‘What are you thinking of?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know exactly. But I want to learn things and do something more worthwhile.’
This was great, of course – and just a week ago it would have been exactly what I wanted to hear. I tried to rouse the enthusiasm to discuss it with her, to chat about any little sparks of interest she might have. But I sounded like a school careers adviser who was biding their time until a better job came up. ‘What kind of things are you interested in?’ I asked. ‘How d’you think you could use your skills?’ Christ, I was talking as if I didn’t know my own daughter. No wonder she flounced off.
I did send Lauren one message, after much deliberation:So sorry about what happened. Can we get together and talk?
Her reply, when it came several hours later, was to the point.I don’t think it’s a good idea at the moment. Hope Esther’s okay.
She’s doing fine, I replied, and that was that. Nothing more came, and messaging again seemed a bit pestery somehow. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want to see me, and that was that.
What a bloody mess I’d made of everything. I hadn’t even been able to give her her Christmas present of theantique earrings I’d spotted in a vintage place close to the practice. It would seem weird to post them so, instead, I just hide them away in a drawer.
I try to remind myself that my life is good and that I have a lot to be thankful for. Esther’s okay, which is what matters. Meanwhile, I up my working hours to ridiculous levels. There’s always admin to catch up on, plus the mammoth task of streamlining our records. One evening, after everyone else has gone home, I repaint the scuffed reception area.
A few weeks have gone by when it strikes me that I haven’t seen Tony Lomax, with old Bob, for quite some time. I mention this to Fraser, in case he’s been in and I’ve missed him. ‘Last time was before New Year,’ Fraser says.
‘That time he told us about the attempted break-in?’ I ask.
He nods. ‘That’s the one. And the time before that was about Bob’s paws, I think?’ I remember now that Tony had brought him in for an unnecessary appraisal of his digital pads, as he’d thought there might be ‘a bit of abrasion there’. In fact they were perfectly fine, with barely any signs of wear and tear from the thousands of miles of pavements he must have covered over the years.
During quieter moments at the surgery I find myself wondering what Lauren’s doing and if she took Kim to Cornwall, and if so, whether Kim had forced her into cold-water swimming, as I know she’s a fan. Fraser, of course, is baffled as to why it’s just fizzled out with Lauren and me.
‘Just call her,’ he says. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘I don’t want to pester her,’ I say dismissively.
‘For God’s sake, how old are you?’
We’re having a beer after work in a pub we haven’tbeen to for some time. It’s been refurbished, its cosy old man’s boozer vibe turned into something altogether more clinical. Everything seems to be made out of plasticky wood, and tinny Eighties music is barely audible. ‘Same age as you,’ I say, trying to lighten things. ‘I don’t think things change because we’re in our fifties, you know.’
He shakes his head in exasperation. ‘Just phone her, mate. You’ve screwed it up but you can still put it right.’
We leave the pub with me promising to dosomething, although I haven’t specified what that might be, because I really don’t know. But he’s planted the thought, and next morning at work, before we’re open, I’m about to message Lauren when the surgery line rings.
‘Hello, can I speak to James Burton?’ It’s an elderly woman’s voice. She sounds brusque, as if squaring up for a fight.
‘Yes, speaking?’
‘Oh. I didn’t think you’d be the one answering calls.’
‘Our receptionist isn’t here yet,’ I say. ‘We don’t open till eight-thirty—’
‘Well, I’ve been left with a bit of a situation,’ she cuts in. ‘I can’t manage it, not with my legs. He said to call you if anything ever happened so that’s what I’m doing, all right? Can you help?’
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
JAMES
‘I’m sorry,’ I start, ‘but who is this?’
‘Irene Craven.’ She doesn’t elaborate.
‘And who said to call me?’
‘Tony. Tony Lomax.’ As if I’m incredibly dim not to have realised.
‘Tony said to call me?’ I ask.
