‘I feel like you care more about your patients than you care about me,’ Luke had said to her.
Phoebe ended things with him that evening. It hurt that she had hurt him, but she realised he was right. Shedidcare about her patients more than him.
For a long time, Phoebe stopped dating altogether. It was too complicated and she knew she made a terrible girlfriend. She’d been told it enough times over the years.
But she met Max on a very rare night out with her colleagues. He was sweet and funny and managed to break down her barriers, making her imagine that maybe she didn’t have to live life on her own. Maybe she could be part of a relationship and have a life outside her work.
Phoebe reaches decisively for a handful of Max’s books on the shelf, scooping them into her arms and then fetching a bin bag. She’s not making that mistake again.
What time are you coming to get your things?she types quickly to Max, adding a few kisses on autopilot before rapidly deleting them.No. Absolutely not.
His reply comes in just seconds later.
I was thinking of coming by this morning before work for a few things – I left my laptop charger behind. Is that OK? Will you be in?
Phoebe shudders.
No, I’ll be out. You’ve still got a key, I take it, but put it through the door when you’re done.
It’s still an hour until her first appointment, but she quickly pulls on her leathers and grabs her helmet and bag.
Out on the street, the sound of work going on in the empty shop is even louder. The same van as before is parked outside but the shop door is still firmly closed, the sheets of newspaper obscuring the view inside. Whoarethese neighbours and is early-morning building work going to become a regular thing? Jesus, she hopes not. At least it might be a bit more bearable if the business turns out to be a wine shop.
She packs her panniers with the things she needs for the day and climbs onto her motorbike, revving the engine louder thannormal as she sets off, the fresh morning air rushing against her face and tugging on her hair. On the bike, she doesn’t feel like a hungover mess who has just been dumped and is at high risk of becoming destitute or, at the very least, having to live off porridge and tinned goods for the foreseeable future. She feels powerful.
As she has time to kill, she heads for one of her favourite thinking spots at the top of the hill looking down over the valley, parking and stepping off the bike. Up here, there’s a bit of a breeze and with the wide-open view, she feels that she can breathe properly again. Her gaze follows the valley down to the river and it strikes her that she hasn’t been down there in ages. When they first moved, she and Max talked about trying paddleboarding or kayaking down there some weekend. But some weekend became never.
Another message comes in from Max.
OK. I’m sorry again how things ended. But I hope one day you’ll be able to be happy for me that I found someone who actually wants to be with me and have a life outside of work.
‘Fuck!’ she shouts to the countryside, startling a cluster of crows, who leap suddenly off the telephone line above her head.
There are many things she wants to type back in reply. But instead she stuffs her phone into her pocket and grabs her helmet and bag, leaving the motorbike tucked behind a tree out of sight of the road. She strides off through the field with purpose, in the direction of the river.
CHAPTER 11
Phoebe is clearly not the only one who has come down to the river in search of something today. She has found a quiet spot in the meadow a little way away from the groups sitting on blankets either warming up after a dip or getting changed into their swimwear.
A couple of customers are gathered outside the royal-blue canal boat which has the wordsThe Kingfisher Café and Book Bargewritten in swirling letters. A man dressed in corduroy trousers and a tweed waistcoat serves what look like home-made cakes through the hatch. Phoebe spies a glimpse inside the boat, where a small leather armchair sits in front of walls of bookshelves. On the riverbank nearby are several wooden crates filled with books and a few people browse contentedly, picking up copies here and there.
‘Do you fancy joining us?’ The voice makes Phoebe jump, turning in the direction of a woman in her fifties who isstanding nearby, dressed in a navy swimming costume with a pink swimming hat on her head. At her side are a couple of younger women, one blonde and curly-haired and looking to be in her mid-twenties, and a red-headed teenager who wraps her arms around her chest as if she wants to fold in on herself and disappear.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ says the older woman. ‘You were just looking at the water so intently. You look like you could do with a swim, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve attended funerals that are cheerier than your expression.’
Despite everything, Phoebe snorts with laughter.
‘I guess you might be right.’
‘Not been your week?’ the older woman asks.
Not been my year, Phoebe feels like replying, but she stops herself at the last minute. Her problems are nothing compared to what most of her patients have to deal with every day.
‘Ah, it’s all right really. Pretty gorgeous here, isn’t it?’ She looks around, taking it all in.
