by Nancy Peach
He had been the one who kissed her last night. He’d instigated that, hadn’t he? He’d said he had feelings for her, she was sure of it. But what if she’d misinterpreted that too? Just like she’d overestimated the significance of their first meeting, maybe she’d interpreted his grief as something else, feelings for her that he didn’t really have? What if Clara, and the television host come to that, were right?
He had been vulnerable. He was vulnerable. Of course he was. He hid it well, that was all, but everyone who was experiencing bereavement, in whatever form, was defenceless and exposed in a way. She knew that. For God’s sake. She knew that. Why hadn’t she been more careful? More cautious. She cringed as she went back over the events of last night. What if that hadn’t been what he wanted? What if her need for him had blinded her? The feeling had been so overwhelming, but Clara was right: she had a responsibility; she shouldn’t have used her power in that way, wielding it over him, using him to fulfil her own desires.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second to try and block it out, but a loud beep from the driver pulling out in front of her brought her to her senses and she gripped the steering wheel hard to correct the direction in which she had been drifting. She must focus. Do what she used to do when driving back from a horrific night shift: clear her head entirely and just concentrate on the road. Eyes on the road. That was all.
But she couldn’t ignore the siren call of the television host as she drove past the petrol station and found herself doubling back and pulling onto the forecourt. She knew she needed to fill this void opening up within her, to soak up the panic. She piled chocolates, biscuits, and milkshake into her basket and paid with the shaking hands of an addict, making it home as if on autopilot. The bag of food sat on the passenger seat, taunting her almost as much as the host’s voice. “You know it makes sense, Tess. It’s the only thing you’ve got left, isn’t it? No man, likely no job, and certainly no self-respect… But at least you can still do this, hmmm? At least you still have this in your life, a way out, a way to ease the pain.” He gave a soft chuckle of satisfaction as she carried the bag of food into the house.
The first thing she saw walking through the front door was Morris, sitting in the hallway casually licking a paw, the bald patch and scar still visible on his flank. She scooped him up gently, burying her face in his soft fur as she let the tears come, and at last she heard Jane Austen’s voice in her ear.
“You do not need to do this, Tess dear. The gentleman— No, I cannot call him that. The vile abomination who has your ear when I do not, he deals in falsehoods and his lies are legion. He does you great wrong.”
Tess looked at the bulging bag of food. It was sitting squatly on the tiled floor. Jane Austen seemed to sense her hesitation and spoke again. “Remember, Tess, you are the mistress of yourself.”
She placed Morris gently onto the step and picked up the bag.
“There are trials and tribulations ahead, but you will conquer them, for I know you to be of strong heart and true character. This monster within you… he can be overcome.”
Jane’s voice was rising in volume as Tess crossed back to the open front door, stepped out to the wheelie-bin… and dropped the bag of food into it. She slammed the lid for good measure.
“It’s a bit of a waste of money, Jane,” she said. “And Kath would almost certainly have loved the milkshake – but everyone needs a symbolic gesture in their lives now and again.” She clenched her fists and strode back into the house. “Now, enough self-doubt, and enough indulging of anxieties. Time to face up to my mistakes and see what I can do to rescue what’s left of my career.”
Jane Austen gave a sigh of deep satisfaction.
“I simply could not have put it better myself,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-One
Tess spent the remainder of the day speaking to her defence union and her GP trainer to clarify her position, should a complaint make it as far as the GMC. The following morning she phoned Dr Fielding, who advised her to take her annual leave as planned and try as hard as she could to put the situation out of her mind. This was going to be a lot easier said than done.
She also bit the bullet and arranged to meet Simon during his lunchbreak. She explained to him that there were all sorts of things going on in her life that were becoming increasingly confusing and that she had no desire to involve him in them. She wanted to remain friends but she didn’t want to string him along. Simon was surprisingly relaxed about being dumped.
“It’s funny, isn’t it,” he said. “We’re both good-looking, we’re both nice people, and we have a laugh, don’t we? But I agree. There’s something missing.” He gave her a chaste peck on the cheek. “Friends it is. I’m okay with that, Tess. And I appreciate the honesty. There’s some birds would’ve kept a bloke dangling, not sure if he was coming or going. You’re a straight talker. I appreciate that.”
They parted on good terms and agreed to keep in touch. She knew that she would always be grateful to him for getting her “back in the game”, as Kath would have said, but she also knew that she’d done the right thing. And his reaction only confirmed it.
Later, when Kath came home, she felt able to fill her in on recent events. Kath was by turns amused and appalled. She conceded that Tess had behaved badly, but she was always staunchly loyal to her friend, even if it meant turning a blind eye to her faults, and she laid the blame squarely at Clara’s door. She was on the verge of tracking her down and giving her a piece of her mind until Tess reminded her that this would only serve to make the situation much, much worse.
“Yes but… what a nightmare! I just can’t believe it. What a bitch… Sure, she’s pissed off, but to do this? To try and wreck your career? It’s that boyfriend of hers she wants to be talking to. What a feckin’ spiteful, vindictive cow.” Kath went on until the level of expletives reached epic proportions and they both began to laugh. She put her arms around Tess and squeezed her tight.
“Cheer up, babes. Sure, you’ve been a silly tart, but you’ll be grand, so you will. You just hang on in there, and in a couple of days’ time we’ll be in the South of France without a care in the world. I think it’s fair to say we need a bloody holiday.”
She paused and looked at Tess more closely. “But, just for one moment, can we backtrack a little here? Are you seriously telling me that you shagged this guy in a garden shed, in the grounds of a hospice?” She shook her head, “Mate, even I think that’s pretty mental.”
The holiday, it turned out, was exactly what Tess needed. On their first morning they made straight for the beach. Kath slathered herself in factor fifty and found two sunloungers with a good view of the male volleyball team who were practising down by the water’s edge. Huddled beneath her parasol, she flicked through a magazine, leaning over to show Tess photos of various footballers’ wives and Love Island contestants.
“What in God’s name does she think she’s doing getting a tattoo of that eejit’s name on her buttocks, I’d like to know… Christ, will you get a load of that! Another boob job? They look near to exploding… I despair, I really do…”
She folded the magazine in two and lifted her sunglasses to peer over at Tess. “Are you thinking about work?”
“Mmm. A bit. I’m trying not to but…”
Kath looked at her more closely. “Or, are you thinking about the fella, this Eddie?”
“God, is it that obvious?”
“Well, sure, I know you’re anxious about the complaint and that, but you’re mooning about like a lovesick puppy. D’you want to talk it over?”
Tess propped herself up on an elbow and adjusted the brim of her hat to shelter her eyes from the glare of the sun as she looked towards Kath. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all, babe.” She settled her face into attentive listening mode. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“It’s just, I keep trying to clear my head of it,” Tess said. “I know I should be focussing on whether I’m going to get struck off, or the fa
ct that I slept with someone else’s boyfriend, which I always swore I’d never do. But all I can think about is him… and why he’s hung me out to dry.” She slumped back into her sunlounger. “I thought he… Oh, I don’t know.”
Kath nodded wisely. “Okay. So, the thing that’s really weighing you down is the fallout from the night in question? As in… what in the name of Holy Christ actually happened?”
“Indeed. Beautifully put.” Tess smiled but still looked troubled. “D’you think I could have just completely misread the situation? Like I have before. I mean, he started it, but maybe he didn’t want to take it further.”
Kath gave a derisory sniff. “Well, sure it would have been a biological impossibility for him to have, shall we say, ‘participated against his will’?”
“That’s very coy for you.”
“I know. I’ve come over all demure for a moment. It must be watching all these hot lads in their tight little trunks.” Her eyes drifted momentarily to where one of the more athletic members of the volleyball team was stretching up to take a shot. “Sorry. Look, I think we can assume he didn’t feel physically violated by your wanton actions. He probably just felt guilty afterwards, about being unfaithful, like?”
“I guess.”
“And then overcome with remorse, he sees the girlfriend, unburdens himself, and paints you as the cruel seductress.” She adjusted her bikini strap. “He tells her enough to make himself feel like he’s been honest, but maybe not so much as to make him look like the bad guy?”
“How d’you mean?”
“Well, you know, he spins it in his favour? So, he tells her that you tried to kiss him – he neglects to say that he was the one who tried to kiss you – and he doesn’t mention so much as a dickie bird about the fact that you then shagged each other’s brains out.” Kath rubbed at a streak of sun lotion on her thigh in contemplation. “I mean, doesn’t it strike you as odd that she didn’t include it in her complaint? It’s not illegal – it’s not like he was your patient – but it could look pretty bad for you: ‘sexual relations with a vulnerable family member’ and all.”
Tess groaned. “Oh God. It sounds dreadful when you put it like that. I’ve been such a bloody idiot.”
“No, no, shush. I’m not trying to make you feel worse.” Kath shook her head impatiently. “I’m just looking for the most rational explanation. And I don’t reckon she knows you slept with him.”
Tess took a sip of her drink. “The thing is… I know him.”
“You sure do, in the biblical sense.”
“No, I mean I know him. He’s not the cowardly type. I just can’t see him blaming someone else for something he’d done. He’s really principled about fairness and justice. Doing the right thing. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think? I mean, I don’t want to state the obvious here, but didn’t you think you knew him last time and it turns out he had no recollection of you?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Both girls contemplated this for a moment.
“Or…” said Kath, “to be fair to the fella, he’s about to lose his mam, perhaps he just couldn’t cope with the idea of losing the girlfriend at the same time. Even if she is a cold-hearted weasel.”
“I guess.”
“Either way, I’m sorry to say it but he’s looking out for number one. I think you maybe have to accept he’s thrown you under the bus.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“I’m just looking out for you, babe. You’re your own worst enemy sometimes. The funny thing is,” Kath picked up her magazine, “I reckon that despite all this shite, if you had the chance to do it all again, you would.”
Tess pulled her sunhat down over her face and refused to comment, but Kath was right. If she had been given the chance to rewrite history, she knew that she would still have chosen to follow Edward that night; even now she did not regret what had happened. She firmly believed that in some way it had been necessary, essential even, for both of them.
July 15th 2018
Dear Dad
Dear Signor Fratelli
Dear Marco,
* * *
I have been struggling to think of the best way to contact you. A phone call would probably be a bit of a shock, and I don’t have your number. An email just feels too casual and I don’t have your email address, so I’m writing, and to be honest, I think this is the best way. I know that when I found your letters there was something really nice about being able to go back and re-read them and physically hold them in my hand. It also means I can send you a couple of photos. I thought you might like to see one of me on my first day at work and this one of me and Jake. I bet he’s grown a bit since you last saw him! Mum took this picture last Christmas. Jake’s wearing the new coat she bought him. She had to work so much overtime to pay for it, but you can see from his face how much he loves it.
* * *
Anyway, you’re probably wondering why you haven’t heard from me until now. I’m not sure if Mum has been in touch to let you know what happened. I guess probably not, so I’ll start at the beginning. A few weeks ago I was at home and I discovered your letters. I had no idea you’d been sending them and as you can imagine, it was a bit of a shock quite a surprise.
* * *
Mum had hidden them from me
Mum had kept them secret
Mum had wanted to protect me and had therefore never told me that you’d been in contact. As far as I knew, the last communication we’d had was the day you left when I was five. Growing up, I knew that Jake’s father had done the same, so I guess I didn’t question it – it seemed “normal” and just something that dads tended to do. I wasn’t unhappy and I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. Mum did a great job of raising both me and Jake. She has done the work of two parents in terms of providing for us and loving us, and I wouldn’t want you to think otherwise. But, having said all that, it was still really amazing to discover that you had in fact been trying to get in touch.
* * *
I’ve had a lot of time to think about how things could have been different; if I’d known you’d written, it would have been lovely to have had contact with you growing up, but we can’t change it now, and there’s still plenty of time for us to get to know each other, if you’d like to?
* * *
You might not want to
Your current family
I’m not sure what your current situation is and I have no intention of making your life difficult if you have other children, or maybe a partner who would find the knowledge of my existence a bit of a challenge? But if you would like to get in touch at any point, my number and email are on the bottom of this letter.
* * *
If you are ever coming back to the UK
I’ve always wanted to see Italy
I would love to hear from you but understand if you have moved on and would prefer to leave things as they are. I just wanted to explain the reasons for my silence over the past twenty years, and to let you know that I have now read all of your letters and cherish them dearly.
* * *
Lots of love
Your loving daughter
Best wishes,
Tess x
* * *
P.S. I’ve also got the locket. You probably don’t remember, but it’s the one you got me for my eighth birthday. I thought I’d lost it, but then I found it again. I’d forgotten how pretty it is. Thank you x
Chapter Thirty-Two
The girls returned from their break rested and refreshed. Tess had deliberately not checked her emails whilst she’d been on holiday, but there was a message on her return asking her to come along to the hospice for a meeting with Dr Fielding. He informed her that, in the absence of contact from the GMC, he could see no reason why Tess should not complete her hospice placement.
“Clearly there will be no further clinical contact with the Russell family whilst you are working here,” he said, “because, as I suspect you are aware, Mary Russel
l passed away last week.”
Tess’s expression immediately indicated that she had not been aware of that fact, and Dr Fielding was quick to realise his mistake. The reality was that although Tess had been expecting the death of Mary Russell, she had not been prepared for it emotionally. Her overwhelming concern over the past week had been herself, her job, and her own feelings of rejection. Putting all of these issues to one side, she realised how much her own relationship with this particular patient had meant to her, and how saddened she was personally by the loss. She struggled to hold back the tears, being aware that every time she encountered Dr Fielding in this office she seemed to be an emotional wreck. He may have reservations about recommending her as suitably qualified for the provision of palliative care if she was unable to handle the news that one of her terminally ill patients had actually died.
