Love Until It Hurts

by Fiona Blakemore

  ‘Listen, guys. Would you mind if I went upstairs for a lie-down? You’re very welcome to stay, but I feel exhausted.’

  Val and Mike look at each other. ‘Of course not. Do you want us to stay?’

  ‘No, the kids need you. I’ll be okay, honestly.’

  ‘Maybe we better get going then,’ says Val, standing up and gathering her things. ‘But will you ring me tonight? After you’ve spoken to the hospital?’

  ‘Yeah. I will’ Ruth nods and she walks ahead of them to open the front door.

  There’s a man walking up the path. Medium build. Close-cropped hair. The crisp contours of a suit poking out from under a waxed jacket. As he approaches her, he holds out his hand.

  ‘Dr. Cooper? Afternoon. My name is Detective Sergeant James Macmillan. I’m your Family Liaison Officer.’ He takes her hand. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’ He stands aside, allowing Val and Mike to pass, then bends down and picks up a bunch of flowers, which has been left on the doorstep.

  ‘May I come in?’

  38

  Ruth

  James Macmillan has trustworthy eyes. The colour and shape of almonds, they remind Ruth of Winston, the chocolate Labrador she had as a child. She can hear the smile in his soft Scottish accent.

  ‘Do you mind if I take off my jacket?’ he asks and, without waiting for a reply, he peels off his Barbour and places it on the back of a chair. A tin rattles to the floor and, as he bends down to retrieve the box of mints, Ruth notices the fingertips of a blue latex glove poking out from one of his jacket pockets.

  ‘Excuse the state of the kitchen,’ says Ruth, ‘and me, for that matter,’ looking down at her grubby sweatshirt and the detergent-stained jogging pants she’s used as a towel, every time she dries her hands. ‘I’ve probably had about four hours sleep in the last twenty four.’

  He shoots her a look which says he’s seen it all before.

  ‘Rob Collins mentioned you,’ she says. ‘But is it usual to have a FLO, when I’m not “family”?’

  His smile widens slightly, just enough to reveal an asymmetry of his upper teeth. He places his phone and a leather organiser on the table.

  ‘The hospital had your details. You were named as an emergency contact in Mr. Peterson’s personal effects. Plus, his last recorded phone call was with you.’ He clears his throat and averts his eyes, leaving Ruth to wonder if his last sentence was intended.

  Her cheeks feel hot. His phone. Why hadn’t they given her that?

  ‘As you know,’ he continues, ‘there’ll be an inquest because of the road traffic collision.’ He pauses, and looks at her intently. ‘Dr. Cooper, I want you to know that I’m here to help you, while that investigation is underway.’

  She nods. It’s not often she gets called Dr. Cooper, when out of the surgery, but at least he’s treating her as a fellow professional. They’re on the same wavelength. They talk the same language.

  ‘You’ll probably see quite a bit of me in the next few weeks,’ he continues gently, ‘so if you have any questions or worries please make me your first point of contact.’ He extracts a card from the inside pocket of his suit, and slides it over the table. ‘My phone number.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I expect you have lots of questions.’

  ‘I’m curious as to how the system works, when there’s an inquest.’

  ‘Of course. Perhaps if you’d care to tell me a little bit about Mr. Peterson, I can-’

  ‘Dominic.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘His name is Dominic.’

  She has tried so hard to stay calm and in control, but now she can feel the tears welling, and her voice wavering.

  ‘Of course,’ says James Macmillan, softly. ‘Dominic.’

  They sit in silence and the air feels swollen with hurt. Outside, the spiny branches of a pyrocantha bob in the breeze, scratching the corner of the kitchen window, like an unwelcome visitor. In the corner of her vision a blue tit taps on the window, then flies away. Her eyes sting and her mouth feels dry. Ruth stands up and walks over to the kitchen counter. She tears off a large piece of kitchen roll and blows her nose vehemently. She needs to stay calm, focussed.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asks, lifting the kettle and wheeling round to face James Macmillan.

  ‘Sure, that would be great. Thanks.’

  She gives him a half-hearted smile. ‘If I start at the very beginning, this account could take a long time. Oh, and please call me Ruth.’

  ‘Whenever you’re ready, Ruth. And I’m James, although most people know me as Mac.’

  Mac. He reminds her of Jimmy McBride, one of her University lecturers. Empathetic with his patients, popular with his students. She hands Mac a cup of tea and pulls up a chair opposite. After half an hour Ruth realises she has given him lots of information but, to Mac’s credit, it has felt like a friendly, informal chat. He puts down his pen, and moves his chair back.

  ‘Thanks, Ruth. I better get going. I expect you’ll be tired. Is there anything I’ve forgotten, that you’d like to ask me?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Her mind feels cluttered.

  ‘In that case, there’s just something else before I go. Firstly may I have the keys to Dominic’s house, please? I need to go round and make an inspection, maybe remove his computer etc. It’ll only be temporary and it’s part of our evidence gathering for the Coroner. I’m sure you understand. All his personal effects, such as his wallet and phone will be returned to you in due course.’

  Ruth lifts a weighty key-ring from the work-top and hands it over. ‘Of course. Here you go.’

  ‘And secondly…um… your phone. Would you mind if I took it to run some checks? It won’t take long. I can drop it round to you later today or you can come with me to the police station and wait while it’s done.’

  ‘My phone? Why do you need that?’

  ‘Just routine checks. We’ve established that Mr. Peterson’s last phone call was with you. It just helps build up a timeline for the Coroner.’

  Ruth looks at the clock on the cooker. Two forty. She can’t face a trip to the police station. ‘What time could I have it back?’

  ‘In a couple of hours I reckon.’

  Ruth feels weary. ‘Always happy to help the police with their enquiries,’ she says, handing over the phone. ‘Put it through the letter box later. I’m going to bed.’

  He stands up, lifts his coat from the chair and slips the phone into his pocket. ‘Thanks. Remember, call me if you have any queries.’

  Ruth sees him out. As she watches his white BMW disappear she wonders if she’s done the right thing. Dominic’s keys? Is it usual to ask for the keys to the victim’s property? And to ask for her phone? Regret stings her. She should have gone with him. Still, what harm can it do?

  She goes back into the kitchen and straightens the kitchen chairs, but there’s something caught under a chair leg. Bending down, she extracts a small aerosol can which must have rolled under the table, when Mac dropped his mints. She scrutinises the label. Pepper spray. She reminds herself that she’s dealing with a professional. Although he feels like a friend.

  39

  Ruth

  The silver Honda comes out of nowhere, cutting across the right side of her vision, as she pulls out of the parking space. She slams on the brakes. The driver swerves, clipping her wing mirror. The single, continuous blast of his horn reverberates in her head, as her engine splutters and stalls. She restarts the car, her sweaty fingers clamped round the steering wheel, then pulls away into the busy line of traffic. Her headaches have got worse over the last few days. Her scalp feels as if it’s shrinking into a tight cap over her skull. Fortunately the nausea and dizziness have disappeared. She just needs to remain focussed.

  At the surgery a jam-jar of yellow, pink and orange gerbera has been placed on her desk, it
s neck decorated with pink gingham ribbon. Its unsophisticated simplicity is touching, adding a welcome vitality to the otherwise drab surroundings.

  ‘They’re from my garden,’ says Ginny, as she places a mug of coffee on Ruth’s desk, then stoops to give her a hug. ‘Lesley has swapped her Baby Clinic for your Emergency Duty this afternoon, by the way.’ Ruth notices how she stops short of saying ‘We thought it would be easier for you’ and she’s grateful. She should be finished by four, and she can drop into the Children’s Hospital on her way home.

  She’d received a mixed response when she turned up at work on Monday morning. Some of the receptionists had greeted her with smiles, then busied themselves with jobs. Others avoided eye contact. Paul Franklin phoned her over the weekend saying he wasn’t expecting her at work, but how could she let her colleagues down? Besides, what else was she to do if she didn’t go in? Bella was in hospital. And Dominic was… Dominic was…yes, she needed to keep busy. It focused her on tasks that she could achieve, rather than allowing her to dwell on events that couldn’t be changed.

  Monday evening had been the hardest of all. Bella had been taken off the ventilator, and moved to the children’s ward over the weekend. Shaba Elmahdy was waiting for Ruth. Bella needed to be told about her father, she stressed, before she started to ask, ‘Where’s Daddy? When’s he coming back?’

  ‘Breaking bad news,’ thought Ruth, the tutorial we had as final year medical students, during our General Practice placement. But it hadn’t prepared her for this. Both women went into the cubicle where Bella was lying. Bella opened her eyes, as her curtains swished back, and gave a lopsided smile on recognising Ruth. There was no skirting round the truth. Bella needed to know the facts. But the sight of her jerked Ruth’s emotions to the extent that she mouthed to Shaba, ‘I can’t do this,’ and her eyes filled with tears. Instead she took off her shoes and jacket and climbed into bed with Bella, placing an arm round her shoulder. She could feel the heat from Bella’s head, as Bella leant back into Ruth’s chest.

  ‘Bella,’ said Shaba, resting her hand on Bella’s blanket. ‘I have to tell you some very sad news.’ Ruth could feel Bella’s muscles tensing, as she clutched her toy kangaroo. ‘I’m afraid Daddy has been in an accident, and he died.’ Ruth stifled a breath, as Shaba stroked Bella’s hand. The paediatrician waited for a reaction but there was none. ‘I’m very sorry to tell you this sad news, Bella,’ Shaba repeated slowly, ‘but your Daddy has died.’

  In the silence that followed Ruth tightened her grip on Bella, as her own vision blurred with tears. She twisted round to face Bella.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ said Ruth, fighting back the tears. Bella stared at her, unblinking.

  ‘It’s okay to cry, Ruth,’ Bella said, lifting strands of hair off Ruth’s face. ‘It’s okay to cry.’

  The words chimed like the sound of broken crockery. Then Bella burst into tears and they held each other tight.

  Thinking about it now causes the tears to well again. She looks down at her phone. A voicemail earlier, from Mac, and now a text.

  Please advise good time to call, or arrange visit.

  What could he possibly want? She doesn’t need any more sympathy at the moment.

  She dials the number for the Children’s Hospital and asks to be put through to Bella’s ward. The clerk is non-committal when Ruth asks how Bella is, so she asks to speak to a nurse. Bella is going for an X ray later in the afternoon, she’s told, so Ruth decides to defer her visit until the evening. A draught from the door catches her, and a movement at the corner of her eye-line.

  ‘Your door was open,’ says Paul Franklin, his white-haired countenance appearing round the door frame, ‘although I did knock.’

  She smiles. ‘Morning, Paul. Come in, have a seat.’

  ‘I won’t, thanks,’ he says, leaning back against the examination couch, so that he’s almost perched on the edge of it. ‘I just came in to see how you are. The words may seem inadequate at a time like this, but I just want you to know we’re all thinking of you and we’re behind you all the way.’

  Paul always knows exactly what to say. She remembers the party that was organised for the practice staff and their families last Christmas. He arrived with two little boys in tow, who looked to be about five and seven. She’d been about to ask him if they were his grandchildren but she heard the younger one addressing him as ‘Daddy.’ Later, Ginny told her that Paul’s first wife died of cancer sixteen years ago, leaving him as a single parent to three teenagers. Nine years ago he found happiness again and remarried. She looks again at the benevolent demeanour, the empathetic eyes, and has so much respect for this family doctor. He’s experienced the rawness of life, over the past forty years, both professionally and personally.

  ‘I appreciate it, Paul. I’m doing okay, thanks.’

  ‘And the other thing to tell you,’ Paul continues, ‘is that I’ve organised a locum for you. Starting on Monday.’

  The gratitude she felt a few moments ago now recedes, like water vanishing down a plughole.

  ‘It’s not necessary. I can manage, really.’

  ‘I know you can,’ he says softly, ‘but that’s not the point. You’ve got more than enough to contend with at the moment.’ He walks over to her and squeezes her arm. ‘There’s no pressure on you to undertake any of your surgery commitments. We can play it by ear, but I want you to take as long as you need.’ Then he taps her arm and is gone.

  She sits in stunned solitude. Is she not trusted to do a good job? People used to call her capable. Her parents. Her friends. ‘If you want something done, ask Ruth,’ they would say. ‘She can always be relied upon.’

  She feels utterly wretched. And alone. Shit happens. Yes. But she’s had it in shovel loads in the last six months. It’s time to be selfish. She picks up the phone to return Mac’s call.

  40

  Ruth

  The café across the road from the hospital is quiet. While she waits for Mac she lifts up a newspaper on the adjoining table. She flicks through the pages then returns to the headline on the front page. Tragic tot survives crash it reads, but she stares at it for several minutes before it sinks in. Underneath is a picture of the mangled wreckage of a black BMW; in another shot, a bouquet of flowers tied to a tree, just visible above the blue and white police tape. She wonders who left them. Sadness cloaks her. There’s a photo of Dominic on page two, but she has to read the caption several times to realise that it’s him. It must have been taken over ten years ago when he was working in London, because the text describes how he previously escaped an IRA bomb blast at the Stock Exchange in 1990. She stares at a younger version of the Dominic she knows, and curses him. Why had he kept so many things from her? And why does he have the audacity to look back at her, with the confidence of someone in the prime of life?

  She checks her watch. From her window seat she spots Mac paying the taxi driver, then skirting round traffic as he crosses the road. He looks pre-occupied when he enters, patting the pockets of his blazer, then bringing out his phone, checking it, then placing it in his inside pocket. She waves and he acknowledges her with a smile.

  ‘Hey, Ruth. Good to see you. I’m sorry I’m late.’

  Ruth wonders if his excuses for being late might mirror hers: a case conference that went on longer than expected, an urgent phone call from a relative, an unexpected death, but, other than an apology, no explanation is given for his delay. He takes his phone out of his jacket again, then places it on the table in front of them. He doesn’t look like a policeman today. He’s wearing jeans with a white shirt and stone coloured blazer. He could be an estate agent, or an insurance broker, or someone on a blind date. Only the close-cropped hair, and the eyes that continually scan the café, give him away.

  ‘Would you like another one?’ he says, gesturing towards her coffee cup.

  ‘Sure. Decaf cappuccino, thanks.’

 
He returns with two cups of coffee and sits down.

  ‘What’s the latest on Bella? How is she?’

  He says this, Ruth is convinced, by way of polite conversation. She feels sure he will be keeping tabs on her improvement.

  ‘She’s making progress, but I’m not going in till later. She’s having an X ray this afternoon. She knows about Dominic, poor little girl.’ Her fingers drum out her anxiety on the table top. ‘Will anyone be speaking to her about the accident?’

  ‘Yes, for sure, but only when the time is right. And you can rest assured that it’ll be handled sensitively. Just to keep you up to date on the Social Services front I’ve spoken to Brenda Madingley. She says she knows you.’

  ‘Brenda? Yes. I‘ve come across her at work, but she came out to visit Dominic a few weeks ago.’

  ‘She’s been assigned to Bella’s case, as part of the Duty Assessment Team. I’ll text you her number. She wants to arrange a meeting with you as part of her initial viability assessments. She wondered if you could give her a ring.’

  ‘Her what, sorry?’

  ‘It’s a formality. She needs to make initial inquiries and carry out assessments to determine what will happen when Bella leaves hospital. Anyway, it’s early days. There’ll be plenty of time to revisit this in the days and weeks ahead.’ He sits back and studies her. ‘What about you? How have you been doing?’

  ‘Signed off work.’

  ‘Really? Probably a good thing, yeah?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I prefer to keep busy. The practice has organised a locum to cover my work indefinitely. It seems I don’t have much say in the matter.’

  ‘Why? How long have you been there?’

  ‘About nine months. It makes me feel a bit insecure, to be honest. I did my GP training here then went to Melbourne for a couple of years. Took this job when I came back.’

  Mac’s face folds into a smile. ‘Small world. I was in Melbourne ten years ago. Had a career break when I came out of the Red Caps.’