by Lucy Diamond
‘Sounds a bloody fool if you ask me,’ Roy commented, dunking his shortbread.
‘Only now he’s got back in touch,’ Sophie said. ‘And I don’t know what to do.’
I’m sorry, he’d written in a private Facebook message the day before. I behaved like a self-centred prat. I thought I wanted freedom but I just missed you the whole time. I was so miserable without you.
Maybe it’s too late and you’re with someone else now, in which case I hope you’re happy together. Ah bollocks, of course I don’t. I hope he’s a twat and you’re about to dump him. I would love to meet up anyway. What do you think? Have I blown it?
Love Dan x
‘Hmmm,’ Roy said, when she’d recounted the details to him. He chewed his shortbread thoughtfully. ‘Well, we all make mistakes. Takes a certain kind of person to own up to them, though.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s taken him long enough, mind. It’s three years since I saw him, you know. He obviously wasn’t that bothered.’
Roy shook his head. ‘Me and Geraldine split up once,’ he said. ‘Back when we were courting. Had an argument over the daftest thing – she had borrowed my sister’s bike and left it outside the library. Wasn’t there when she came out. But would she say sorry when it were her fault it got pinched? No, she bloody well would not.’
Sophie smiled, loving the thought of a teenage Geraldine cycling around the city. ‘I bet she was gorgeous when she was young,’ she said.
‘Aye, she were that. Gorgeous as a June rose, but stubborn as a one-eyed mule. We broke up over it, any road. I was getting it in the neck from our Janet, while Geraldine tried to blame me for lending her the bike in the first place.’ He shook his head. ‘I went out with Mary Gibbons instead but my heart was never in it. And Geraldine went off with Bobby Henderson, who everyone knew was a piece of work.’
‘So what happened?’
‘We were at a dance at Cutler’s Hall, all four of us. She were in this dress – I’ll never forget – white with pink roses, and her long hair all pinned up. Smashing, she looked. She’d got a job as a conductress on the tram at the time, so I went up to her and asked, “Can I have a return, please, Miss?” “A return?” she says, a bit snooty like. “A return to where?” “A return to where we were before that argument about the wretched bike,” I said.’
‘Aww,’ Sophie said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Roy, that’s lovely.’
‘And from that day on,’ he said, ‘we were never parted.’ He drank his tea, misty-eyed with nostalgia. ‘So you see,’ he went on, ‘if you both want to try again, you can. Don’t let history muck things up.’
‘Well, it worked for you,’ Sophie said, remembering with a pang how Dan had been back then – tanned and carefree, always laughing. She could remember how his skin felt against hers as if it were yesterday.
‘It did,’ he replied. ‘And it might work for you too, if you give it a go. What have you got to lose?’
‘Pride, dignity, self-respect …’ She ticked them off on her fingers.
‘But it’s worth a try, I reckon. The love of your life? Asking for another chance? You can’t say no to that, Sophie.’
‘No,’ Sophie agreed. ‘I guess I can’t.’ She drained the tea and got to her feet. ‘I’d better get on, anyway, I’m meant to start work at the café in half an hour. Thanks for the chat – and you’re right, by the way. You are a good listener.’
‘You have to be, with a wife like mine,’ he said, pulling a funny face. ‘Thanks for bringing my shopping, duck. And good luck with this fella. If he has any sense he’ll be grovelling for you to take him back.’
She smiled faintly. ‘I’ll let you know.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Il giardino – The garden
‘So,’ Mike said, leaning back in his chair and shooting Catherine a wary look. ‘What happens now, then?’
It was Thursday evening and they were in the Plough again, their own personal Switzerland of meeting places. Time to lay those cards on the table, Catherine thought to herself. Time to nail this once and for all.
Tonight she’d come better prepared, having thought long and hard about what she wanted as well as how he could make amends. Mike had arrived looking pale and unshaven, with bags under his eyes and bad skin hinting at sleeplessness. Good, Catherine found herself thinking without much sympathy. If anyone deserved a few long, dark nights of the soul, it was him after his shabby behaviour.
Drinks on the table, she eyeballed him right back. ‘I want to stay in the house,’ she said.
‘Here we go,’ he said. ‘I should have known you’d twist this around to you.’
Up yours, Mike. ‘Not just for my sake,’ she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘but for Matthew and Emily too. They need stability while they’re at university; it’s only right that they should still have their childhood home to come back to in the holidays.’ She folded her arms. ‘Three years, that’s all, just until they’ve finished at uni. Four, if you think, as I do, that they might need a bit of time to sort themselves out afterwards and find jobs. Then you can sell it, if you want.’
‘Hmm,’ he said non-committally.
‘It’s not as if there’s anything left on the mortgage,’ she added, having undertaken a thorough sweep of all the household paperwork in recent days. ‘And in the meantime I can manage the bills on my salary. It won’t cost you a penny.’
‘Your salary?’ he scoffed. ‘You’ve got a job?’
She knew he was being particularly vile because she’d rumbled him, but all the same, she wished he didn’t have to say it as if the thought of her working was such a joke. ‘Yes,’ she replied tightly. ‘I have, thanks.’
He snorted. ‘First time for everything,’ he muttered under his breath.
A tickertape flashed through her head of all the dinners she’d cooked him, all the baskets of laundry, all the bulging binbags and ironing and stair-hoovering. Then came a final image of her hands tightening around his meaty, ungrateful neck. ‘I would have loved a job before,’ she snapped, ‘but you always told me my job was looking after you and the kids. Remember?’
‘Bollocks,’ he said unconvincingly.
‘You wrecked my confidence. You told me I couldn’t do anything, and said nobody would want me,’ she went on, her voice rising. ‘You were so macho about being the provider, the hero of the family who paid for holidays and treats, that you never once supported me when I talked about working or going back to college.’ She glared at him. ‘Now do you remember?’
‘No,’ he replied, although the shifty look in his eyes told her a bell was ringing loud and clear in his head. He fidgeted on his stool. ‘What’s the job, anyway?’
Just look at that patronizing smirk; he couldn’t wait to rip her and her mysterious new job to shreds. In Mike’s opinion, being a doctor was the most noble profession out there; anything else was inferior. Nothing very noble about taking backhanders though, is there, Mike? she felt like saying.
‘It’s just a job,’ she replied steadily, refusing to compete. Only, to her, it was more than that, of course.
The day before, she’d driven out to the nursery in Risbury with her job application form, only to be greeted by the manager, Maggie, who read it through there and then. Maggie showed her around the place and the two of them had a lovely chat about plants and gardening in general as they went. The nursery looked great: a large shed where three other women stood around a big table, a seed tray of vermiculite and compost each, planting seeds or thinning seedlings with the radio playing songs in the background.
I could do this, Catherine thought, her confidence crystallizing in a way that it never had in all the recruitment agencies she’d slogged around. What was more, the nursery ran an inspiring outreach programme, helping to train troubled teenagers in horticultural skills, and she was dying to get involved with that, if possible.
‘It all looks great,’ she said to Maggie at the end. ‘Thanks for your time. Let me know if you’d like me
to come in for an interview or anything.’
Maggie burst out laughing. She was a big buxom woman with auburn curly hair, dark blue eyes and soft freckled skin. In her fifties now, she must have been stunning in her day. ‘What do you think that just was?’ she said, a hand on her hip. ‘That’s as good as my interviews get, doll!’
Catherine felt such an idiot. Here she was in jeans and scruffy boots and not even any mascara on. ‘I’d have put a skirt and heels on if I’d thought I was going to be interviewed,’ she confessed. ‘I’d have washed my hair and all.’
Maggie boomed with laughter again. ‘You won’t want heels in this place, chuck,’ she said in a friendly voice. ‘Besides, you look fine to me. Can you start on Monday?’
Catherine’s mouth fell open. ‘You mean … I’ve got the job?’
‘Sure, if you want it. The pay’s not amazing, I have to tell you, but it’s a nice place to work. I suppose I’d better take a character reference and what-not, but you seem all right and I’m not usually wrong about people.’ She held out a big freckled hand. ‘So are you in?’
Catherine shook it in disbelief. ‘I’m in.’
She felt joyful and excited for the rest of the day. Working in that shed with the women she’d seen, earth beneath her fingers, the radio playing … She could do that, she knew she could, way better than wrestling with a computer in an air-conditioned office. It would mean giving up most of her voluntary commitments, which was a shame, but she was sure they’d understand. It was time to start doing more for herself, rather than spending her life running around after everyone else.
‘As for the money you got from Centaur,’ she said to Mike now, changing the subject briskly, ‘I think you should give it back.’
He was raising his pint to his lips as she spoke, but almost dropped the glass on the table as her words registered in his brain. ‘Give it back?’ he echoed.
‘Not to the pharmaceutical company,’ she said, straight-faced. She had given this a lot of thought. ‘Back to the NHS. The Children’s Hospital is running an appeal for funds, for instance – they’d welcome your guilt money. And maybe you should give some of it to the families affected by your decisions, too. Jim Frost, for example. Ten grand or so to him should make up for nearly killing the man and ruining his family’s Christmas.’
He spluttered. ‘I don’t think—’
‘Oh, I do.’ She stared him down meaningfully. ‘I think it’s the least you can do, Mike. The very least. Otherwise …’
Her unspoken threat – Otherwise I’ll tell my journalist friend – dangled weightily between them. And you know I’ll do it, Mike.
His expression pained, he swallowed down a large mouthful of bitter without seeming to even taste it. Then he looked at her as if he no longer recognized her. ‘You’ve changed,’ he said accusingly.
Yes, Mike, I have, she thought. And it’s a change for the better. ‘You haven’t agreed to my suggestion yet,’ she reminded him.
He glared at her. ‘Yes,’ he muttered, beaten at last.
So it had all been bluff and bluster, she thought. Fight back and he turned out to be made of hot air and nothing more. She wished it hadn’t taken her so many years to discover this – but she knew it now at least.
‘Good for you, Cath,’ said Sophie. ‘Sounds like a brilliant week, what with your new job and all.’
It was Saturday now and Catherine had come to meet Anna and Sophie for the weekly Park Run; Anna’s idea. It was a grey, drizzly morning but there were still a good hundred people there and a lively, cheerful atmosphere as they thudded around together.
‘I have a feeling that your ex isn’t the only doctor who’s going to have to rethink their prescriptions in the future,’ Anna said mysteriously and tapped her nose. ‘Just a little something I saw on the news wires in the office yesterday.’
‘What’s happened?’ Catherine asked.
‘Schenkman Pharma, wasn’t it? They’re in all sorts of trouble. Forced to take Demelzerol and a couple of other drugs off the market because of the number of people suffering side-effects – and there’s talk of them facing massive financial penalties too. Some of the trial data has been leaked and it looks as if a lot of negative results were concealed in the official reports.’
Catherine felt an enormous weight roll off her shoulders. So it was over. The secret was out, and the matter now completely out of her hands. ‘Thank goodness,’ she said. ‘It’s been on my conscience the whole time – wondering if I should take the story to the press, do more about it. But then I’d think of the children, and I just couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t bring myself to shatter their image of Mike as a good guy.’ She pressed her lips together, feeling overwhelmed by emotion and guilt. No doubt Sophie would disagree with her when her own father had suffered at Mike’s hands.
But Sophie looked sympathetic. ‘You were in an impossible situation,’ she said. ‘And for what it’s worth, I think you were really brave, standing up to your ex and forcing him to act.’
‘Absolutely,’ Anna agreed. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Cath. You did something at least. Other people might have buried their heads in the sand.’
Catherine gave a wan smile. ‘I think it was the threat of “my journalist friend” that did it in the end. That’s you, by the way.’
Anna laughed. ‘Because I’m so threatening,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘I could totally … put him in my next restaurant column.’
‘Handsome Colleague becomes Dodgy Doctor,’ Sophie suggested, quirking an eyebrow.
Anna pulled a face. ‘Not this week he doesn’t,’ she said. ‘It’s the Valentine’s special, isn’t it? I’ve been baking like a loon, trying to work out the best home-cooked dinner for two for my cookery column, and me and Joe have got to suffer the red roses and cheesy music of The White House on Valentine’s night for the restaurant review. Imagine how thrilled his poor girlfriend is about that!’
‘Shit,’ Sophie said. ‘Really? I’d be fuming if my boyfriend had to take someone else out for dinner.’
‘Me too. I think the relationship is currently hanging by a thread, you know. I have to say, I do feel really bad about it.’
‘You shouldn’t,’ Catherine told her, feeling the beginnings of a stitch. With all the tennis she’d played over the years, she’d thought five kilometres would be a doddle, but talking and running at the same time was starting to become a problem. ‘He could have said no to the whole thing, couldn’t he? You’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Yeah. Two more weeks and I’ll be in Rome anyway, so it’ll all be worth it,’ Anna said, shrugging. ‘Hey – and talking of epic journeys, I’m off to see my mum this afternoon in Leeds. She’s finally agreed to tell me more about Dad.’
‘Really? Wow, that’s fantastic,’ Sophie said.
‘You must be so excited,’ Catherine said.
‘I know, I’m psyched. Well, psyched and bricking it, weirdly. I’m scared she’s going to say something awful about him.’ Anna’s pretty mouth twisted, betraying her nerves.
‘No,’ Catherine managed to puff. ‘I’m sure she won’t. But either way, at least you’ll know.’
‘Yeah,’ Sophie agreed. ‘I bet he’ll be great. You’ll see.’
After the run, the three of them had coffee and brunch together in the cosy park café. Half-term had just started so there would be no Italian class during the week, but they agreed to meet again for the next Park Run the following Saturday. ‘Oh, and did you two get the text from George about going guerrilla tomorrow?’ Catherine asked as they said goodbye.
‘I can’t make it, we’ve got an extra rehearsal on,’ Sophie said.
‘And I’m snowed under with work,’ Anna said. ‘Are you going, Cath?’ She winked. ‘I think our George has got a soft spot for you, you know.’
‘He hasn’t!’ Catherine protested. ‘He’s nice to everyone, not just me.’
Anna and Sophie looked at each other, eyebrows raised. ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too mu
ch …’ Sophie teased, and elbowed her. ‘He’s lovely anyway. You could do a lot worse.’
‘I’m not really … I hadn’t even thought …’ Catherine began, struggling to get the words out. Oh God. Why had they said that? Now she was all flustered. ‘Anyway,’ she said, trying to change the subject, ‘I’d better go. Good luck with your mum, Anna – and that Valentine’s dinner. I’ll be reading all about it.’
‘And you too with the new job,’ Anna said back, ‘and with the play, Sophie. We all want to come and see you on stage so let us know about tickets, yeah?’
‘Honestly, my part in it … blink and you’ll miss me,’ Sophie said, but you could tell she was chuffed. She hugged them both in turn. ‘It’s been a pleasure, girls. Have a good week!’
The following day, when it was time to meet George for their guerrilla gardening mission, Catherine kept remembering the way Sophie and Anna had teased her about him, and her nerve almost failed. They were only messing about, she told herself, as she dithered at the front door. They were just joking. She and George … Well, it was impossible. It was silly to even think about it.
George had told her the plan in the pub earlier that week: a group of them were clearing a patch of wasteland over near Fox Hill. This was no balaclava-wearing operation under cover of darkness, he explained. This was about the preliminaries: clearing the land then digging over the soil. ‘The gardening’s only half the story,’ he said. ‘It’s more about transforming neglected spaces; retaking the land to serve the community.’
George was already there when she arrived, along with a tall Irish bloke called Cal and two women, Jane and Nicki. Armed with rubber gloves and bin bags, they set about clearing the ground of broken glass, empty cans, a couple of syringes, an old tyre, crisp packets and even some used condoms. Gross.
