by Nancy Peach
Much later that night, she was tucked up in her own bed, having got a taxi back from Simon’s modern and tastefully furnished apartment a little earlier. He was very good-looking and she was definitely attracted to him, but despite a lengthy period of kissing on his sofa she had found that her attention was flagging, and he noticed it too. He had asked her whether she was okay, made her a cup of tea, and been most chivalrous, but they both knew she wasn’t going to be leaping into bed with him that night. He called her a cab just after midnight and they had agreed to go out again the following week – there wasn’t any harm in seeing him again, after all. He was nice enough, he made her laugh, and he was the first man she’d kissed since Scott. And maybe that was part of the problem. Whenever Simon’s hand had strayed too far under her clothes, she had tensed with the knowledge that the last man who’d seen her naked had ended up in bed with someone else. This, it turned out, was not a particularly solid foundation for getting her kit off in a confident manner.
However, the upshot of all the snogging on the sofa was that she was left in a semi-aroused, slightly drunken state now that she was back home on her own. She moved her hand to between her thighs, thinking of Simon and how it had felt to kiss him, the firm pressure of his lips against hers. This worked for a time, but she was a little numbed from the alcohol and needed to move her focus. In her head she scrolled through the usual suspects: brooding actors, literary heroes, her orthopaedic registrar from medical student days, but no joy. She then turned her attention to the events of the past few weeks, trying to light on something, anything, with an erotic undercurrent. Suddenly, unbidden, an image of Edward resting against the bar earlier that evening sprang into her mind – the sensation of feeling his gaze on her, knowing he was watching her – and it took her back to that first night they met, their hands entwined, and the morning after when he’d kissed her and the world had stood still.
All at once she was there, the familiar rhythmic waves rolling up from her pelvis and a sense of relief that finally she could let go. A short but perfectly satisfying orgasm later, she lay on her back and pondered the idiosyncrasies of the human brain. She had dreamed of Edward before, of course. In fact, following their first encounter she had been able to think of little else, day or night. Her boyfriend, Pete, had realised that something had changed. She was distracted and listless, going through the motions, until she felt unable to maintain the charade any longer. She felt guilty every time Pete kissed her, every time she slept with him. Because she no longer wanted him. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted him, or anyone else, in the way she now wanted Eddie.
During those months she’d gone through every moment of that kiss in her mind, reliving it over and over again. She had woken that morning to find her hand entwined in Eddie’s and felt an exhilaration, a lightness in her chest that had never been there before. She had watched him sleeping, and when he woke a few moments later, he had pulled her towards him so that she slipped from the sofa down onto the floor, her face inches from his. Without a word, her mouth met his and within seconds their hands were scrabbling for each other’s clothes and pulling at blankets and bedding in a thirst to get their bodies closer together and then, just as suddenly, she had pulled away. A memory had echoed in her ear, a comment floating through the smoky air on her way to the toilet last night, from another person at the party, another friend of Dan’s, something about “Eddie being on the prowl again”, and the familiar doubt entered her mind – is he going to hurt me? Not physically – she had never felt safer or more certain of what her body wanted than at that very moment – but emotionally; she knew she was vulnerable, that she’d always be vulnerable. And she couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear the idea of him doing exactly what her mother had told her most men did: take what they wanted and leave without a trace. He had sensed her withdrawal almost before she’d had time to process these thoughts and had searched her face for clues.
“I have a boyfriend,” she said, pulling herself up to a seating position, readjusting her clothes. “I can’t do this.”
Eddie chewed his lip. “But this,” he gestured between the two of them. “This is different. Isn’t it? I mean, this is different for me. I thought maybe we could spend the rest of the day together and then…”
“Then what?” she said. “You’re going back to London.”
“It’s only London,” he said. “It’s not like it’s the other side of the world. We can’t just leave it like this. I can’t. I don’t want to.”
She’d pulled on her boots, unable to look at him. She’d had to get back to Pete. What was she thinking? “I’m sorry,” she’d said as she left the flat. “Tell Dan thanks for the party and tell Donna… I don’t know, that I had to get home. I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m sorry.” And she’d stumbled down the steps of the Georgian terrace, mascara streaking her cheeks. The sense of regret, of having missed out on something vital, only increased as she crossed the streets of Bristol, oblivious to the Sunday morning traffic trundling past her, and as she crashed into her own bed, her last waking thought was of him, of Eddie, and whether she might have just made the biggest mistake of her life.
Chapter Nineteen
Tess continued to see Simon over the next few weeks. They went out for dinner on two or three occasions – to nicer restaurants – and he was good company, even if she sometimes found her attention wandering. She knew they made an attractive couple, and together they drew admiring glances from passers-by, but she couldn’t help feeling that there was something missing. She confided in Kath one evening when they were tucking in to a takeaway.
“I have slept with him,” she said, “before you ask. Because I know you will.” She gave a sideways look towards Kath who was trying and failing to maintain a casual expression. “It was okay, but it wasn’t amazing, you know.”
“Got you. I know exactly what you mean. I’ve had my fair share of mediocre shags.”
“You’ve had more than your fair share of every type of shag, my friend.”
“Harsh, but accurate.”
“It’s just, it’s difficult to say why it wasn’t great. He’s nice-looking, he’s… he knows what he’s doing.”
“Well, that’s a good start. No weird kinks or fetishes? Did he want you to wrap him up in cling-film and beat him with a frying pan?”
Tess laughed and shook her head. “No.”
“And he’s not one of those blokes who totally loses their shit when they realise that women have pubes?”
“No, the existence of my pubic hair didn’t seem to be a problem – although he clearly waxes. There’s a fair amount of manscaping going on.”
“And he didn’t want you to do anything weird with your stethoscope?”
“No. Wait. What? No!” Tess choked a little on her egg-fried rice.
“Okay. Just asking,” Kath said breezily.
“It was perfectly normal, vanilla sex,” said Tess. “He’s technically proficient. Not terrified by the presence or distribution of female body hair. Adequately endowed. All fine.”
Kath tipped her chow mein onto a plate. “And he likes girls, as opposed to boys, which is a giant leap forward.”
“It is. Although we both know that it’s perfectly possible to enjoy both. But I wonder if that’s part of the problem.” Tess poked at a bamboo shoot.
“What, the fact that he’s not bisexual?”
“No!” She laughed. “The fact that my last boyfriend left me.”
“Ahhh.” Kath twirled her fork into her noodles, looking thoughtful. “Right you are.”
“It’s just, it’s hard not to think that I must be really rubbish in bed if I, you know, if sleeping with me isn’t enough for someone.”
“Tess.” Kath’s voice was firm. “It’s not your fault that Scott left you. It’s not about you being unattractive or somehow bad at sex, or any of that shit. You do know that, right?”
Tess wrinkled up her nose. “I do know that,” she said slowly. “But it’s difficult to get it
out of your head when you’ve finally got your kit off and it’s all getting a bit hot and heavy.”
“So, you were overthinking. Classic inhibitor to female arousal.”
“Yes. Yes, I probably was. But it wasn’t just that. I don’t know what the problem is. He’s handsome and he’s charming and he makes me feel good about myself, but there’s something missing. We don’t quite, you know, click.”
Kath helped herself to more noodles. “Ahh. I get you. So, it’s more like you just don’t fancy him enough. He’s a bit like Pete – nice and safe, but didn’t have much about him. Like he’s got the emotional range of a paving slab?”
“Kind of. Except he seems a bit more resilient. I hurt Pete, I think; he really was sweet and he made me feel like some kind of princess. But, yes, you’re right, there wasn’t enough to keep either of us interested long-term. I just realised it before him. In fact, I realised it after that night with Eddie.”
“Who? The fella whose mum was in the hospice?”
“Yeah.”
“The one who had no recollection of your night of romance? The same one who kicked off with you about work and that? I know you didn’t give me any details about what happened a few weeks back, but it was clear that he’d got under your skin something fierce.”
“The same. He’s the reason I dumped Pete. I realised I needed something more. Not Eddie, as it turned out – a relationship with him would have been way too much of a rollercoaster. But being with him, just for that night, made me feel, I don’t know, different.”
“He was a challenge?”
“Yes, but a challenge I felt I could handle, at least initially. Those few hours made me braver; they made me feel that I was entitled to a bit more excitement in my life, a bit more passion, I guess. My mistake, because the next bloke I fell for properly after Pete was Scott, and look how that turned out. Maybe safe and steady is the way ahead. Either that or stay single.” She flopped back onto the sofa. “I can’t be doing with the drama.”
Kath looked up from her food. “Oh, you say that, but we all know that’s a load of old bollocks. Everyone needs a drama. Everyone needs a bit of passion, a spark of electricity. You’re just as entitled to it as the next girl.”
“Yes, but…”
“No. Hang on there.” Kath jabbed her fork in the air to make her point. “Safe is fine. I mean, safe is good. We don’t want actual danger now, do we? But boring – boring is not fine and not good. You do not want to be looking back at your life thinking Sweet Jesus, I’ve ended up married to a risk-free lump of lard.”
Tess laughed. “No, you’re right. I do not want that. And to be clear, I don’t think Simon could ever be described as a lump of lard. Lump of chiselled marble maybe; he’s kind and he makes me laugh but… I know it sounds awful, but sometimes I’m wondering if I’m laughing at him, not with him?”
“Oh, I’ve been there. Remember that numpty from Cornwall I went out with? Greg? Always playing the arse with everyone, clowning around, and you think to yourself, Sure, but he’s a great craic – right up until the moment that you realise he’s a complete tit who’s driving you up the feckin’ wall.”
Tess chewed on a prawn cracker for a moment, letting it fizzle against the roof of her mouth. “Oh, God, no. He’s not like Greg. I mean, he really was a pillock – no offence.”
“None taken.”
“No, Simon’s good company. It’s just sometimes I ask him a question about something I’m interested in or, I don’t know, what his opinion is on anything other than house prices, and his face just goes blank.” She turned to Kath. “Do you know what I mean?”
“You’re after an intellectual then?” said Kath, opening up yet another carton of food.
“No. Well, maybe. I want someone clever, sharp, you know? Someone where I can catch their eye across a room and know that they’ve spotted the same thing I’ve noticed, and that we’ll both laugh about whatever it is later, and he’ll be witty and insightful and…”
“And devilishly handsome, and great in the sack?”
“Well, yeah, obviously!”
“Good luck with that then!”
Kath flicked the television on and loaded up the film they had chosen. “You don’t think maybe you should just keep sleeping with him?” she asked after a pause. “See if things improve? Take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and come at it the other way, so to speak.”
They both started to laugh. “Maybe,” said Tess. “I’ll give your plan some serious thought.”
Kath shrugged. “It’s less of a plan and more of a general guide for living, I’d say. Either way, I’m glad you’re finally getting a sense of what you want. It doesn’t have to be a straightforward choice between ‘boring old Pete’ and ‘exciting, yet confused and unfaithful, Scott’. There is a middle ground, you know.”
They both watched as the opening credits rolled.
“And it’s also done you no good hiding from men since then.” Kath turned from the screen to look at her housemate. “Cowering away like Rapunzel. You had me wondering if we were ever going to get you back to your former glory days. But when you walked in with that new hairdo and your spendy lipstick, I thought, yes, here’s my girl.”
Tess hid a pleased smile behind a forkful of food and surreptitiously plumped up her hair with her other hand. Since her visit home and her dates with Simon she felt a lot better about herself, despite the quite literal anti-climax in the bedroom department. She thought she looked okay. Not amazing, not beautiful, but not repulsive either, which was progress of sorts. Her eating was under control, and she’d managed to avoid all temptations to binge. Instead she and Kath had treated themselves to a spa day and booked a July trip to the South of France. She had bought some new clothes, had her hair cut, her nails done. All the little things that added up to a change in outlook and a boost to her self-esteem. Maybe being with Simon really was doing her some good.
She still had to decide what, if anything, to do about her dad, but there was no hurry and somehow the knowledge that he had continued to care about her was enough in its own way. She’d read through his letters, taking her time with each one, reading and re-reading until she had wrung every last drop of meaning from his words. She had spoken to Jake about it, feeling that he was probably the only person who could understand some of what she was going through, and he had been his usual pragmatic self. Advising her to take her time. “Them letters ain’t going nowhere Tess. Ain’t no rush. Just see how you feel. You’ll be reet.” And he was right. She was doing okay.
Later that evening Jane Austen had a quiet but firm word with the television host:
“Dr Carter is a young woman of considerable capacity and application. Your treatment of her to date has been most vexatious. You have filled her head with scandalous falsehoods regarding her coarse features and limited means. What say you, sir, in your defence?”
The host whistled tunelessly. “La, la, la, not listening.”
Miss Austen summoned up her most imperious tone. “I will suffer this nonsense no longer, sir. I must have your word. Dr Carter is not to be trifled with.”
The host gave a long and mirthless laugh. “Jane. Janey. Jazza – can I call you Jazza? Appreciate the pep-talk, love, but you and I both know that there’s a lot more trifling to be done before this story is through. Vexatious or not.”
Chapter Twenty
Tess was working nights when she next saw the Russell family. Mary had been admitted to the General Hospital a few days earlier when she had become breathless. Fluid had been drained from her chest and sent to the laboratory, but rather than recuperate there she had chosen to be transferred back to the hospice, knowing that she had a better chance of recovery in familiar, peaceful surroundings with staff who knew her.
Tess knew that Mary was expected to arrive during the early part of her shift. Rob, who was working that evening, had handed over with characteristic efficiency, despite the fact that ever since Tess had come into work with her new haircut
he seemed to have even more difficulty meeting her eye. She was aware of the recent changes in Mary’s clinical condition and was steeling herself for further awkwardness from a wounded Edward, who she hadn’t seen since the night of her blind date with Simon.
However, her first thought on seeing Mary that night was how dreadful she looked. Her breathing was shallow and the process of shifting air in and out of her lungs seemed to be exhausting. Her lips were a greyish blue and her cheeks were drawn with the effort of communicating even a few words. Edward, who accompanied his mother, gave Tess only a fleeting glance. He too looked shattered, worry etched on his face, his focus entirely on the trolley as it was wheeled into Mary’s usual room. Tess made only one veiled reference to their previous argument, asking Edward whether he was happy for her to try and make his mother more comfortable or whether he wanted her to find a different doctor to attend. She knew that finding a replacement would be almost impossible on a night shift, but had to at least feel she’d given him the option.
He looked at her, bewildered. “Just do whatever you need to do,” he said. “I don’t care who sees her as long as they make things better.”
“Absolutely. Of course.”
She returned her attention to her patient.
“Mary, I know this is frightening. I’m going to need to ask you a few things, but you can just nod or shake your head; there’s no rush. Okay?”
She reached out to hold Mary’s hand.
“Do you have any pain?”
Mary shook her head.
“Do you feel sick at all?”
She shook her head again and Tess could see in her face that her breathing difficulties were being exacerbated by anxiety. She needed to act decisively.
“Good. Now I’m going to move your pillows and prop you up a little, good. And, um…” she looked towards Edward. “Could you just turn that electric fan on in the corner? Great, and maybe point it a little more this way? Thanks.” She turned back to Mary. “I want you to just close your eyes and think about your breathing for a moment. Can you do that for me? Great. I want you to concentrate on the out breath. Make it as long as you can. Fantastic.”
