by Nancy Peach
She dug her nails into the palm of her hand for distraction, knowing that she had to be pragmatic for both of their sakes. So much of the past month had been governed by emotional responses, and his feelings would still be fluctuating wildly, given the fact that he was actively grieving. She had to be the sensible one today, in spite of wanting to crumple into a heap and beg him not to leave her.
“So, you go. Have a great time in America. You might decide to stay. I can imagine the lifestyle would suit you.”
“Tess, don’t! Are you crying? Come here.”
She crossed the room and sat down beside him. He drew her in, wrapping his strong arms around her as her tears soaked his T-shirt. Her voice was muffled and shaky when she spoke. “I am not actually crying. My face often looks this pink and scrunched up. And watery.” She laughed shakily and dabbed her eyes with the edge of his top. “Sorry. Look, if you really do care about my feelings, please don’t contact me again unless you’re coming back. You might just break my heart if you string me along.”
“What? So, that’s it?” He looked aghast.
She nodded. “I mean it. No Facebook friending, no Instagram following, no messaging, no calls, nothing. You understand?”
“I do,” he said slowly. “But I just don’t know how you can be so clinical about it. Have you gone all professional and detached on me? You’re not usually so guarded.”
“Sorry. I would have thought it was fairly evident from my copious weeping that I am feeling anything but emotionally detached.” She rested her head back on his shoulder. “I’m just trying to protect myself. Historically it’s not been something I’m great at. And as for being professional, I’m not exactly breaking records on that front either. I mean, it’s hardly good practice to have sex with a patient’s relative.”
“Well,” he said, “yes, you’ve got a point there.”
“At least you’ve got enough self-awareness to know when you’re in a mess, Edward. I’ve been blundering about, making the same mistakes for years, as far as relationships go. I’m riddled with self-doubt most of the time and I need to learn when to leave things alone. Anyway, I can’t be that cool and collected if I keep falling in love with unsuitable men, can I?”
She had moved slightly out of the embrace and they held each other’s look for a moment – had she said she was in love with him, or that he was unsuitable? Neither of them was sure.
Finally, she picked up her bag and pulled it onto her shoulder. “You will be fine without me, you know you will.”
“Well, if that’s really what you want… I guess I don’t have much choice.”
She kissed him gently on the mouth, holding her lips to his for what felt like an eternity, until the salt from both their tears started to seep between their cheeks and she pulled away. “No need to escort me off the premises.” She stood to leave. “In spite of what Clara thinks, I have no intention of making off with the family silver!” She turned at the doorway. “You take care of yourself, Edward. You’re a really amazing, lovely bloke and I’m going to miss you.”
And then she was gone.
As Tess left the house, she felt oddly calm. She strode through the kitchen, patted the dogs, and crunched across the gravel which was bathed in sunlight, before rounding the corner to the stable yard. She was starting to become accustomed to fraught car journeys, and the process of detaching herself from the drama in order to focus on the practicalities of getting home in one piece had already begun. She was determined not to look in her rear-view mirror as her little car pulled out of a driveway better suited to a horse-drawn carriage, an observation only reinforced by Jane Austen’s voice in her ear.
“Parting is such sweet sorrow, dear girl – not one of my lines, you understand, but I consider it entirely appropriate to plagiarise, given the circumstances.” She sniffed delicately. “Another you could try is, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’, although I am unsure as to the veracity of that particular statement. It seems a phrase designed to sustain those of a more fragile and delicate disposition than ladies of our calibre and moral fortitude.”
Tess was delighted that Miss Austen regarded her so highly, although she wondered whether her opinion regarding moral fortitude might be somewhat compromised by last night’s activities. Her heart was full, but she was in that pleasant state of being physically satisfied before the brain starts to process circumstances and consequences. She knew that over the coming days, perhaps months, she would analyse and review the events of the preceding twenty-four hours in minute detail, considering, reinterpreting, wondering whether particular words held unique significance, whether a certain look or gesture had meant that Edward worshipped the ground she walked on or was utterly indifferent to her – but for now her body was singing, her skin tingling from his touch, and her senses overwhelmed with the smell and taste of him. She wasn’t thinking straight, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to analyse her feelings yet; she wanted them to remain pure and unadulterated for a while longer.
Her euphoric state lasted until she got home, by which time the fatigue was starting to kick in. She hadn’t eaten or slept for hours, existing on a high-octane combination of desire and adrenaline. As a result, she was now ravenous, and plundered the kitchen in a similar way to her housemate after an on-call shift. She was not seeking food for consolation, purely as sustenance, which, she acknowledged, was as it should be. Edward had made her feel that, somehow, she should be a bit kinder to herself. Their connection had been something magical. To have tainted it with another bout of binging would have been somehow insulting to the memory of what they had shared.
She was in the sitting room, still wearing her dress from the night before and vacantly spooning cereal into her mouth, when Kath came back from town mid-afternoon.
“Weh-hey there! Love’s young dream.” She noted the combination of Tess’s glowing cheeks and air of general dishevelment. “I take it you’ve been up all night shagging the repressed orphan? Did you manage a more appropriate venue than a shed this time?”
Tess laughed, almost choking on her cereal, but suddenly the emotional turmoil of the past few hours caught up with her and her laughter turned into untidy sobs, tears trickling down her nose. Kath looked genuinely alarmed.
“Oh, my girl!” She rushed to embrace her housemate. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to poke fun at you, or him, or whatever. I can’t ever seem to stop myself.”
She fussed around Tess, taking the cereal bowl off her and letting her succumb to a full messy wailing, punctuated by hiccups and cries of: “Think I might love him…”; “Probably never see him again…”; and, “What a bloody mess…”
Kath held onto her until the sobs had subsided to an intermittent drizzle and then pulled out her phone, back in practical mode. “Did you use protection?” she asked, and then in response to Tess’s sheepish nod, “Every single time?”
“Maybe not every time.”
Kath was already dialling the genitourinary medicine clinic; she had their number saved in her phone, as half the patient referrals came through the casualty department.
“You might be thinking a little less fondly about him if he’s left you with a dose of chlamydia or a bun in the oven, babe. I’m surprised at you. I’d have thought your mother would’ve virtually not let you leave the house without a full-body condom,” she said, waiting for the phone to connect.
Tess fell back onto the couch with a groan. “There’s just no romance with you, is there.”
“When you’ve seen the kind of things I’ve seen, my love, the scales fall from your eyes on that score,” Kath said. “Did I tell you about the chap who came in a few nights ago with a courgette up his arse? Told me he’d fallen onto it whilst cooking ratatouille in the nude. Had to ask if I was likely to find a red onion and a couple of pointed peppers up there and all! Obviously, wife not best pleased…”
Tess rolled around on the sofa laughing, “You didn’t! Oh my God, Kath, poor man. Poor wife! Jesus.” She wi
ped her eyes and looked over at her friend, “What would I do without you?”
Kath brushed the air with her hand. “Pah! Don’t be ridiculous. Now get yer arse upstairs and into that shower. Frankly, girl, you reek of sex and it’s starting to make me feel a bit flustered.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Tess spent the rest of the day in bed, drifting in and out of daydreams of a life with Edward that she was never likely to experience. The next morning, Kath said she was allowed one full day to wallow in sentimental indulgence, telling stories and trawling the internet for any trace of him. After about twenty minutes of drooling together over a particular shot taken at a City ball for the diary section of Tatler’s website, Kath closed the browser with a flourish.
“Had your fill now?” she asked Tess. “Feasted your eyes sufficiently? Right. We need to be realistic. I’ll allow you one visit to that particular website per week, but no more.”
“Okay! Okay!”
“I will know. I warn you! Shame I don’t have parental controls for our Wi-Fi, but the levels of protection may not extend as far as the Financial Times.” She looked back at the blank screen. “I feel your pain, believe me. I think I might have to wean myself off him and all, but mate, sure it’s got to be done.”
“I know. I can’t help but feel you’re enjoying the cruel prison-warden act a bit much though.”
“You could be right. Maybe I’ve missed my calling… Anyway!” She clapped her hands peremptorily. “You need to start thinking about work. General Practice tomorrow. Yay!”
Tess smiled. She was actually really looking forward to starting in practice and she knew she needed to take her mind off the fact that Edward was leaving for America within the next few hours. As it turned out, his flight took off from Bristol airport about halfway through Tess’s first morning clinic, and she was too preoccupied by Dr Sharma’s explanation regarding antihypertensive medication to think of him, sitting next to Harvey, pointing out the diminishing bridge and the river from the plane window. That night, when she returned from the surgery, she allowed herself to imagine him just coming in to land and helping his sister steer the children through the arrivals lounge to greet their father. Harvey and Annabelle would likely be fractious and irritable after their journey, but she knew that Madeleine’s husband planned to keep them entertained over the following days to allow his wife and brother-in-law the chance to recover from their combination of jet-lag and grief.
She thought of Edward contemplating the prospect of extended rest and relaxation combined with the day-to-day aspects of family life that he had so missed. She could see how easy it would have been for him to simply return to work and plough himself back into the familiar coping mechanisms, blindly following his career trajectory until he woke one day, old and lonely. Instead, he had used the crisis of the past few months to examine his life and, finding it wanting, had taken active steps to rectify the mistakes he’d already made. He had more insight than he gave himself credit for, and she wished she’d told him so when she’d had the chance.
There were many things she now wished she had said, knowing that she probably would not have the opportunity again. She wanted him to know how highly she regarded him, how impressed she was by how he was using his grief to forge closer links with his sister. She wanted him to know how special and treasured he had made her feel, and how that warmth remained with her like a comforting blanket despite his absence. He had encouraged her to think for herself, had admired her strengths, and allowed her to accept her weaknesses. Whatever else happened, she sensed that meeting him again would prove to have been one of the most pivotal moments in her life.
Whilst she silently congratulated Edward on his decision to remove himself from a blinkered working existence, she also knew how therapeutic new career challenges could be. She chose to immerse herself in work for the next few weeks, hoping for distraction, although in reality she thought of him all the time; what he might have said about this, what the expression on his face would have been in response to that, how it would have felt to have cuddled up to his warm body in bed at night, to have been held by him, touched by him again. It was similar to those months after their first meeting; better, because she knew that she hadn’t misjudged things, but worse because she now had a much clearer idea of what she was missing out on. Occasionally she broke Kath’s rule, searching under both his name and Madeleine’s married name for any mention of what he was now up to. His privacy filters, as Tess would have expected, were watertight, but now and then a picture would pop up on Madeleine’s Instagram profile of Edward with one of the children, and Tess’s heart would leap into her mouth as she saw his tanned, handsome face, smiling and relaxed. But generally, she kept those searches to a minimum, knowing that there might come a time when she would stumble across a picture of him with a woman other than his sister, and that she might just crumble into a billion pieces.
She also ensured that her trips to the other side of the bridge were infrequent, although whenever she took Morris for his check-ups with the vet, she drove past the Russell estate and, in spite of herself, tried to glimpse the window of the bedroom where they had spent the night together. Once or twice she visited the memorial garden in the crematorium, where a plaque bearing Mary Russell’s name was regularly adorned with floral tributes. On one occasion she bumped into Pauline, who was, she realised, the source of the majority of fresh flowers. She was thrilled to see Tess and insisted on filling her in on what the family were up to in America, and how much happier Edward sounded when he called to enquire after the dogs and the house, and also to ask how Pauline herself was bearing up.
“He’s always been such a thoughtful boy, that one,” she said. “He knows I’m just rattling round that house on my own now, so he calls and pretends it’s about something practical.” She gestured to the flowers in Tess’s hands. “I see you’ve brought some stocks – Mary’s favourite they were. What a kind thought.”
Tess looked down at them. “Well, I guessed as much. She always had them in St Martin’s; the smell reminds me of her somehow.”
“I know. Me too. And how are you doing, Dr Carter? How’s that cat of yours? Harvey always asks me.”
“Morris? He’s fighting fit. Well, other than being a massive chubster. I’m hoping he’s now just too fat to get through the window, but I think he’s learnt his lesson; he’s not tried any Houdini numbers since.”
“I’ll be sure to let Harvey know. He’s been sharing the heroic rescue story with all of his new schoolfriends.”
“And how are you doing, Pauline?”
“Oh, I manage okay. Looking after that house is a full-time job – keeps me busy.”
“And it’s not too hard? Being surrounded by all those reminders of your friend? I know you were closer to her than almost anyone else. Oh, I’m sorry,” she put a hand out towards Pauline, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh, Dr Carter. Mary always said that you were a one for winkling the truth out of people. It’s nice to know you care, dearie, but I’m fine, honestly. You needn’t bother about me.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. It’s been lovely to see you. Anyway, do say hello to the family from me.”
“I certainly will. And, you know, she would have been so touched that you brought her flowers.”
Pauline squeezed her hand and Tess walked away from the memorial garden with a lighter heart than when she’d arrived, feeling that some of her own sense of loss was easing with the passage of time.
As Morris became stronger and more mobile, the need for any further visits to the vet’s diminished, and she began to accept that there was no longer a real excuse to head out in that direction at all. She had taken out the bank loan as planned, and paid off the bill for Morris’s treatment in its entirety, requesting that they refund Edward via his credit card. A few weeks later Tess took delivery of an enormous bouquet of flowers addressed to “Dr Carter” and sent to her at home by an anonymous benefactor. She guessed that Edward mu
st have sought her details from Henry, and smiled when she considered the conversation that may have taken place, knowing Henry had a matchmaker’s twinkle in his eye at each follow-up appointment. Still, she knew it didn’t really signify anything; it was likely just an overblown gesture of gratitude for paying him back.
Similarly, she tried to remain level-headed about a hand-drawn crayon picture of an orange cat that arrived on her doormat one blustery October morning with a Chicago postmark. It was accompanied by another picture of a stick man with large hands and feet standing next to either a green horse or a dinosaur. The figure had a large red smile on his round face, and a caption beneath read “Unkel Ed”. Also inside the envelope was a plain notecard, and on it, in an elaborate cursive script, Madeleine had written:
Eddie said you didn’t want to be contacted, but Harvey wanted to send you these. Since he’s started at school he’s been churning out pictures like you wouldn’t believe! Thank you for whatever you did for my brother (I really don’t want to know). He is a much happier man now. Madeleine x
It took a few moments to regain her composure after receiving this, and Tess struggled to stop herself from reading a tone of finality into Madeleine’s words, as if whatever transformative effect Tess had once had on her brother was now complete. However, the pictures took pride of place in her clinic room at the practice, and patients often commented on them.
She tried to keep herself occupied with her work, her family, and her social life, much as she had before meeting Edward, but it was a challenge not to think of him during those quiet times, late in the evening, and often she woke from a restless night having dreamt of him. She thought of Mary too, returning to the memorial garden now and then, just to spend a peaceful afternoon in its tranquil surroundings.
