Taken For Granted

by Caroline Anderson

  He’d kill her. The least she could have done was phone.

  Well, sitting here wasn’t achieving anything. He flicked off the television, jack-knifed out of the settee and went to find his stroppy son.

  Maybe half an hour of Henry the Eighth would take his mind off Sally.

  Sally turned into the drive and pulled up outside the garage. She could hardly move for weariness, but she forced herself to open the garage door and then drive the car in.

  Her energy ran out at that point. Still shocked, she leant against the steering-wheel and gave a little sigh. She should have stayed at the hospital longer, but she knew Sam would be worried and she wanted to be at home.

  It was silly driving. She’d told them she was taking a taxi, but had asked the taxi-driver to take her back to Sam’s car and had driven home from there. It was only two miles, but she shouldn’t have done it. She still wasn’t thinking clearly, though.

  She tried to summon the energy to open the car door and get out, but her legs were like jelly and so she sat there, her eyes glazed, and waited.

  Sam would come soon, she knew. He’d help her.

  Moments later her door was yanked open.

  ‘About bloody time,’ Sam growled.

  She looked up. He was scowling, obviously livid, and she’d never been so pleased to see him in her life. ‘Hi,’ she murmured weakly.

  ‘Hi?’ he exclaimed. ‘Is that the best you can come up with? Where the hell have you been? You might have phoned—damn it, woman, do you have any idea how late it is?’

  She knew he was only angry because he’d been worried. It was an emotion she knew well. She tried to summon up a smile, but the effort was beyond her.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to worry you but I couldn’t get away…’

  ‘Just tell him to go to hell. You’re my wife, Sally—mine! Dick Price has no business keeping you out so late.’

  ‘Dick Price?’ She blinked and tried to concentrate. ‘Who’s Dick Price?’

  Sam reached in and yanked her out of the seat, slamming her up against the side of the car. ‘Don’t play games with me, Sally! You know damn well who he is—you’ve just spent the entire evening with him!’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re crazy,’ she said weakly.

  ‘Too bloody right I’m crazy! I love you! You’re my wife—mine!’ He searched her face. ‘Did the bastard kiss you? Like this?’

  His mouth swooped down, plundering her lips, forcing her head back against his arm as his tongue forced its way past her teeth, demanding entrance.

  A sob rose in her throat, and he lifted his head glaring at her. ‘Well?’

  ‘You’re mad,’ she said blankly, and tears started at the corners of her eyes. ‘Crazy. I’ve been at the hospital—a car went off the road and I pulled the occupants out just before it exploded. I was knocked out. I have’t been with anybody.’

  A puzzled frown crossed his face. ‘But Steve said——

  ‘Steve?’

  ‘Dalton. Steve Dalton. He said you left with the pharmaceutical rep.’

  She searched her memory, back into what seemed like the distant past. A face swam vaguely into her mind. ‘Oh, him. He left at the same time, but we weren’t together. I was on my way home when I saw a car in the ditch.’

  Sam straightened away from her, his face pale. ‘It exploded?’

  She nodded, a shudder running through her.

  ‘My God, Sally, you could have been killed!’

  She started to shake uncontrollably, and with a muttered curse Sam scooped her up into his arms and carried her through into the sitting-room.

  ‘Did they check you over?’ he asked tersely.

  ‘Mmm. I’m OK, just a bit shaken,’ she told him unsteadily, and turned her face away. She couldn’t seem to stop the tears, and crying always made her feel so vulnerable. The last thing she wanted was to be vulnerable when he was so angry with her.

  She felt his hand curve gently round her cheek and turn her back towards him. ‘Sally? Are you OK? Do you hurt? Darling, talk to me.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘I’m OK. Really. I just want to sleep.’

  He let her go, settling her against the cushions, and in the background she could hear his voice on the phone.

  Checking up on her, no doubt.

  She was too tired to be angry with him, but later— later she’d tell him what she thought of his suspicious mind.

  He could have trusted her. He should have done. After all, she had trusted him in the same circumstances.

  But she was too tired now to deal with it. Much too tired. Later, perhaps…

  Sam sat on the other end of the settee, Sally’s feet against his thigh, and watched her sleep.

  Apparently she was a heroine. According to the nurse he’d spoken to, the A and E team had praised her courage, the ambulance men said the couple would have died without her help, the policeman first on the scene was amazed that she had even seen the vehicle from the road.

  Sam felt dreadful. All evening he had harboured evil thoughts, convinced she was out with Dick Price, when all the time she had been risking her life to rescue someone.

  He thought of that kiss, savage, uncalled-for, totally without sensitivity, and groaned.

  Why, why, why had he done it?

  Blind, unreasoning jealousy, of course. That was what came of loving her.

  Or not trusting her.

  He winced inwardly. She was going to give him such a hard time once she recovered. And, furthermore, he’d deserve every last word of the tongue-lashing he knew he had coming.

  Ashamed, chastened, but above all concerned about her, he leant over and took her hand.

  ‘Sally?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She roused herself. ‘Why do you care?’ she mumbled.

  He sighed. ‘Because I love you,’ he told her quietly. ‘I know you’re going to say I’ve got a funny way of showing it, but it’s true.’

  She sat up, pulling her feet away from him.

  ‘You didn’t trust me.’

  He felt hot colour brush his neck. ‘No. I’m sorry. I just know Dick Price’s reputation. I also know how you feel about me at the moment. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for you to spend the evening with him just for a bit of fun—a bit of light relief, someone to make you feel good about yourself.’

  Her soft green eyes fixed him like bayonets. ‘Do you really think I would do that when you were expecting me home for a meal? Without letting you know?’

  He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’ve been late before without letting you know.

  Her mouth tightened. ‘I know. Aggravating, isn’t it?’

  She swung her legs over the edge of the settee and stood up, swaying slightly. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  ‘You need something to eat.’

  ‘It would stick in my throat,’ she told him flatly, and left him sitting there steeped in regret.

  Sam wanted her to stay at home the next day, but she refused. She felt fine by the morning—a little sore from all the scratches on her legs and arms, but otherwise perfectly all right.

  Anyway, she had no urge to sit around the house all day and look at the dirt. Sam was failing to get to grips with the housework, and today she was going to say something.

  ‘I don’t think you should go in,’ Sam said again at breakfast.

  ‘I’m fine. You just concentrate on cleaning the place up, and let me do my job.’

  ‘My job,’ he reminded her, piqued at the criticism.

  ‘Not this week. This week it’s mine, and you’re doing this place—remember? I’ll see you later—I’m on duty, so don’t expect me.’

  She kissed the children, but not Sam. As she went out, she heard Molly tell him off. ‘Go and kiss her,’ she said.

  He followed her out. ‘Molly says I have to kiss you.’

  ‘Does she?’ Sally said discouragingly. ‘Tough.’

  She arrived at the surgery at the same time as Ste
ve Dalton.

  ‘Hi,’ he said breezily. ‘Have a good evening?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ she told him bluntly, ‘and the next time anyone asks where I am, do me the service of getting your facts right. I was not with Dick Price—I was helping at the scene of an RTA and ended up nearly blown to bits and, let me tell you, I didn’t appreciate getting yelled at by Sam when I got in because you’d got your facts wrong!’

  She stormed into the building, leaving a confused and uncomfortable Steve open-mouthed in the car park.

  He came in to see her after her morning surgery, bearing a cup of coffee and an apologetic grin. ‘Sorry about that. I just caught a glimpse of you leaving the building together—I didn’t think Sam’d go off at the deep end.’

  ‘Well, it’s high time you were less naive,’ she told him. ‘Is that for me, or are you just tormenting me with it?’

  He handed her the coffee and perched on her desk. ‘Actually I wanted to talk to you about David Jones— the chap with shingles? I had to go out to him at five this morning because he was in such pain and he’d already gone over his drug limit.’

  ‘Oh, no. What did you give him?’

  ‘IV diamorph, just to give him some peace, but I said you’d go back today as you’re on duty and sort out something stronger—perhaps some sub-lingual Temgesic?’

  ‘I don’t like using such strong narcotics, but if he’s in that much pain perhaps we need to.’

  ‘Well, he certainly seems to be. You could try down the scale a bit with slow-release dihydrocodeine.’

  ‘I’d rather,’ Sally said thoughtfully. ‘Oh, dear, I hope he doesn’t end up with post-herpetic neuralgia.’

  ‘Have you given him an antiviral?’

  ‘Yes—almost before the rash appeared.’

  ‘Oh, well, you can’t do more than that,’ he said, standing up and heading for the door. ‘And I really am sorry if I messed things up with you and Sam.’

  ‘Forget it,’ she told him wearily. ‘He’ll get over it.’

  So David Jones was suffering acutely still. Blast. And people always thought shingles was such a trivial illness. If only they knew.

  She glanced at her watch. She’d better hustle—she already had several calls to make.

  Downing the coffee, she picked up her bag and. went out to the car, the mobile phone in her pocket. They really ought to have phones in the car all the time, she thought, as she headed off to her first call. Last night she could have got help much more quickly.

  Luckily it had turned out all right, but it could so easily have gone badly wrong…

  Sam looked round the house in despair. It was truly grim—dirt in every nook and cranny. He’d shoved the vacuum over the worst of it during the week, but somehow that didn’t seem to show today.

  It was the little things—the skirting-boards looked dusty, for instance, and the kitchen window was all splattered, not to mention the floor. And as for the bathrooms!

  He’d never do it all to Sally’s satisfaction, not if he spent a week on it. A thought occurred to him, and, picking up the Yellow Pages, he flicked through until he found what he was looking for.

  Punching in the numbers, he waited a few seconds and then a brisk female voice came on the line.

  ‘Good morning, Dustbusters. How can I help you?’

  Sally didn’t make it home for lunch. Instead she picked up a sandwich at a corner bakery and ate it between visits.

  David Jones was suffering badly with his shingles, and she noticed that the rash was angry and rather reddened in one area, as it it had become infected. She gave him a prescription for a stronger painkiller and some antibiotics as well to counteract the infection, and told him to let her know if he needed her again.

  He was obviouly getting depressed about the whole business, too. His wife was out at work all day and, with nothing to think about but his pain, the day must be very long.

  ‘I could watch the telly, I suppose, but there isn’t one in here.’

  ‘You could go in the sitting-room,’ Sally suggested.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Do you have a downstairs loo?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well, then, rather than lying here and feeling miserable, would you be better on the sofa?’ she asked. ‘You could have a blanket over you, and then you’d have the television to distract you, or you could read.’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ he said tiredly. ‘Perhaps I’ll sleep now you’ve given me these stronger pills.’

  She left him with strict instructions to call if he needed her, and went back to the surgery.

  As she walked in, Mavis signalled frantically to her and called her to the phone. ‘Mrs Bailey—her daughter had an ear-ring stuck in her ear last week?’

  Sally nodded. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘She’s been feeling ill—headache, nausea, et cetera. Her mother went to work and came back to find Carol unconscious.’

  ‘Is that her on the phone now?’

  Mavis nodded, and Sally took the phone. ‘Mrs Bailey? Hello, it’s Dr Alexander here. I gather Carol’s unconscious; is that right? Can you rouse her?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Mrs Bailey sobbed. ‘She’s likedead!’

  ‘Is she still breathing?’

  ‘Breathing? Oh, yes, she is alive, but she won’t wake up.’

  ‘Right. Lie her on her side, so she can breathe properly, and I’ll be right round. I’ll ask one of the staff here to call an ambulance, so if you could give me directions, then I’ll get round to you as soon as possible, all right?’

  She scribbled down the directions, checked that Mavis was calling the ambulance and ran. Ten minutes later she was kneeling by the side of the unconscious girl, examining a large reddened area behind her ear. Obviously she had failed to take the antibiotics and the infection had spread inwards, infecting the mastoid bone and possibly even causing a brain abscess. In any case, Carol was clearly very ill indeed.

  ‘Is she going to be all right?’ Mrs Bailey asked worriedly.

  ‘I don’t know—I hope so,’ Sally told her, not wishing to dwell on the possible implications. ‘Could you get a few things together for her?’ That would keep her busy for a minute, anyway.

  She had just inserted a cannula into a vein in Carol’s forearm when the ambulance arrived, so she quickly wrote a letter to the admitting unit and handed it over as the men loaded Carol into the ambulance.

  Sally watched as they pulled away, blue lights flashing, and with a sigh she went back to the surgery. She was hungry and thirsty—maybe she’d have time for a cup of tea before the phone rang again.

  She found Mavis in the kitchen.

  ‘Just brewing up, dear. Want one?’

  Sally flopped into a chair with a sigh. ‘Love one. Thanks.’

  ‘How is she?’ Mavis asked.

  ‘Silly girl—she’s really very ill. I took a butterfly clip out of her ear-lobe last week, and gave her a prescription for antibiotics, together with strict instructions to let it heal, but oh, no, she’d got another damned earring in, and the whole site was hugely inflamed and swollen. I suspect she’s got a brain abscess.’

  ‘Who has?’ Martin Goody asked, walking in behind her.

  ‘Carol Bailey—she’s ignored an infected ear-lobe from a cheap ear-ring.’

  ‘Not again! Sam saw her about that a few months ago. Well, maybe she’s learned her lesson this time—if she lives.’

  ‘If. Oh, well, she’s out of our hands now.’

  Martin pulled up another chair and sat down beside her. ‘Busy day?’

  She snorted. ‘I’ll say. I really could have done without it after yesterday.’

  ‘I gather you were somewhat of a heroine.’

  Sally flushed. ‘I only did what anyone would have done. Anyway, how did you hear about it?’

  ‘Sam rang to see how you were. He sounded concerned.’

  ‘How touching.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Martin regarded her thoughtfully over the top
of his mug. Mavis had left them, taking her tea back to her office, and they were alone. ‘Things still bad, are they?’

  Sally told him about Sam’s behaviour the night before, leaving out the kiss, and Martin shook his head. ‘Silly fool. Love clouds the judgement, of course.’

  Sally snorted rudely. ‘There wasn’t much love in evidence at first, I can tell you! He was ready to kill me!’

  ‘Jealousy. It’s a terrible thing. I can tell you all about it, my dear. It wrecked my marriage.’

  ‘But Jane was having an affair, I thought?’ Sally said tentatively.

  ‘Only after I’d driven her to it with my constant suspicion. I couldn’t believe her when she told me that her boss was just a good friend. The thing was, he wanted to be more than that, and I could see it every time I saw them together. Jane couldn’t, of course— not at first. He was very discreet, but it was obvious he loved her.’

  ‘Is she happy with him?’ Sally asked.

  Martin shrugged. ‘I suppose so. I don’t really like to ask. I guess I don’t want the truth.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘Forgive him for over-reacting if you can, Sally. He’s only afraid of losing you. You can’t expect him to be rational.’

  She certainly couldn’t, she thought. If nothing else, Sam had been irrational last night.

  Draining her tea, she refilled the cup and took it with her into her surgery. It was five, time for her evening surgery, and doubtless there was a queue of patients backed up into the hereafter.

  Did she really want to swap housework for this?

  She chuckled to herself wearily.

  No two ways about it, liberation was a two-edged sword. She was certainly beginning to see why Sam was always so tired and crabby these days, and for the first time in years, she was beginning to see the up-side of her own life.

  She found she missed her friends, missed the camaraderie outside the school gates as they waited for the children to come out. She missed her health club, too—the lack of exercise was making her feel sluggish and flabby.

  But she was enjoying being back in medicine, dealing with people’s problems and trying to make their lives a little easier.