But before they could find a positive way forward, she needed to somehow drag Martin out of his current state of gloom. Only that morning she’d walked into the kitchen to find him reading a new clinical trial on an asthma drug, even though he was never going to have to manage a patient with asthma again.
Maybe she was wrong to keep it from her parents, particularly as they were going to be staying with her for Christmas.
On impulse she sat down at the table next to her father. “How did you feel when you retired? Was it hard?”
“Why are you asking? Is Martin struggling?” Her father put his paper down, his direct look a sharp reminder that at eighty-five he was every bit as astute as he’d been at forty-five.
Jenny was torn between guilt at being disloyal and her own need to talk to someone about it. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s early days. But he’s not as—” she struggled to find the right word “—buoyant as I expected him to be.”
Could he be clinically depressed? Was that it?
Her father gave a nod. “It takes some getting used to, even when it’s something you want. Martin has been a family doctor here for decades. He’s well known and respected. And he was busy, which is both good and bad.”
Jenny gave up trying to pretend everything was fine. “Right now it’s more bad than good. Did you struggle with it?”
“He did not.” Her mother sat down too and picked up her knitting. “He was on the golf course the day after his farewell party. I saw more of him when he was working.” But it was said with affection, because Jennifer knew her mother enjoyed having time to herself to read, knit and meet her friends for coffee.
“Martin doesn’t play golf.”
Her father gave her a long look. “I’d love another cup of coffee, Phyllis. I’m sure our Jenny would love one too. No point in rushing off. Sit for a while. Eat one of those cookies you baked for us.”
It was easy to see why her father had been so beloved by the community when he’d been a doctor. He had an instinct for when someone needed to talk and he always made time for them.
Her mother sighed and put down her knitting. “You’ve already had one coffee.”
“Two is fine.”
“Don’t blame me if your body disagrees.” Her mother stood up, walked to the kitchen area and reached for the coffee. “Martin just needs time to adjust, Jenny. Work gives you a purpose. Everyone needs a purpose. A reason to get up in the morning. What he needs is something important in his life. Something to focus on.”
Shewas in his life, and she was important, wasn’t she? Why couldn’t he focus on their relationship? On having some fun now that they were free of responsibilities. Wasn’t that what retirement was supposed to do? Give them more time for each other?
She’d imagined them booking a once-in-a-lifetime trip together, but when she’d mentioned it he’d said that perhaps they could talk about it in the summer.
Her father reached across and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I’ve been thinking of coming round and asking his advice on my book. His knowledge is more current than mine. Maybe I’ll give him a call.”
“Good idea.” Her mother made a pot of coffee and carried it to the table along with mugs. “With Martin’s help you might even make a start on it. Goodness knows you’ve been talking about it for long enough.”
Jenny hid a smile because her mother was right about that. For as long as she could remember, her father had talked about writing a book on health for the general public.
“Have you made any progress, Dad?”
“Not progress as such. Although I do have a working title. I’m calling itLessons from a Life as a Family Doctor.”
Phyllis rolled her eyes. “It’s not exactly catchy, is it?” She put the mugs down on the table. “And it makes it sound as if it’s about you. Like a memoir. Whereas really it’s going to be about them, isn’t it? A self-help book. What can they do to help themselves?”
“Yes.” Her father pulled a face. “Maybe I don’t have a title after all. Perhaps I could call itThings Your Doctor Would Like to Tell You if Appointments Were Longer than Six Minutes.”
Phyllis patted him on the shoulder. “Why don’t we leave the title for now?”
“I’ll have to give it more thought.”
“Brian, I love you but you need to stop thinking and start doing.”
He gave her a wounded look. “Starting a sentence with ‘I love you’ doesn’t make the contents less harsh, you know. Writing a book isn’t easy. First, there is the sheer volume of information and the challenge of working out what the average person needs to know, and then you have to communicate it all in words that everyone can understand.”
Phyllis poured coffee into mugs. “I know, dear, but you were always very good at that part. It’s why the patients loved you. Your problem with the book is sitting down and getting on with it. You are the king of procrastination. Just write something, for heaven’s sake. Anything! Or I might just have to write it for you. I’ve listened to you enough over the years to have picked up a thing or two.”
Jenny winced. Her mother wasn’t known for her tact.
