The Time is Now

by Gill Sanderson

  ‘I think he knows that.’

  Peter phoned, and arranged that they would be picked up at eight. ‘We're going to Chez Picard,’ he said. ‘What's that like?’

  Jane winced. ‘That is expensive,’ she said. ‘You're not allowed in the car park with anything less than a Jaguar. I hope he doesn't think he can buy me.’

  ‘He can buy me,’ Peter said. ‘Well, he can buy me a meal. Now, shall I do you a quick cheese sandwich to keep you going?’

  Peter went to change first and came down looking very much the young doctor in a dark suit, white shirt, and college tie. ‘Very professional,’ she said. ‘Now it's my turn.’

  Megan had arrived home by the time she came back down, and was having an earnest conversation at the kitchen table with Peter. The two had much in common. They looked up.

  ‘Jane, you look gorgeous,’ Megan gasped.

  She had let down her hair, brushed and tied back. She wore a little more make-up than usual with a touch of perfume. She was wearing a mini dress in grey silk, sleeveless, and showing much leg. It wasn't quite the thing for getting in and out of a sports car, but for once she didn't mind.

  Peter smiled proudly. He knew his sister well. ‘You want to make him suffer, don't you?’ he said. ‘Well, you will wearing that dress.’

  ‘Let him know what he's missing,’ said Jane.

  David knocked on the door at two minutes to eight and Peter let him in. For Jane there was a bunch of red and cream roses, and she read the card that came with them. It simply said, ‘Sorry.’ He looked at her with a small smile.

  ‘They're really nice,’ she said unenthusiastically. ‘I'll put them in some water.’ She knew what she was doing to him, and she didn't mind at all!

  With difficulty the three of them managed to fit into the Porsche. She insisted on going in the back – after all, she had the shortest legs. Perhaps wisely, David concentrated on talking to Peter, and Jane was glad of this. It gave the two a chance to get to know each other, and she still wasn't sure about her feelings for David. Fortunately, Peter and David had a lot in common. They prattled on about medicine and cars, and after a while she felt almost left out of the conversation.

  The meal at Chez Picard was superb. They sat in a banquette, enjoying course after delicious course. She chose a starter of chicken poached in a white wine sauce with rocket and fennel leaves. Then there was turbot, with a vast selection of vegetables, and to finish, ice cream in a spun sugar basket. She was a good eater and she thoroughly enjoyed it all.

  David still didn't say very much to her, continuing to be in deep conversation with Peter. He treated her as a colleague and friend, not as a lover. She thought this showed a certain delicacy on his part, that he didn't think that everything was back to normal. But she had to admit to herself that she felt better towards him by the end of the meal. Food always makes me happy, she thought with amusement.

  They had coffee and David drove them home. With some tact, Peter said goodbye to David and walked to the front door, leaving David to help Jane out of the back of the Porsche. Her skirt rode up – as she had known it would – and he glanced expressionlessly from the long length of her leg to her eyes. He, too, knew why she had worn that particular dress.

  ‘I've enjoyed this evening — I think,’ he said. ‘I like your brother, he's good company.’

  ‘I've also enjoyed the evening — I think,’ she replied. ‘Thank you for a very pleasant meal.’

  He winced a bit at her false politeness, but said nothing about it. ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course — we're working together.’

  ‘That's not exactly what I meant. Will I be seeing you?’

  ‘It's going to take time, David,’ she told him, ‘but I think we'll be friends again soon.’

  ‘That's fair enough. I could apologise again, but I doubt if it would do any good. You already know how I feel about you, don't you?’

  She was silent for a moment. ‘You told Peter to tell me that you loved me. Why was that?’

  He was silent, then he said, ‘You may not believe this, but the only other woman I have ever said I loved was … was Diane. I've never said it to anyone else.’

  ‘So we're not just having a casual affair? This is serious, is it? David, what if I want it just to be casual?’

  He sighed. ‘It's your decision, of course. But I'm hoping that in time you'll get to … care for me as much as I care for you. Come on, you'll be getting cold like that. You'd better get inside.’

  He walked her to the open front door and said, ‘Goodnight, Jane.’ Then he turned and was gone. He had made no attempt to kiss her. Good. She heard the rumble of the engine, and watched the car move away.

  ‘Well, I liked him, Jane,’ Peter said later as they sat at the kitchen table. ‘Obviously I won't interfere, but are you going to forgive him?’

  ‘I'm thinking about it. Trust is very important to me, and for a while there he didn't trust me.’

  ‘He will next time. If I were you, I'd give him another chance.’

  It wasn't the same as it had been in Theatre for the next day or two. David obviously knew that he wasn't to presume for he smiled gingerly and she was professional without being too friendly. But they were still part of a good team.

  ‘I liked your brother,’ he'd said when they'd had a moment together on Wednesday. ‘He's got all the makings of a good doctor. He asked interesting questions.’

  ‘He liked you, too,’ she'd told him, ‘but that might just be a sign that the Cabots are bad at judging people.’

  He'd sighed. ‘I suppose I deserved that. Are you still hurting, Jane?’

  She'd thought about the question for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she'd said, ‘I'm still hurting. I might be able to understand, but I feel betrayed.’

  ‘That makes me feel worse than ever, but I hope that in time you'll —’

  Then, as so often happened, they'd been interrupted. The anteroom of an operating Theatre was no place to conduct a long personal conversation.

  When she got home on Friday there was a letter waiting for her. She knew who it was from at once. She wanted to put off reading it till later in the evening. She might feel more … confident then. Her emotions were already in turmoil. But there was choir practice later, and she wasn't going to miss it.

  The postmark showed that the letter came from a small town in Yorkshire just over the Pennines. She felt more, uneasy than ever. Recently she'd had one emotional upset and she wasn't in the mood for another. Should she put the letter in the drawer and wait until she felt calmer? No. She'd started this so she'd carry on.

  The letter was written on headed notepaper. There was also an e-mail address. That made things worse. These were real people, with a real address and real feelings. If she read on she knew she'd have to worry and wonder about what they thought. She read on.

  Dear Jane,

  I'm not exactly writing back at once. In fact, I've had parts of this letter ready for weeks. I know what I want to say — or I think I do. I wrote to the society, and hoped that you would get in touch. Then it was so good to get your letter. You seem to be a success, happy in your work, and I trust you will decide to marry in time. There are many questions I want to ask you, but I'd really like to ask you in person — if you want that too.

  There are things I want you to know. This is not an excuse, but an explanation. I want you to know how it came about that I offered you for adoption. If you only knew how much the decision hurt me.

  Nearly thirty years ago, when I was eighteen, I became pregnant. I was a student in a teacher training college, intending to teach primary school children. I wanted to do so much, I was so enjoying-the course. My boyfriend at the time was Colin. He was a year older than me, and had just gone to Africa for a year to work in a school out there. We were serious about each other, but I knew this trip was what he wanted and I couldn't stand in his way, even though I knew I'd miss him.

  It was a fortnight after he'd left that I found I
was pregnant. There was no way I could get in touch with him — he had gone upcountry. My parents were dead. I had been brought up by an aunt and I knew she wouldn't be very sympathetic. I perhaps could have had an abortion. It was my own decision that I didn't want this. So I had you, and I was persuaded that the best thing to do was offer you for adoption. You must remember that things were very different thirty years ago; women having babies and careers wasn't half as common as it is now.

  I didn't tell Colin what had happened when he came back. We got married, but after two or three years I did tell him. He was terribly upset. He wanted to get in touch with you at once, said we ought at least to find out if you were all right, but I thought it in your best interests not to do anything. So reluctantly, he agreed with me.

  We have been married twenty-five years now. He's a primary school headmaster, and I teach part time after I brought up the children. We had two more children — Maria, who is eighteen, and Mark, who is twenty-one. They might look like you as they are your brother and sister.

  I would like to meet you, perhaps, if that's the way it goes, only once. But I would like to meet you. I've thought about it so often, and didn't write, partly out of cowardice, partly because I thought it might upset you. But I'd like to meet you now. If you don't want to meet then I fully understand, you have a good life of your own. I know I have no call on you.

  I hope you don't mind if I finish this letter.

  Love, Marion Stott.

  Underneath was a line in a different hand. And I want so much to meet you too. God Bless You, Colin Stott.

  She read through the letter four times, not knowing what to make of the chaotic emotions she was feeling. One thing she did know – it had upset her. She'd thought she'd had her emotions, her attitude to her family, well under control. She'd been so happy at home that she'd never even thought about the woman who'd given her up. It had been none of her business. And now, suddenly, it was her business. She wasn't sure she liked it. First the trouble with David, now this. How was she going to cope?

  But life had to go on. It was choir practice tonight, and she had to go to that. She went to get changed.

  For all the good she did, she might as well have stayed at home. At long last the choir had got things right, and they were singing like professionals. All on her own, Jane dragged them back to sounding like amateurs again.

  She'd also intended to do a session with the Samaritans that night. Wisely, she phoned to cancel. She was aware that she'd be unable to concentrate on other people's emotional problems, and was likely to have done more harm than good.

  ‘Would you like me to arrange some counselling?’ her leader asked her.

  ‘No, thanks. I can sort things out myself,’ she said. Even as she spoke the words, she knew she was wrong. She needed to talk to someone.

  Saturday was little better. She played hockey as if she were dreaming, fouling people, missing passes, being in the wrong place. She couldn't concentrate. What made things worse was that everyone forgave her. ‘We all have bad days,’ the captain said good-naturedly. Jane felt she would rather have been shouted at.

  By Sunday morning she realised that things couldn't go on like this any longer. She was still walking around in a dream – cleaning her teeth twice in a row, forgetting to put the tea in the teapot, narrowly avoiding an accident as she turned into the drive of the house. Next day was Monday, when she had to be a scrub nurse again. No way could she avoid being alert for that.

  She needed to talk to someone. Megan and Sue were the two obvious choices, but they both knew her too well to give her the detached advice she needed. Detached – that was the operative word. She needed someone detached. Who was the expert she knew on keeping emotions at bay? Not that he'd been doing too well recently. She phoned David on his mobile.

  ‘I need advice,’ she said abruptly. ‘Nothing to do with you and me, it's just about me. I want someone detached to tell me what to do.’

  ‘I'm not detached from you, Jane — at least, I don't want to be. But I'm happy to help you if I can. Shall I come to your house or will you come to my flat?’

  Already, the sound of that calm voice was persuading her that there would be some kind of answer to her problems, but she didn't fancy either of the two alternatives he'd suggested.

  ‘Neither. I want to meet you on some kind of … neutral ground. You come in your car, I'll come in mine.’

  ‘As you wish. But it's a bit cold for meeting outside.’

  She paused. ‘There's a pub called the Old Ferry, where they used to row people across the river. It's down a little road from Wenton. You park this side of the railway line and walk over.’

  ‘I've never been there but I know where you mean and I'll find it. When shall I see you?’

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. Twenty past eleven. ‘In about an hour? At half past twelve?’

  ‘I'll see you there.’

  Before he could ring off she said, ‘And remember, David, this is not about us. I've got other things on my mind.’

  ‘That's fair enough. But I'm glad you feel you can call on me. Half past twelve, then.’ He rang off.

  It was much colder now. There was no sun and the wind was chilly. Winter was arriving. She dragged out her duffle coat and put it on over her sweater and trousers, then drove to the Old Ferry.

  There weren't as many cars as there were in summer, but the Porsche was already there. David was always punctual. She climbed the bridge over the railway line and stopped to look at the vast width of the river and the thin line of hills on the other side. The view made her problems seem less important, more capable of solution. She would work something out.

  There were wooden benches outside the pub, but it was cold and only one man was sitting there. It was David, wearing a thick climber's anorak over cords and a sweater. When he saw her approaching he stood and smiled tentatively.

  ‘I thought it a bit early for alcohol, so I ordered a tray of sandwiches and some coffee. But I'll get you some wine if you like.’

  She shook her head. ‘Coffee is fine. Can we stay out here? That coat of yours looks warm enough.’

  ‘It is. And we can stay where you like. Has Peter gone back?’

  ‘He's back in London. He wants me to go down to visit him soon.’

  David nodded but said nothing. Someone must have been watching them, for a girl brought out sandwiches and a pot of coffee. David poured for them, and she wrapped her fingers round the warm mug.

  ‘I like looking at the view here,’ he said. ‘It's so tranquil. So I'll sit and watch and you start when you're ready.’

  She shouldn't have forgotten how responsive to her moods he was. Somehow he knew that she wanted a few minutes' silence before she could talk.

  Together they stared at the mud banks and the polished silver surface of the river, marked only by the odd ripple where the wind brushed it. Only a week ago she would have reached out and held his hand. She didn't now. Perhaps, later on, she might.

  It was time to talk. ‘I told you I was adopted, that my real mother — that is, my birth mother — wrote to me about wanting to meet. You told me there was no hurry, to wait till I knew what I wanted. Well, I wrote to her. And she wrote back at once. It's thrown me and I don't know what to think or do. This is it.’

  She handed him the letter. He read it through twice carefully then slipped it back in the envelope. ‘What do you think you think?’ he asked. ‘If that sentence makes sense.’

  ‘I'm confused. I've got one family, even though it's just Peter. I'm not sure that I want another.’

  ‘Are you worried about what Peter would feel? Because I'll say straight away that although I've only met him once he struck me as a very well-balanced young man. I don't think he'd have any problem coping with you getting an extra relation or two.’

  ‘I suppose you're right. The thing is, if I go any further — if I meet them — then they'll be mine. There's no way I can ever forget them again. And that frightens me. I think
I wish I hadn't written.’

  ‘It would frighten me, too.’ He pushed the sandwiches towards her. ‘Eat, and keep up the blood sugar.’ After a pause he said, ‘This is to do with your character. You never back away from a fight, a confrontation.’ He smiled ironically, ‘I know that if anyone does. Jane, do you think you'll ever be happy if you don't go to see them?’

  She bit into a ham sandwich. ‘No,’ she said. ‘When it comes down to it, I know I've got to see them.’

  He frowned and picked up the letter again. After rereading it, he said, ‘I might be wrong, I might be completely wrong. And I'm not sure you'll want to hear what I have to say because it'll influence you. But I think there's something you've missed in this letter.’

  ‘Missed something! The number of times I've read it?’

  ‘Perhaps you're too close.’

  ‘Don't be irritating,’ she snapped. ‘I've read it every half-hour for the past two days. I've missed nothing.’

  ‘Perhaps not: Why have they waited so long to get in touch? She acknowledges that it might have been kinder not to do so. What about that one-line message to you from Colin. "I want so much to meet you, too"?’

  ‘Well, what about it? You tell me. I did wonder about it.’

  Choosing his words carefully, David said, ‘I wonder if perhaps one of them might be seriously — dangerously — ill. A case of putting their life in order before it's too late.’

  ‘Give me that letter.’ She read through it, even though she now practically knew its contents by heart.

  Yes, now she could see what David meant. ‘For a primary school headmaster, his handwriting is a bit erratic,’ she said.

  ‘As if he was having difficulty holding the pen.’

  She looked at David with gloomy respect. This was just the kind of subtle idea she might have expected from him. ‘I think you might be right,’ she said. ‘So now what do I do?’

  He pointed to her plate. ‘Forget things for a moment. Finish your sandwich, and have another one. You'll feel better then. Look, there's a great flock of geese overhead. Going to Canada or somewhere.’