The Time is Now

by Gill Sanderson

  Next was a big folder marked 'Case Notes — David Kershaw'. This she didn't open. Instead, she carried it through to him. ‘What's this, David?’ she asked, though she thought she already knew.

  His smile disappeared. ‘I told you about my crash and the damage to my fingers.’ He took the folder from her and leafed through it abstractedly. ‘Perhaps it's not a good idea for a doctor to try to treat himself, but I wanted to make sure that everything possible had been done. These are my case notes. There are letters from no end of consultants, orthopaedic experts, neurologists, the lot. All of them say they can do so much — but never quite enough.’

  She took the folder from him. ‘No time to brood now. You've got work to do.’

  Many of his personal belongings had been packed in a hurry so they needed pressing or washing or cleaning. She helped him to make piles and put the first ever load in the washing machine.

  ‘You're to learn to operate this yourself,’ she told him. ‘I'll do it once for you. After that you're on your own.’

  The crockery, cutlery, pots and pans had been delivered but not unpacked. The pile of paper and packaging grew steadily bigger, but the kitchen began to look as if someone lived there. She pulled the plastic covering off the newly delivered bed, and called David to help her make it with the new sheets. There was something peculiarly intimate about the operation and she bent her head so that he shouldn't see the slight redness in her face.

  Finally it was time for him to take the boxes and the piles of packaging down to the basement. She dusted, brushed, vacuumed and cleared away the mess made by the unpacking. And then it was done. The flat still looked bare, but more like a home. There were pictures on the walls, a coffee table for drinks and the couch to relax on. It looked good.

  She felt warm, with a sense of satisfaction. Checking her watch, she saw that they had worked non-stop for nearly five hours. When David came back he put a friendly arm round her shoulders. ‘Go and have a bath,’ he said. ‘I promised you a banquet — I'll go to fetch it.’

  ‘What about you? Surely you're tired too?’ He looked weary, but happy. There were dark stains under his armpits and smudges on his face.

  ‘I'm all right for the moment. I'll have a bath when I come back. Then we can both relax.’

  She filled the bath and got undressed. She heard him shout, ‘Back in ten minutes.’ Then the door slammed. She prepared to get into the bath – and suddenly roared with rueful laughter. It was a good thing that he didn't hear her.

  ‘It's a bit chilly, but why don't you sit on the balcony and relax for a while?’ David said. ‘Put my coat round you and have a glass of wine. It's very pleasant out there.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea,’ Jane said demurely, and followed his suggestion.

  He had returned with a variety of cartons and had slipped them into the oven to reheat. She realised that a take-away it might be, but it was a superior one. He'd opened a bottle of wine and he poured her a glass, taking his own away with him. She sat, sipping her wine and watching the lights on the river. It was romantic. Very. She laughed again.

  Behind her she heard him setting the table in the dining section in the kitchen, putting out the new cutlery and crockery. Then there was a silence, and in the distance she heard the drumming sound of water being poured into the bath. This was a super red wine, obviously very expensive. She sipped, and laughed again.

  He reappeared a little later, hair slicked back and dressed in dark blue jeans and shirt. ‘Dinner is served, madam,’ he said. She followed him back to the kitchen. He had put more music on, a CD of some piano music, distant and dreamy. The meal was indeed a banquet, but she had worked hard so she felt entitled to enjoy her food. He poured more wine. Afterwards they went back into the living room and he dragged the couch to where they could sit and look at the river, before bringing a filled coffee pot. There were also two small glasses, into which he poured a dark green liqueur. ‘Benedictine,’ he told her, ‘from my last trip abroad. I was saving it for an occasion like this.’

  They drank the liqueur and coffee. He put his arm round her shoulders and she leaned against him. She felt warm and happy, but mischief welled up inside her. Suddenly she couldn't contain herself any longer. She laughed.

  It surprised him, even shocked him. ‘What's so funny?’ he asked uncertainly.

  She giggled again. ‘I don't know that it's funny. In fact, it's half tragic. I feel terrible really. Because I know what you're doing now. The meal, the drink — you want me to stay the night, don't you?’

  ‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ he said cautiously, ‘but, of course, it's entirely up to you.’

  ‘I would like to,’ she told him. ‘I would like to in every possible way. But every way just isn't possible because of an unavoidable and specifically female condition which has just started — a little early, in fact — all we could do is sleep. Tonight or in the next three or four nights.’

  She looked at him and collapsed, giggling, again. ‘Oh, David, if you could just see your face! Come on, you obviously know about these problems.’

  ‘I'm a doctor, of course I do! It's just that …’ Reluctantly, he, too, saw the funny side. ‘I suppose you can't win them all,’ he said. ‘That's the truest saying I know. Come on, more coffee?’

  She leaned over to kiss him. ‘You're a wonderful, wonderful man,’ she said. ‘Yes, I'll have more coffee.’

  Later he offered to run her home, or said she could stay if she wanted. She did want to stay in that new bed they'd just made, but she thought the frustration would be too much. For her as well as for him. ‘Take me home,’ she said. ‘It's such a pity, David.’

  Chapter Six

  There were the usual pre-operation chores for Jane in the morning. First a quick glance at the list pinned by the changing room door. Nothing out of the way. Then into the anteroom to greet Mary Barnes who was now her runner. After her shaky start she had become the perfect Theatre assistant. While Jane stood by her trolley, handing things to the surgeon, Mary fetched anything extra Mr Steadman might need. She was an extra pair of hands for Jane – and often they were needed. When Mr Steadman needed something in Theatre, he needed it now.

  ‘You're looking cheerful this morning,’ Mary said. ‘Have a good weekend?’ She finished scrubbing up, having taken the statutory three minutes.

  ‘It had its moments,’ Jane said ruefully. ‘Trolley ready?’

  ‘Already covered in its green cloth. But I'll go through and check everything.’ Mary walked through to the instrument room.

  Jane rubbed the pink antiseptic soap into her hands and started to scrub up herself. ‘Morning, David.’ She was rinsing her arms as he came into the anteroom so there was no way she could do more than twist round and smile at him.

  He had a paper in his hand which seemed to greatly interest him because he didn't reply. Perhaps he hadn't heard.

  ‘I had a super surprise last night,’ she said smilingly. ‘I was —’

  ‘I'm sure you did. Now could we keep the social chit-chat till a more appropriate time? We have work to do here.’

  She looked at him, astounded. Had he really spoken to her like that? His face was remote, his voice curt and chill. She said, ‘David, I …’ But he had left the room.

  In Theatre he kept his head down, and there were no remarks to her and Edmund when things were going well. Even Edmund noticed it. ‘Everything all right, David?’

  ‘Just keeping my eye on this gauge, Edmund. I'm a tiny touch concerned about the heartbeat. Nothing for you to worry about.’

  ‘Let me know if there is.’ Edmund bent to his task. He had one job, his anaesthetist another.

  At lunchtime David hurried off, and he didn't join Jane in the canteen. Perhaps there was something wrong, but she hoped not.

  She managed to speak to him before the afternoon list started. ‘David, is there anything wrong? You seem to be —’

  ‘There's nothing whatsoever wrong with me. Thank you for your concern, but
I really don't need it.’ And he brushed past her. She stared after him, open-mouthed.

  That night, between choir practice and doing her washing, she tried to phone him three times. Each time she reached his answerphone and asked him to ring her back. He didn't bother. First she was concerned, then she was upset, finally she got angry. No one treated her this way.

  He was as cold as ever next morning, but she paid no attention to him. However, at the end of the morning's list she managed to get him on his own in the anteroom. ‘David, could we have a word?’

  ‘I'm afraid I don't have time right now.’ He tried to get by her, but she moved quickly, put her hand on his chest and pushed him back.

  ‘David, you owe me an explanation. If you don't want to see me anymore, that's fine. But I would appreciate a little courtesy. Just one sentence would have done. I don't mind being insulted, but I won't be ignored. Now, just tell me we're...finished and, if you can, why. Then I'll never bother you again.’

  ‘I'll give you just one sentence,’ he said savagely. ‘Or perhaps two or three. I had an early call yesterday morning. Like a love-struck teenager, I drove past your house. I looked at your bedroom window and there was a man in pyjamas looking out. He was yawning — he'd obviously spent the night there. Then I saw you in your dressing-gown behind him. You hugged him. I hope he was worth it.’

  She looked at him, white-faced, unable to speak. When he tried to move past her she said, ‘Now it's my turn for one sentence, if not two or three. Yes, he spent the night on Sunday, and d'you know what? He gave me some money. Makes it even worse, doesn't it? He's younger than you, David, not quite as good-looking but very presentable. I had a wonderful evening with him. He's got an awful lot of qualities that you don't have, that you'll never have.’

  Now he too was white-faced. ‘I don't care to hear any more,’ he said.

  ‘Well, unfortunately, you're going to have to. You've missed the best part. He did sleep in my bedroom, but he slept on the floor. He's done it quite often before. I didn't tell you his name, did I? It's Peter Cabot. He's my brother. I've been supporting him through medical school. Now he's a house officer and he's getting paid at last so he wants to start paying me back. That's the money. We don't usually allow men to stay overnight in the house, we have rules against it, but brothers are an exception. Happy now, David?’

  She had seen the comprehension slowly dawning on his face. He believed her, of course. Why shouldn't he? It was the truth.

  His voice was anguished. ‘Jane … Jane, what can I say?’

  ‘You can't say anything. You've already said it. I think it's a joke, coming from you, feeling entitled to suspect other people. You, the world's greatest multiple lover. It's a question of trust, David. You didn't ask, you didn't give me the chance to explain — you just made up your mind. I'm still not sure whether to trust you or not. But, whatever you did, I would always have asked you if you had anything to say.’

  ‘Jane, I —’

  ‘I haven't finished. Don't try to explain, don't be sorry. It's too late. We'll work together, be pleasant to each other, we're part of a team. But anything else between us is finished. Now you can work your way through all the Sister Fallows of the hospital. And good luck to you.’

  She brushed past him, but he turned and reached out to catch her arm. She stopped and brushed off his hand. ‘Don't come after me,’ she said, the calmness of her voice not masking the ferocity behind it. ‘Everything has already been said.’ When she set off again he didn't follow her.

  She had enjoyed making her little speech, it had satisfied her. Her anger had been genuine and she had meant every word. But when she got to the front door of her house that night she felt less happy. Now that the rage had gone, there was a deep sadness. She had liked David so much, they had such a lot in common. In fact, she was in … She couldn't bring herself even to think the word.

  And she had to keep up the appearance of cheerfulness for Peter. He had come up late on Sunday, the first break he'd had from his arduous house officer's job. And he loved the work.

  He'd brought her money and had said it was the first instalment of what he owed her. She'd tried to refuse it because she'd happily paid for his training.

  ‘I have my pride, you know,’ he'd said threateningly. ‘We agreed when I took the money that I could pay it back.’

  ‘And I have my pride, too,’ she'd replied. Then they'd both giggled and she'd said, ‘Tell you what, we'll split the difference. I'll take half. And when you're a consultant you can give me the balance then.’

  Sue and Megan had insisted that the rules against men staying over didn't apply to brothers, so Peter was staying in her room. It was like old times again.

  He had been tall and gangling, even at eighteen, but since then he'd filled out. Hard work and exercise had made him much more solid. The child's face had become more serious and he looked like a good doctor. But when he smiled she still remembered the little lad whose swing she'd pushed when they were young, and the walks they'd had, hand in hand, through the park.

  ‘Smells good,’ she said as she walked into the kitchen. He stood up from the oven and grinned.

  ‘I'm a well-brought-up young man,’ he said. ‘Someone taught me how to cook when I was young. Like my pinny?’

  Over his jeans and shirt he was wearing an apron he must have found in one of the kitchen drawers. It was floral and far too small for him. She laughed. ‘Just don't let any of your patients see you dressed like that.’

  ‘I certainly won't. When I got my long white coat I practised the cool, assessing medical look. It's a strain on the face, but it works.’ He reached for the kettle. ‘Cup of tea?’

  ‘Love one. And what's that cooking? I'm ravenous.’ Because of her argument with David she hadn't wanted to eat in the canteen – her anger had kept her going. But now she was hungry.

  ‘Ah. What's cooking is chilli con carne, very nourishing and tasty, too. But all the experts agree that it's better cooked and then left to rest for a day, so we'll have it tomorrow. I've even cooked extra so you can freeze some.’

  He'd turned his back to her to make the tea. But he was her little brother and she knew him.

  ‘Come on, Peter. First of all, I'm hungry now. I don't want to wait till tomorrow to eat. Secondly, you're hiding something. Out with it!’

  ‘So much for doctors not letting their emotions show,’ he muttered. ‘It's all a bit complicated. The fact is, sister, I got a phone call this afternoon. I've been invited out to dinner. You're invited too, if you want to come. And I think I'd like you to come.’

  She sat at the kitchen table and remained silent till he was seated opposite her and had pushed a mug of tea across to her. ‘Who's invited you out to dinner? And me as well if I want to come?’ Her voice was dangerously calm.

  He came round the table and put his arm round her shoulders. For a moment she resisted, then she leaned against him. He was bigger than she was. For years, when he'd been a boy and so much smaller than her, he had leaned against her in just this way. Now things had changed and he was a man. And now she found she liked leaning against him.

  ‘You know very well who's invited us out to dinner. David Kershaw. He said he wanted to take me out to dinner because he owed me an apology. He told me about seeing me in pyjamas at your window, and what he'd thought. He said the least he could do was feed me. But we don't have to go if you don't want. I said I'd ring to confirm things. He said he felt wrecked and he sounded it, too.’

  ‘Good,’ said Jane. ‘I hope he's suffering.’ This was the last thing she'd expected. How did she feel? What she'd said to David had been final and definitive, and she'd meant it. Their affair was over. But now he was trying to make amends. Did she want him back? The raw anger was still there, but there was another emotion she could feel. She felt relief. She wanted him back.

  Peter was looking at her anxiously. ‘You haven't mentioned this fellow in your letters, Jane. Just how serious are things?’

  ‘P
robably more serious than they should be. I went out with him to start with on a very casual basis. He doesn't seem a very good investment, Peter.’

  ‘Well, I liked the sound of him. We had a long talk about medicine, and there's a couple of things he could tell me. Did you know he started off wanting to be a surgeon?’

  ‘Yes, I knew. I know a lot about him.’

  ‘Anyway …’ Her brother's arm was still round her, and she was still leaning on him. It was comforting. ‘He sent you a message, via me. A bit of a peculiar one, really. I've never had to pass on anything like this before. He said he's never said it to you directly — but he loves you.’

  ‘He does what? He loves me? I must say, he has a funny way of showing it.’

  Peter squeezed her. ‘You've usually had good taste in men, Jane. I liked John Gilmore. Are you going to give this David Kershaw a chance? It's your decision. If not, I'll phone him and we'll eat chilli con carne.’

  ‘I suppose we'd better go,’ she said wearily. ‘You'd better phone him to make arrangements. Say we'll come out with him if you can drive his car.’

  ‘What sort of. a car has he got?’

  ‘It's a Porsche. It's his pet.’

  ‘A Porsche!’ Peter may have been a doctor, but there was still something of the little boy in him. ‘I wonder if he will let me have a drive?’ Then he sighed. ‘No need even to think about it. I won't be insured. What colour is it, Jane? How old is it?’

  ‘He'll tell you all that, and you can talk about your Dinky collections. Just phone him and tell him he can take us somewhere expensive.’

  ‘I think he'd already decided that.’ Peter kissed her on the cheek. ‘All right, little sister?’

  ‘Yes. I'm all right. Tell him he can take us to dinner. And tell him that this doesn't mean that he's forgiven. It's dinner only.’