped into the building, holding her breath as long as she could before she was forced to inhale the dreaded smell of boiled cabbage and pee.
She walked quickly, nodding to a member of staff she’d seen a few times previously but never spoken to as she made her way down the corridor to her mother’s room.
She could hear someone crying out repeatedly somewhere in the distance, and she passed an old man, oblivious to her presence, who was having an animated conversation with an invisible friend.
Familiar feelings of doom and hopelessness filled her. Was this all there was? All that life added up to in the end?
Her mother hadn’t been lucky. She’d suffered a lot of heartache, choosing a husband who turned out to be nothing but a no-good bastard. That, on top of the tragedy that had blighted all their lives and almost finished her off … and now here she was, half mad and stuck in Sunbeam Lodge until the end of her days.
Except if Amber’s plans came to fruition, she wouldn’t be stuck here indefinitely. Amber would ensure she found a better place for her mother to live out her days, somewhere closer to home. It was the least she could do, despite her mother’s ambivalence towards her.
The door was ajar and Amber pushed it open to find the old woman sitting in the single straight-backed chair by the window, looking out over the car park.
‘Hello, Mum.’ She left the door slightly open for air and walked over, bending to give her mother a kiss on her cheek.
‘Kathryn?’ whispered the old woman as she turned, her face lighting up.
‘No, it’s me, Mum. Amber.’
‘I knew you’d come.’ Her mother smiled and laid a cool, crinkled hand on Amber’s cheek. ‘Don’t send your sister here again, she’s up to no good. I can tell just by looking at her. Amber’s not a good girl like you are.’
Amber stared out at the grey clouds while her mother mumbled on, waiting until she fell quiet again before speaking.
‘Shall I read to you, Mum?’
‘That would be lovely, Kathryn. Thank you.’
She opened the book and went back to Chapter One. She only ever read Chapter One, because her mother was beyond remembering enough for her to carry on any further.
‘Which book is it?’ her mother asked.
‘Your favourite, of course.’ Amber smiled. ‘Oliver Twist.’
‘Charles Dickens,’ her mother whispered in awe, her eyes growing vague. ‘London. Can we go one day soon, Kathryn? To London?’
‘One day we will, Mum.’ Amber nodded. ‘Soon you’ll be away from this place and you’ll have your very own little boy, just like Oliver. I’ll bring him soon, a boy to keep you company on my visits.’
19
Judi
Next morning, I’m the first to arrive at work, so I turn on the heaters, open the blinds and make the coffee. I hear the back door open and Maura bustles into the little kitchenette behind reception.
‘Horrible drizzly weather.’ She shivers, shrugging off her damp mac and hanging it on the back of the door. ‘Supposed to be spring, too. Bring the coffees through, Jude, I’ve got some goss.’
I turn to the fridge to get the milk and secretly roll my eyes. Maura is a kind, generous woman but she is also a terrible gossip. Sadly, not the best attribute for someone who works in a GPs’ surgery.
I take our drinks through and we sit together at the front desk. I can see a cluster of our early patients already outside the main door canopy, but we’ve another fifteen minutes before the surgery opens.
‘You’ll never guess what’s wrong with Fiona Bonser.’ Maura’s eyes widen. ‘No wonder she was so desperate to see a doctor yesterday.’
‘Oh Maura, you haven’t been snooping again, have you?’ I shake my head.
‘Are you kidding? Nosing at the patient records is what gets me through the day.’ She pauses to take a tentative sip of her hot coffee. ‘Do you want to know, or not?’
I throw her a disapproving lo
ok.
‘Don’t you look at me like that,’ she scolds. ‘It’s worth it, I promise.’
When I sigh, exasperated, Maura leans forward.
‘She had lacerations on her inner thighs and internal bruising,’ she hisses. ‘Work that one out.’
‘Sounds awful.’ I frown. ‘I wonder what—’
‘Rough sex, of course!’ She sits back again, pressing her lips together in disapproval. ‘Come on, it hardly takes Hercule Poirot to figure out what caused it.’
‘What?’
‘What are you, a nun?’ She glances round to make sure none of the doctors are lurking. ‘There’s only one way to get those kinds of injuries. The dirty cow.’
‘Maura!’
‘What? If you don’t believe me, I can show you Dr Fielder’s notes.’ She flicks on the computer monitor.
‘No, I do believe you,’ I say hastily. ‘I just mean it sounds awful. Painful. But we don’t know how it happened, so we shouldn’t judge her.’
Maura shakes her head slowly. ‘There really is no hope for you, Judi. Naïve isn’t a strong enough word.’
‘I’m not stupid,’ I say, biting down on my back teeth. ‘I know how it must’ve happened. What I mean is, the poor girl seemed pretty desperate to see the doctor yesterday, so she was probably in pain. She could’ve been attacked or anything, we just don’t know.’
‘Hmm, I suppose so. I didn’t think of that.’ Maura presses a few buttons on the keyboard and peers at the screen. ‘Dr Fielder has written here, “Patient reluctant to discuss injuries.”’
I stand up and pick up the coffee cups.
‘She could be reluctant to discuss them for a number of reasons, I’m sure. Not an easy subject to broach with your family doctor.’
Maura presses another button and Fiona’s records disappear from the screen.
‘You’re no fun, Judi Jukes, do you know that?’ she grumbles, sliding back her chair. ‘I’m going to sort through some of those old archived records in the back office this morning. Will you be OK out here on your own for a bit?’
‘Course,’ I say, taking the cups back into the kitchen.
‘Just give me a shout if you need anything,’ Maura says. ‘I’ll open the doors now, let the sick in to be healed.’
I smile to myself. It’s a good job I know Maura’s heart is in the right place, despite some of the unethical things she says and does.
The morning progresses as usual. I check patients in, issue repeat prescriptions and answer the phone, mainly to inform callers that, regrettably, there are no free appointments now until Friday afternoon.
My heart sinks when the famously cantankerous Mr Lewis appears in front of me.
‘I need to see the doctor sharpish, duck.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Lewis. We’ve no appointments left this morning, but there’s a sit-and-wait surgery on between four and six this afternoon if you’d like to come back then.’
My breath feels a little jagged in my chest as I silently urge Mr Lewis to accept my suggestion.
‘I can’t wait till then.’ He leans forward as if he’s going to speak in confidence, but he doesn’t lower his voice. ‘That fungal infection between my toes, it’s back.’
Unfortunately, I know all about the fungal infection thanks to Maura reading out the doctor’s description of the symptoms after Mr Lewis’s last appointment. Several patients are staring, evidently waiting for my reaction. I feel a ridiculous urge to run away into the back office.
‘I’m sorry, as I say, there are no—’
‘It’s gone all crusty and yellow pus is oozing out. It’s agony to walk on.’ Nearby patients grimace at each other as he begins to stoop down. ‘If I can just get this sock off, I can show you how bad it—’
‘No!’ I raise my hand in a stop sign. ‘Not out here, Mr Lewis, thank you. Wait here a moment, please.’
I walk over to the back office door and tap. When there’s no answer, I push open the door and peer round. Maura is in there, knee deep in old patient files.
‘Maura?’
‘Whatever’s wrong?’ She looks alarmed. ‘Gosh, you’re sweating buckets, Jude.’
‘Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got Mr Lewis and his fungal infection in reception.’ I pause to take a breath, fanning my face with a hand. ‘I’ve told him there are no appointments, but he’s threatening to get his foot out to show me how bad it is.’
Maura grins. ‘Is that all? You shouldn’t get yourself all het up over that old goat. Don’t worry, I’ll sort it.’ She disappears down the short corridor leading to the nurse’s treatment room.
I stand for a moment relishing the quiet privacy of this small room, away from all the prying eyes in reception. It feels like I’m going crazy. On one level I know I’ve completely overreacted, but on another, thanks to the reading list Dr Fern gave me, I recognise it’s just a symptom; a flash of anxiety that will soon pass.
When I feel ready, I return to my desk and ask Mr Lewis to take a seat while I deal with the short queue of patients that has already formed behind him.
Two minutes later, Maura is back, and thankfully I’m feeling slightly more in control.
‘Nurse is going to take a quick look at you, Mr Lewis,’ she says briskly. ‘But if you want to see the doctor then I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later and wait like everyone else.’
Mr Lewis shuffles to the nurse appointment chairs and I turn to Maura.
‘Sorry about that,’ I say. ‘I just had one of my moments.’
She smiles and pats me lightly on the shoulder.
‘No worries, Jude. Mr Lewis is enough to give anyone a funny turn.’
A funny turn? It’s an accurate description but a worrying one. I don’t want Maura thinking I’m not up to the job any more. She can’t have people having funny turns on the surgery reception desk, can she?
My job is important to me and I need to buck my ideas up. Enough is changing in my life without it affecting work. I feel needed here. Valued.
I don’t like the sense I’ve had just lately that the ground underneath me is starting to shift.
20
Judi
When I next glance up at the wall clock, I’m shocked to see it’s already noon. That’s the thing I love about this job: no two days are the same and you never know what’s coming through the door. Sometimes it can be challenging, but generally, time flies and it’s never boring.
I find myself wondering what the boys are doing at school today. They break for lunch at twelve fifteen, so right now, they’ll be just finishing off their last lesson of the morning.
Ben has a staff meeting every Wednesday, so he’ll be picking Noah and Josh up from our house a little later than usual. It’s much nicer now that I bring them straight here, rather than risking another unpleasant altercation with Amber.
If the weather clears up, we can go to the park before tea, and if Henry is around he’ll take a football and the three of them will have a kickabout on the grass next to the play area.
In no time at all, it’s time to go. I do a brief handover with Carole, the afternoon receptionist, and after saying goodbye to Maura, I leave work.
The surgery is a thirty-five-minute walk from home, so I often use that opportunity to get a bit of exercise in rather than use the car. I’ve never been terribly overweight; food has always been something I enjoy vicariously through others rather than for myself. A combination of eating sensibly and keeping fairly active has kept me just a few pounds above my fighting weight.
But the last few years has seen a persistent and unwelcome padding settle around my middle, which I’ve so far been completely unable to shift through diet or by stepping up my exercise. Another joy of middle age; the fun just keeps on coming.
This morning, I got the bus into work, as I’d checked the weather and knew it was forecast to brighten up later, enabling me to walk home. In my coat and scarf, I’m perfectly comfortable and the drizzle has thankfully stopped now so I find I don’t need
my umbrella after all.
The sun is making a valiant attempt to break through the thick cloud cover but it hasn’t quite managed it yet. Nevertheless, it’s quite a bit brighter than when I stepped out of the house first thing this morning.
I take the slightly longer way home, past Broxtowe Park, where I might bring the boys later. There’s a short lull in the stream of cars passing me, and for a minute or two I can actually enjoy the birdsong in nearby trees. But then my ears twitch suddenly as I hear another noise. A sort of strange mewing sound.
I stop walking and look cautiously around me, fearful of seeing a poor injured cat at the side of the busy road, but there is nothing like that. I resume my walk and catch the noise again. A sob, a pitiful moaning.
I peer over the low hedge and into the park, and that’s when I see her. Fiona Bonser. Sitting alone on a bench, sobbing her heart out.
I pick up my pace and walk a little further down to the park entrance. The play area is deserted, with most older children being at school and younger children probably kept in because of the earlier spell of rain. The rain-spotted play equipment glistens, its primary colours incongruous against the dull grey clouds and concrete.
Over the other side of the wide expanse of grass I can see a couple of dog walkers, sticking to the narrow path and dodging the drips from overhanging leafy branches. Apart from them, there’s just Fiona here. And now, me.
She fumbles in the pocket of her thin coat and pulls out a tissue. As she blows her nose, she looks up with red, swollen eyes and sees me approaching. I watch as she visibly stiffens, sitting up straighter and pressing her knees together. Her bare, mottled legs must be freezing cold. I think about the lacerations on her inner thighs and feel incredibly guilty that I’m party to such personal information.
