Love Life

by Nancy Peach

  “Just now. I think they found it quite helpful.”

  “Good, good.” She gave a long, slow exhalation with her eyebrows raised; clearly this day was going just as badly as she had expected. “I’ve got to head off soon actually, get to a meeting… you know how it is.” She looked back at her phone.

  Tess toyed with the idea of saying something more but limited herself to a, “Whatever you think is best,” before heading inside. The woman seemed to have no comprehension of how to behave, but it was not Tess’s job to tell her.

  Clara stood, almost reluctant to move back into the building, but once Tess had returned inside she seemed to gather herself and clipped back across to Mary’s room with more confidence. She didn’t remain in there for long, emerging twenty minutes later to ask Tess to call her a taxi.

  “Your chat appears to have worked wonders,” she said tightly. “They’re certainly very impressed by your consultant, and Edward has always, well – almost always – spoken very highly of you. But then I suspect this is all very familiar to you, isn’t it?” She gestured vaguely towards the patients’ rooms. “I think it’s remarkable that some people would choose to spend their working life doing this. I simply couldn’t. I find the whole thing terrifying.”

  It seemed to Tess that Clara was not trying to be rude, just honest. If she had known her better, she would have advised her to swallow her pride and admit to the family, rather than to her, that she found the scenario difficult. She could reach out to her boyfriend who so desperately needed support, even if she felt unable to shoulder the practical burden. But Tess didn’t know her, and she was not in a position to give her that sort of advice; she suspected that it would be taken very badly and then probably ignored or dismissed as meddling and interference. Instead she replied that she enjoyed her job in spite of its challenges and suggested that Clara ask Janice on reception about booking a taxi because she had to go and see a patient.

  “Do not seek to judge the poor woman too harshly,” murmured Jane Austen as Tess gathered the notes for the new admission. “For seldom have I witnessed a figure more discomfited by mere proximity to grief. And whilst her honesty is refreshing, her command of the situation and her own reaction to it is stretched so thin as to be almost entirely absent.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  By the following week it had become clear that Mary Russell was deteriorating rapidly. Madeleine had returned on several occasions, bringing the children with her, but since the weekend she had attended alone, concerned her mother would find them exhausting. She and Edward took turns sitting with Mary or staying at home with Harvey and Annabelle. Mary was, as predicted, spending more time sleeping, drifting in and out of consciousness, and Dr Fielding had been in to have another frank discussion with the family regarding planning for an end that now appeared to be imminent. Tess also had conversations with Mary during her lucid periods, where she stated a clear desire to die at home. She often drifted into mild confusion and would describe the Georgian manor house at length, forgetting that Tess had seen it already, a fact that had delighted her when she’d initially been told. Tess found Mary’s ramblings soothing and her obvious love of the house, the grounds, and the memories they held for her made Tess more determined to help Mary achieve her wish of returning. At some points she clearly thought she was already there, back on the estate; she would advise Tess of lists of instructions for the groundsmen and housekeeper, and her face would light up as she described the large oak trees she could see from the window, the smell of the flowers, how the dogs barked and the horses whinnied in the fields beyond. For her children, though, her confusion was becoming more distressing. Tess often found Madeleine in tears, holding her mother’s hand and whispering, “But Mum, it’s me. It’s Maddie,” when Mary was at her most disorientated and thought her daughter a stranger.

  Once the medical team were confident that Mary’s symptoms were well controlled, arrangements were made to transfer her back home the next day. Tess went to check on her during her evening shift and was pleased to see her sitting upright, much more alert and orientated than she had been. Mary patted the bed. Her voice when she spoke was a whispery thread.

  “Come and talk to me, Dr Carter. If you’re not too busy?”

  “Of course,” said Tess. “I’d love to.” Rather than sitting on the bed, she pulled up a chair. “Don’t want to squash you. Now, are you after small talk, or big, deep, and meaningful? I know I’m not likely to get you on your own again.”

  “Oh, just hearing a happy voice is enough; everyone is being so terribly gloomy. Tell me about you – what are you up to this weekend? Or is it the weekend now? I’m losing track.”

  “Well, today’s Wednesday, but actually I’ll be spending most of the weekend packing to go on holiday. Do you want me to tell you about it, or will it make you mad with jealousy?”

  “No, no. Do tell me. I love to believe you have a life outside of here, away from all of this.”

  Tess told Mary about the planned trip. She was going to the South of France with Kath for a few nights, and it would be the first holiday she had been on in over a year. She was excited, but also aware as she was talking that the chances of Mary still being alive when she returned were low, which added a certain poignancy to her description. Still, she told Mary about the hotel they had booked and what she was going to wear on the flight, where she was getting her nails done, and how she was hoping to keep Kath on the straight and narrow.

  “She’s a bit of a wild card, my housemate. Which makes for excellent entertainment but is not the most conducive to relaxation.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Mary’s eyes were sunken but still bright and her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to keep them open. She reached out a hand to Tess who took it in hers, Mary’s sallow skin, fragile and thin as parchment, contrasting with the healthy warm olive tone of her own. Mary looked down at them, “You have beautiful hands. Kind hands.”

  “Thank you. That’s a very lovely thing to say.”

  “No ring on there?” She tapped Tess’s fourth finger lightly. “But of course you’re far too young to be married. Still, it would be nice to know you had someone who cares for you as much as you care for others.”

  Tess could feel her throat tightening and a sharp prickling at the backs of her eyes. The last thing she wanted for Mary to endure was more of someone else’s tears, so she swallowed the sensation away.

  “Mrs Russell, please don’t let your final words be asking me why I’m still single,” she said with a shaky laugh.

  But Mary was pushing herself up in the bed to sit a little straighter. She clearly had something she wanted to get off her chest.

  “Dr Carter,” she began, “what I really wanted to say was thank you. No…” she batted away Tess’s protestations and continued. “Thank you for putting your feelings to one side when it came to dealing with my family.” She took another slow rattling breath and Tess did not interrupt her. “Thank you for all that you’ve done, and I’m sure will continue to do for many others after me. It eases my passing from this world to know that there are people like you left in it.”

  “That’s, well, of course it’s…” Tess gave up her composure at this point and let the tears flow. She was aware of how lucky she was to be present for one of Mary’s rare moments of clarity and hoped that her son would make it in time to see his mother like this again. As if intuiting her wishes, there was a brisk but gentle knock at the door. It opened, and Edward entered the room. He stood for a moment, taking in the scene. Tess stood to leave, but knowing this might be the last time she had the chance, she bent and whispered in Mary’s ear, “It’s been a privilege – honestly. You take care.” And with that she left the room, her tears distorting the image of Edward’s concerned face as he held the door for her.

  It was nine-thirty and Tess had completed all her tasks on the ward, all of her patients were comfortable, and she was due to finish her shift in half an hour. She felt drained by her re
cent conversation with Mary Russell, so made herself a cup of tea and curled up on the sofa in one of the sitting rooms, preferring this to the more remote office that the medical team used for their handovers. She turned the television on and idly flicked through the channels, not finding anything that took her fancy but needing some distraction. She settled on a wildlife documentary and was watching a family of otters in their river habitat when there was a knock on the open door and in walked Edward Russell. She could see straight away that he was a mess. His handsome face was contorted in pain, almost crumpling in on itself; his shirt was untucked and looked as if he had slept in it. She had never seen him looking more dishevelled.

  “I’m sorry. I just had to get out of there. I can’t let her see me like this.”

  He sank heavily into the chair on the opposite side of the room to Tess. She rose to leave.

  “It’s fine! That’s what this room’s here for – exactly that reason.” She was gabbling, knowing how much he would hate having been caught at such a vulnerable moment. “It’s certainly not meant for junior doctors to be learning about the behaviour of otters!” She moved towards the door.

  “No. Stay.” He cradled his head in his hands, his fingers curled into his hair as if he were about to rip it out at the roots. His voice became muffled by his shirt. “Please. I don’t want to be on my own.”

  He started to cry in earnest then, sobs wracking his body. Tess was torn but she couldn’t possibly leave him there like that, and not when he had specifically asked her to be with him. She closed the door to give him some privacy as one of the porters crossed the foyer beyond. In any other scenario she would have been across the other side of the room like a shot, soothing, consoling, offering a shoulder to cry on. She didn’t believe in standing on ceremony with patients or families; they needed to know that their grief was normal, and that they could share it with her. Edward Russell was different though; she was still wary of getting too close.

  She walked tentatively over to the armchair, in the way that one might approach a wounded tiger. There was a box of tissues on the table and she held them out in front of him as she placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. She could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt as his muscles contracted in shuddering sobs. They stood that way for a few moments as his grief forced its way out of him, like an animal clamouring to escape. Eventually, the tension beneath Tess’s fingers seemed to ease a little; she could feel all the muscles of his shoulder and neck start to relax as his breathing slowed. He lifted his head; she kept her hand where it was and bent to look at him.

  “I know how hard this must be. I really do. But you have done such a great job of looking after her – and taking her home is the right thing to do. She’ll be happier there.”

  She could see the conflicting emotions play out on his face: sorrow, helplessness, indignation, outrage. Without warning he stood and turned towards her.

  “How do you know? You don’t understand how this feels.” His breath was hot on her face.

  “I simply meant…”

  Tess was against the wall and Edward’s face was inches from hers. His distress was raw and would have been frightening if it had not been for the look of panic in his eyes. She reached out to touch his arm gently and he moved back a fraction, realising even in the midst of his anger that his posture was intimidating.

  “I don’t need your platitudes. You don’t get it, do you?” His voice quietened and cracked with emotion. “There is a part of me that wants to blame you for your role in this, but then there is another part of me that doesn’t know how we would have got through it without you.”

  “Edward, please. Sit back down. Let’s talk about this…”

  He shook his head as if trying to clear the fog of confusion and his eyes fixed back on hers. She couldn’t look away. His pupils were dilated and all that remained of the irises was a halo of blue. The lashes were fringed with tears, which he angrily wiped away as he continued.

  “It is so hard, having to deal with my feelings for you on top of everything else. All this being raked up again. And I know it’s not fair, but then the whole thing is unfair. This entire situation… there’s nowhere for me to go with this. I can’t deal with it, I just can’t, I don’t know—”

  He broke off, unable to complete the sentence. She could see the frustration in his face and went to speak again but suddenly his mouth was on hers, hard and insistent, his tears wet against her skin. He placed both his palms to her cheeks, the power of his need for her overwhelming both of them. But she didn’t push him away. Without knowing what she was doing, her body responded to him automatically, slipping back in time. Five years ago; Dan’s sitting-room floor; the two of them pressing together. Although, this was different. This was ferocious. She was caught up in his rage, as angry as he was. She wanted to punish him in the same way that he wanted to punish her, both needing to purge themselves of these violent emotions, to transfer them to the other and be rid of them. His mouth was hot against hers and she had her hands around his back, clutching at him, forcing him closer until there was barely breath left in her body.

  And then, just as suddenly, he pulled away, still holding her face in his hands but tenderly now, a look of utter bewilderment in his eyes. He stroked his thumb against her cheek and then dropped his hands to his sides.

  “I am so sorry,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh Christ. I am such a fucking mess! I’m so sorry.”

  He put a hand to his own face, covering his eyes, but warding her off with the other hand as she came towards him. She stayed back then, pressed against the wall, still breathing heavily as he turned and left the room, the door slamming and disturbing the peaceful twilight of the foyer. He stumbled across it, through the double doors and out into the night air.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tess stood looking at the door in disbelief. Her face was flushed and a warmth had spread down her throat. She sank into the chair that Edward had been sitting in only moments earlier. Her legs felt weak and she put her hands on her thighs to stop them shaking. Her head was a whirl of mixed emotions, but beneath that there was a fire in the pit of her stomach. The adrenaline was pumping and she was certainly not going to be able to switch it off. She felt as if she could run a marathon to burn up all the energy, but deep down she knew what she needed.

  She ran her tongue over her bruised lips and stood, decided. Her shift was over. She checked in with Rob who was working nights; he was happy everybody was stable. Tess didn’t feel particularly stable herself. She felt unhinged.

  “You all right?” Rob asked.

  She nodded, mutely.

  “You sure? You look a bit… feverish? There’s a bout of summer flu going round; two of the nurses are off with it.”

  “No, Rob, it’s okay. I feel fine. Just want to get home, you know.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Um, Tess?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Um, I was wondering, if, well, if you weren’t busy, I don’t know, over the next few weeks, maybe, if you, um, wanted—”

  “Rob, sorry. I’ve got to head off. If you want to talk about swapping shifts or something we can do that tomorrow maybe?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. Absolutely. Okay, well, drive carefully.” He continued to watch her as she left through the foyer, swinging her bag onto her shoulder and she didn’t see him aim a tiny kick of frustration at the door to the coffee room.

  She emerged into the warm July night. The sun had recently set and the darkness was not yet impenetrable. Tess knew Edward would be here, in the gardens. She suddenly felt so feral that she could almost sniff him out. And after all, she knew him. She really did know him. That first night together had meant something, she was sure of it. Even if he’d forgotten, part of him had been imprinted on her ever since. And she was so sick of being passive. All the rage that had built up since discovering Scott in bed with Luke was bubbling up and exploding out of h
er. She was fed up with being the reasonable one, the kind one, the amenable one, the one who had always done as she’d been told. It was astounding that she had waited so many years to confront her mother about her stringent rules. Their argument in May had proved to be so cathartic, she wished she had vented her feelings much earlier. So why hadn’t she thrashed things out with Scott as she had so recently with her mum? He was much more deserving of her anger. She should have responded in the moment, rained blows upon him, hurt him as he had hurt her; should have yelled at him, railed against the injustice of it, but instead she had been calm, sad, sensible. Numbed into an acceptance that she didn’t truly feel or deserve and then left with useless fury.

  And now Edward, letting her slip from his memory as though she meant nothing, forgetting those moments that she had cherished for years, and when he finally had acknowledged her existence, treating her as dispensable, using her as an emotional punching bag whenever he needed. She seemed to be forever the recipient, letting things be done to her, words said to her, insults and accusations hurled at her, just for her to absorb them. He had made the same mistake as Scott, confusing her compliance with weakness. Well, he was wrong. He had sought her out tonight; he had initiated that encounter. He had kissed her, brought all these feelings to the surface again, roused her blood. And then he had run away from what he’d started, leaving her with no outlet for this restless, febrile energy. Enough. No more submission.

  “Life should not always be weary resignation and acceptance. Always prudence and honour and duty. Examine your heart. You are the mistress of yourself.”

  Jane was right. Tess felt a surge of defiance: she was in control; she was going to find Edward.

  “A note of caution though, Tess, dear.” She sounded a little alarmed. “These violent feelings and passions are apt to—”