I started to lose my temper. Was he not supposed to know this by now? “Press the belly and release abruptly,” I blurted.
“I forgot about that,” he faltered.
“First think for yourself Tom. Then call me,” I retorted.
“Yes, right. How silly of me. Really sorry,” he added quickly.
I sighed deeply. “Perform the test and if the result is positive, send your patient in for blood works, okay?”
“Will do, doc. Thanks a million.”
I hung up and flung the phone back onto the desk a little more harshly than I should have. Mrs van Brock looked at me with her lips pressed tightly.
I narrowed my eyes. My head seemed to be a jumble of thoughts. “Sorry. Where were we again?”
She opened her mouth to start talking but I beat her to it. “Ah yes, I remember. It’s important you stay active. Go out for a saunter every day, do some chores around the house. Alright, Mrs van Brock?” I asked, relieved that I hadn’t forgotten the name of my patient.
“Doctor, you don’t understand. That’s not the point, I …”
Out of the blue something snapped inside my head. My temples started to thump and there was an almost deafening ringing in my ears. I raised my voice. “There’s not much more to it. Try to adopt a positive attitude and associate more with happy people. You’ll notice life will start working for you, rather than against.” I couldn’t restrain myself anymore. It was as if a monster had been unleashed – I went on a verbal rampage. “You ought to stop yourself from complaining so much. Believe me, you could be far worse off.”
Mrs van Brock turned as red as a tomato. She was continuously blinking, her eyes bulging, and looked distraught behind her glasses. She dabbed her forehead again with the paper tissue, which she squeezed tightly in her hand.
I finally came to my senses. What was I doing? I’d gone berserk. This was unheard of – I couldn’t verbally abuse a patient like that. This had never happened to me before.
Suddenly I felt a heavy weariness settle over me. I rested my head in my hands for a moment. Subsequently I looked into my patient’s eyes before backpedalling. “I’m truly sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my composure like that,” I said, shame burning on my cheeks.
The shocked lady rearranged her white blouse, under which the strap of her skin-coloured bra was visible. “No doctor has ever spoken to me like that,” she said with an air of contempt. “When doctor Baker was still working back in the old days, things were much better around here.” It was a reproach that had been hurled at me on more than one occasion during the first months after my instalment. It had initially led to a feeling of insecurity, but I’d become knowledgeable over the years and learned not to feel offended by it. I’d usually reply by saying: ‘they don’t make ‘em like that anymore, do they?’ This time, however, I knew my patient had a point.
I bit my lip. “My sincere apologies. It’s not an excuse, but I’ve had a very difficult time lately.”
She had a look in her eyes I couldn’t quite read. “I’m sure you have.” Mrs van Brock slowly rose and grabbed her handbag. “I’ll be leaving now.”
“No need to worry. If you keep exercising regularly, you’ll see that progress will be made,” I attempted to placate. “Don’t hesitate to make an appointment again via our assistant if you have any other concerns.”
I gave her a clammy hand and, after she’d left the room, lowered myself in my chair.
I interlaced my fingers and folded them around my neck. I couldn’t believe how I’d ranted at that patient. I felt ashamed to the core. Sure, she was an old grump, but this was completely out of line. I could only cross my fingers and hope she wouldn’t file a complaint against me.
It was obvious I’d totally lost a grip. No matter how difficult life was for me now, this was unacceptable.
I leaned forward and rested my forehead in my palms. And then I suddenly recalled something. She’d tried to convey the message, but I hadn’t been listening properly. Only the right leg had the problem, the left was functioning normally. It wasn’t until now that it hit me. This wasn’t a normal age-related complaint – my patient might have had a stroke, which prevented her right leg from functioning properly.
I jumped up, swung the door open and searched the waiting room where a number of patients stared back at me expectantly. It was evident that my patient was no longer here and so I scurried outside. My eyes scanned the main street in opposite directions, where a hodgepodge of trams and cyclists impeded my search. Mrs van Brock was nowhere to be seen. I swore again.
I stood fretting on the pavement while I bit my nails, trying to figure out how to proceed. Should I hazard a guess that she’d turned right towards the tram stop and head off in that direction to find her? I couldn’t afford to run late any more. The alternative of asking our assistant to find her meant I would have to confess to what had happened. Either option didn’t seem particularly appealing.
Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?” I heard a voice from behind me.
The cool air only now seemed to penetrate my thin blouse. I looked like a complete idiot standing on the streets without wearing a jacket.
I swivelled and saw Simone look me up and down, buried deep in her woollen coat.
My thoughts were running wild. I bobbed my head absently and turned my back to her again. Why did she follow me out here? “Just leave me be, okay?”
“Clearly not in the best of tempers, are we?” she chirped, which pissed me off.
A scooter roared passed us, causing a swirl of air. The vibrations were spinning around in my eardrums and hurting my brain.
“There are three patients waiting for you inside,” she continued with a nagging voice.
I felt my exasperation rise to boiling point. “I told you, just leave me alone for a moment. I’ll be right there.”
“No need to bite my head off. I’m just trying to help, you know.” I heard her heels click on the pavement as she walked away from me.
I wrapped my arms around my body, trying to keep out the cold, or maybe it was to keep myself together. I couldn’t handle this any longer. I felt like a loose cannon. Hans was probably right when he suggested I’d gone back to work too early. I was jumping out of my skin at the smallest of things.
I made a conscious decision and went back inside.
Ignoring the inquisitive looks in the waiting room, I entered my consulting room. I knocked on the connecting door to Hans’s room and asked if I could have a word with him.
He said something to his patient after which he entered my room. As soon as he’d closed the door, I burst into tears.
“I can’t do this any longer, I’m falling apart,” I cried. I confided in him about what had just happened with Mrs van Brock. “Ever since Oliver died, I’ve had trouble keeping my head clear. I miss him so terribly,” I said and started to weep, my shoulders heaving as each sob welled up.
Hans silently handed me a tissue.
I blew my nose and shook my head. “I’m sorry for being so unprofessional.”
He dismissed my objection with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense. If anyone around here’s unprofessional, it’s me,” he said, looking with self-mockery at his alternative clothing style.
I smiled through my tears and blew my nose again.
“You’re going through a hard time, to put it mildly. Anyone would be struggling after all that happened. You’ve lost your husband, your best friend,” he said tenderly.
I nodded and felt tears welling up again.
“Cut yourself some slack. These things take time. You can’t just continue with your life and pretend that everything’s still fine. Your body and mind have taken a blow,” he said in a touchy-feely manner. “It’s time to pause for reflection.”
“That might be a bit overly dramatic,” I responded. But I knew deep down he was right.
He ignored my comment. “Give yourself the grace to grieve over your loss. If you ask me, it would be wis
e to call in sick for the time being.”
His message came as a shock, even though this suggestion had already crossed my mind. My work was my life, my buoy to which I held on for dear life. It was terrifying to let go of this crucial pillar. But I pulled myself together and decided to follow his suggestion. “I think you’re right. What about Mrs van Brock?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll contact her and make amends.” He smiled paternally and I could see how he’d handle his patients. “How about you stay home for the rest of the week? And next week,” he added cautiously. “You know the saying,” he said and put on a Texas drawl, “if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”
I laughed. “What about all of my patients?”
“I’ll ask Simone to hand the urgent cases over to me. The less serious can wait for now. By the way, we can also give Tom some small chores.” He gave me a wink. “Let’s make the most of him.”
I smiled and on the spur of the moment gave Hans a hug, something we never normally did, despite our good relationship. “Thanks Hans. You’re the best colleague I could wish for.”
He seemed to blush for a moment. “It’s nothing. Just make sure you take a break and replenish your energy.”
Not too long after our heart-to-heart I left the practice. It felt odd not to know how I’d spend the rest of my day, or rather the next two weeks. I decided to first cycle past the police station and pick up Oliver’s belongings. When I arrived there after a short ride, I took the package from the receptionist and decided – with a rush of shame – to leave Tim at the day-care centre and go home by myself. If I wanted to address this period of reflection properly, I needed to take time for myself.
As I cycled into my street, I noticed a fire engine parked in front of one of the houses. An elderly lady was being strapped down onto a stretcher and was going to be lifted down to the street via a window on the second floor. When I’d first moved to Amsterdam, I’d been standing on the pavement watching a similar case, captivated by the process, as were a handful of passers-by. A mixture of medical fascination and shame had run through me while the geriatric person, unable to be carried down the narrow staircase of the ancient house, was evacuated.
As I clutched the package containing Oliver’s items under my arm, I opened the front door to our – or rather, my – home. The authentic, brightly coloured tiles, which were now nearly a hundred years old, adorned the entrance. The door jammed, as it often did, but after a few thrusts with my shoulder I managed to open it.
A familiar figure suddenly appeared in front of me in the living room, with her back towards me. I was taken aback to find her working today, as I’d usually see patients at this hour.
“Alejandra,” I said.
She uttered a shriek. “Holy crap,” she cursed, then covered her mouth with her hand in disgrace. She’d been living here for years, but had never lost her strong Spanish accent.
I started laughing.
“Excuse me, Mrs Smits,” she said formally, even though I’d told her countless times to call me Jennifer.
“It’s okay,” I said and gave her a smile to put her at ease. “I should be apologising for startling you like this.”
She took a deep breath, then turned around and picked up her cleaning activities, motes of sun-dappled dust swirling around.
“How are you doing, Alejandra?” I asked kindly.
She paused in the act of dusting, turned around and looked at me. “I’m fine, thank you. How’s Timmy?”
Even before I was able to answer her question, she put her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest. “He big boy now, huh?”
I gave a chuckle and confirmed that he’d grown.
While Alejandra took off to start cleaning upstairs, I decided to make myself a cup of tea and settled in the living room on our outrageously expensive couch, a gift from my in-laws. I opened the package that I’d picked up at the police station. Oliver’s clothes were neatly sealed in plastic, as if they’d come from the dry cleaner. When I tore the wrapper however, Oliver’s familiar smell was released, bringing back tender memories and filling my eyes with tears.
I hadn’t had much time to myself since Oliver’s passing, but now I was able to let go of my brave front. The vacuum cleaner bellowed down the landing and I allowed myself to release some of my sorrow.
After a few minutes I decided that enough was enough. I picked up a tissue from a box on the coffee table, blew my nose and dabbed my eyes. I took a sip of my tea and looked at Oliver’s items one by one. The package mainly contained his clothes – his non-iron Eton shirt, brown chinos, black loafers and finally the pièce-de-résistance: the red knickers.
I carefully held them up at the edges, turned them around and looked at the cheap, velvet fabric. How utterly hideous. These certainly didn’t belong to me. Despite my monumental collection of underwear, I was certain I’d have recognised them if they were mine.
Why would Oliver have worn something like that? I tried to remember if I’d ever noticed any strange sexual escapades or interests, but nothing came to mind. I could hardly imagine him purchasing this kind of underwear on his own accord. Hence I wondered, could the knickers have belonged to someone else?
I decided to divert my mind and took one of my Vogue magazines out of the reading basket. Lately, I’d barely been able to find time for myself. I flipped through the fashion items without reading a word. Outside, the voices of passers-by were dulled by the double-glazed windows to a buzzing murmur. The clock on the fireplace ticked regularly and above me I heard Alejandra moving back and forth. My head felt a messy mixture of dull over-tiredness and racing thoughts.
I threw the magazine back on the stack and tried to get the confusing story about the red knickers out of my head. There would never be answers to the questions and ambiguities surrounding Oliver’s death.
I decided to pick up Tim early. He’d be delighted if I told him we were heading to the playground.
An hour later I found myself at Tim’s favourite place, just around the corner from our house, in the Vondelpark. The clouds had lifted somewhat and made way for dappled sunshine under a canopy of autumnal trees. Despite the fact that it was lunchtime on a regular Tuesday morning, the sandpit was full of people ranging from tourists to locals.
My telephone rang. ‘Lindsey’, I saw on the display of my mobile. I answered, but kept my eyes on Tim, who was frolicking in the sand with a German-speaking girl.
“How are you?” Lindsey asked.
“Fine,” I replied. “How about you?”
“That doesn’t sound too good,” she reacted, knowing me better than anyone. “What’s the matter? I’m all ears.”
“Had a really bad day at work.”
“Poor you,” she responded sympathetically. “We all have those days. I’m sure, tomorrow will be better again.”
I paused. Fragments of the conversation with Hans resurfaced. “I decided to call in sick for a while.”
It remained silent for a moment on the other side. “Call in sick? Are you feeling under the weather?”
I explained what had happened this morning, including the degrading lash outs to various people and the red knickers, which Detective Armstrong had briefed me about.
She laughed out loud. “What a bizarre story. Do you have any idea what it’s all about? I mean …” Lindsey swallowed audibly. “Would Oliver really have donned such a thing?” she asked in all seriousness.
My attention turned back to Tim and the playground. All of a sudden he seemed to have disappeared. I anxiously scanned the children’s heads scattered throughout the playground, until I spotted him on the swing with a girl, to my great relief. “I highly doubt it,” I went on. “And I know for sure they weren’t mine.”
“Could the knickers perhaps have belonged to …” Lindsey wavered for a moment. “… belonged to that woman?”
I’d told Lindsey about the encounter I recently had with Sandra, she however didn’t approve of it and I’d therefore kept the details
to myself. “To be honest, the thought had crossed my mind. But she told me they’d only seen each other about three times in total. It doesn’t make sense that Oliver would have her underwear.”
“Given her history, I’d take everything that woman says with a pinch of salt,” Lindsey commented.
I’d taken a seat on a steel railing, but now the cold crept through my cloths and made me shiver. “You’ve got a point.”
Tim pulled the girl he’d been playing with out of the playground by her ponytail, whereupon she roared. I rushed over to him. “Tim, stop that immediately!” I cried and jerked him by the arm. My reaction was too harsh, and I instantly regretted it. I saw the child’s mother shoot a disapproving look at me. Easy enough to make judgments, I thought, she probably doesn’t have sole responsibility for her child from early in the morning until late at night, without a man who can support her.
I mumbled an apology to Tim and directed him to a climbing frame.
Then I turned my attention to Lindsey again. “Maybe I should talk to her again. Confront her with it.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
I was on guard. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure about the whole thing. I mean, Oliver’s gone. And he was wearing red knickers you’ve never seen before and they probably belonged to her.”
“I don’t understand what you’re implying.”
“There are a lot of crazy people out there. Just don’t do anything reckless, you barely know the woman.”
I reassured Lindsey, and then we hung up.
Tim and I entered the little cafe adjoining the playground where I treated him to a glass of lemonade and ordered myself a cup of tea.
I spotted an empty seat in a quiet corner of the quaint building, where I hoped no one could overhear me. I’d stored her number in my mobile and pressed the green button.
“Hello, it’s Sandra,” she said in a reserved manner.
“Hi, this is Jennifer.”
As she hushed for a moment, I heard snippets of conversation in the background. I got to the point straight away. “I was wondering if we can meet again?”
Double Deceit Page 8
