‘Sorry, Tom,’ she apologised, noting his perturbed expression. ‘I’m feeling a bit off colour.’
‘Not a problem.’ Tom smiled reassuringly. ‘You have a lot on your plate. I wonder how you manage to keep all the balls in the air sometimes. Let me know if I can help.’
She blinked at him, surprised. She and Tom weren’t close, for obvious reasons, but was that sympathy she could see in his eyes? ‘Thanks, Tom.’ She managed a smile. ‘There is one thing I could use a bit of help with, actually.’
‘Fire away,’ he said, plainly keen.
‘I’ve decided to organise a party for Edward’s seventieth birthday, and with one thing and another, I haven’t been able to do much about it yet.’
‘Splendid idea.’ He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. ‘The man’s a pillar of the community. We ought to do something special for him. How can I be of assistance?’
‘You could put the word out,’ Emily suggested. ‘I’ll be sending invitations, but as I’m a bit pushed for time, I wondered if you could mention it to your patients. I think pretty well everyone knows him.’
‘No sooner said than done.’ Tom nodded, looking pleased to have been asked. ‘I’ll drop those I have email addresses for a quick line too. I’m sure they won’t mind, given the occasion.’
‘Thanks, Tom.’ Emily breathed a sigh of relief. Despite her own initial enthusiasm, she hadn’t done anything towards making the party happen, other than check the village hall itinerary and have a quick word with Sally, who thought she might be able to get hold of a Beatles tribute band. It wouldn’t be much of a party without people … and catering … and decorations. And then there was the bar to organise. Realising she might have bitten off more than she could chew now that her life seemed to be spiralling out of control, she was beginning to panic.
‘Any time,’ Tom assured her. ‘I’d better get on. I’ll have a word with Jake about the budget later.’
‘I’ll bring you some tea in, Tom,’ Fran offered as he headed for his office.
‘No need, thanks, Fran. I was just off to make one anyway. I imagine Emily could do with one. Strong and sweet, hey, Emily?’
‘Please. That would be lovely.’ Reaching for her vitamin pills, along with the pills Jake had prescribed for her iron deficiency, in the hope that they might boost her energy levels, Emily smiled after him. That was the third cup he’d made her in as many days. He seemed to be trying to look after her somehow, as if he truly cared about her. Was it possible he wasn’t so bad after all?
‘I’ll do it, Tom,’ Fran insisted, making to follow him. ‘I’m sure you have more important things to do.’
‘Nothing at present,’ Tom assured her, looking awkward as he glanced back at her. Fran plainly had a soft spot for him – she couldn’t do enough for him. Emily suspected she quietly fancied him and wondered how long she’d felt that way. Tom obviously didn’t have any reciprocal feelings. He couldn’t seem to get away from her quickly enough whenever she gazed longingly in his direction.
‘Oh,’ said Fran, looking deflated.
Emily glanced up at her, actually feeling quite sorry for her. It couldn’t be easy bringing a child up single-handed on a low income.
Reminded of her own children, who imagined they were adults but still had so much growing up to do, she pictured their stricken faces when they’d overheard her and Jake arguing, and her heart dipped heavily in her chest. When Millie had come home from Anna’s this morning to get changed, her complexion had been unhealthily pale. Concerned, Emily tried to ask how she was, but Millie’s responses to her questions were monosyllabic. It was clear she didn’t want to speak to her.
‘You’re looking nice today,’ Fran observed, as Emily toyed with the idea of texting Millie now, and Ben too, suggesting they go out for a meal together this evening and have a talk. They were probably waiting for that, living in dread of the ‘your father and I love you both dearly, but …’ announcement. Her blood ran cold at the thought of what might be going through their minds.
‘Making a bit of an effort, are we?’ Fran went on.
Emily’s sympathy disappeared. She couldn’t believe the woman was oblivious to the fact that she was actually being insulting. Her gaze gliding in Nicky’s direction, Emily noted she was also boggling in disbelief.
‘Cow,’ Nicky mouthed.
Emily frowned, but said nothing. Nicky was right. Fran pretended concern while she was nattering on about people, but Emily was aware that she wallowed in their misfortunes. Sally said it was because she was full of resentment after the father of her child had decided not to step up to the task. Emily had thought she was being a bit hard on her, but now she was beginning to think Sally was right too.
‘Rum business, this Natasha Jameson thing.’ Fran sighed as she flicked her duster around. ‘I’ve no time for newcomers to the village, especially the sort that flaunt themselves, as you know,’ she continued, getting into her stride. She sounded more like an old fishwife than the forty-year-old woman she was. ‘But I can’t help feeling sorry for her. Who would have thought that Michael Jameson would have turned out to be a wife-beater? He’s always been such a kind, sensitive man. You can’t help wondering what it was she did that drove him to it, can you? Or rather who.’
Noting Fran’s eyes, which were stuffed full of innuendo, gliding in her direction, Emily felt her stomach turn over. She wasn’t sure how much of her argument with Jake people had overheard. She guessed they’d heard raised voices, but she’d hoped they hadn’t gathered what they’d been arguing about. They evidently had.
Jake emerged from his office, his face taut. He didn’t even glance in her direction as he headed towards the treatment room to confer with Sally, and she felt tears sting the back of her eyes. Their personal problems were out there for public consumption. With Fran beating the drum, the news would be all over the village in no time. Their children would be hurting because of it, and Emily had no idea what to do, how to make their world safe again. How to stop her own world from unravelling around her.
Twelve
Dean
Seeing Zoe manically cleaning the kitchen worktops again as he went in, Dean shook his head in despair. The kitchen wasn’t big enough to swing a cat in; it couldn’t be that dirty. She’d cleaned the entire flat scrupulously over the last week. He supposed it was her way of keeping her mind occupied since losing the baby. He wished there were something he could do to make her feel better. She didn’t seem to want to talk to him about it. That hurt.
He’d been absolutely gutted when she’d rung him, upset that she hadn’t told him before he’d set off on his road trip that she wasn’t feeling well. He got that she was concerned he might lose his job – the bastard he worked for had made it clear that if he didn’t take the long haulage jobs, he’d find another driver who would – but Dean would rather have told him where to stuff his job than for Zoe to have gone through this on her own.
