I devour almost the whole thing, cold as it is, and every single bite is delicious. Throwing out the few remaining crusts, I add the box to the two others piled by the bin waiting to go out for recycling.
I turn around and almost jump out of my skin. Pax is right behind me, the dog having crept up on me without a sound. I feel my heart trying to thump out of my chest at the surprise, but not wanting to spook the gentle giant, I crouch down and stroke his ears. He pulls away and paws the mat by the back door. I let himout so he can do his business, making a mental note to clear it up in the morning. The pitch blackness outside is unsettling, and I’m grateful when he doesn’t linger out there, and I can close the door and lock it again. Pax clearly has no intention of going back to his own bed. Instead, he follows me up the stairs and launches himself onto my bed.
I stare at him in disbelief before snorting a laugh. I pop to the bathroom to use the loo and brush my teeth, before climbing in beside Pax. He immediately shifts his weight so he’s pressing up against me reassuringly. I fall asleep with my hand buried in his soft fur.
Eight
Nash
Sleeping last night was a challenge.
After leaving Aidan’s house, I met my research partner for lunch. We needed to tie up some data analysis on a new prototype medical device we’ve been developing. As the medical doctor, I’ve contributed my findings from our clinical trials, and now, David, as the biomedical engineer, has several months of review and reprogramming to do. The timing couldn’t be better, since I’m about to take parental leave when the adoption goes through, and my work on this particular project is now over until the latter part of next year.
This is what I do. I have a couple of MedTech devices already on the market, whichprovide me with a steady income stream that – thankfully – allowed me to step away from clinical practice in the NHS. The politics and ethics of that decision are complex in nature and multiple in number. Suffice it to say, I was burnt out and needed a change. I have a modest clinic in my converted garage here at my house, where I maintain a small private clinical practice for a handful of patients – namely, the rich retirees who moved to Norfolk aged 50 following successful yet highly stressful careers in London. Most of my patients have small children conceived later in life, and they don’t want to deal with the minor inconvenience of having to wait for a doctor’s appointment.
I also consult on complex paediatric cases in the surrounding counties, where a number of former colleagues call on my expertise when needed, and I manage research and product development with David, who owns a small, independent MedTech company.
I’m fortunate as it affords me a comfortable living, and the flexibility to work as much or as little as I need to around my commitments. When the adoption is finalised, I’ll be stopping altogether for several months as we settle into new routines at home.
A home I adore. It’s an old, red brickperiod property with a thatched roof, and flint pebbles covering the gable end wall that overlooks the village green in Fenside Common. The garage housing my clinic stands on the opposite side of the large wooden gate that encloses my loose stone driveway. At the back of the house, there’s a large garden set mainly to lawn but with plump flowerbeds that hum with insects and bees in the summer months. The glorious multicoloured blooms attract all manner of creatures, and buried amongst the leaves are a couple of hedgehog houses and insect hotels. Tucked behind a row of poplar trees shielding it from view, stands a squat building. It’s an old orangery with low walls only a metre or so high, but topped with wooden-framed glass walls and a lantern roof. It needs some work as it’s all a bit crumbly and dilapidated, but it’s something I’ve not had time to do. I’m hoping this is something I can get sorted while I’m not working. I want it to be a usable space, not that I know what to use it for just yet.
When I was a kid, I used to walk across the village green to feed the ducks and dream about living in this house one day. When I finally got the keys ten years ago, it was one of the best days of my life. Now, if all goes to plan, I’ll get to raise my own kid here. I can’t wait.
But no amount of daydreaming,planning, or frustrated press-ups on my bedroom floor could have helped me to sleep last night.
Conducting a medical examination requires a huge amount of trust. Trust Corey gave me without question. The problem I’ve been having is trusting myself.
Trusting myself not to rant and rave about the cruelty inflicted on a man who, on first impressions, is sweet, kind, and funny. Trusting myself not to drive down to London and leave no stone unturned to inflict the same kind of cruelty on the cunt who hurt him. Trusting myself not to grab Corey, wrap him up in cotton wool, and protect him from the world.
It’s not that he’s still injured; in fact, his less-than-ideal weight aside, he’s in perfect health, at least as far as I can tell without blood tests and scans. He’s not in any immediate pain or discomfort. But the sight of silver strands of agony littering the delicate skin of his back has affected me more than it should.
As a doctor, the thought of inflicting that kind of pain is anathema to me, but to see someone as seemingly kind and gentle as Corey bearing the evidence of such violence? It fills me with an anger that burns deep in my gut. He must be so strong. To get through all that and still be able to trust me so quickly on nothingmore than the word of his best friend and blind faith. Rain told us Corey is an eternal optimist, and in the face of all he has overcome, even just physically, my respect for him is immeasurable.
I think we can be good friends. Sometimes you meet people, and your personalities just align. We seem to have a similar sense of humour, too, and if he’s going to be staying here for a while at least, he’s going to need more than just one friend in his corner. I hope I can be that for him. Well, me and the rest of our rag-tag group of friends and family.
I finally managed to shake off my restlessness at around two o’clock in the morning, so as I pull up at the Foster family farm to collect Wren at nine, my eyes are scratchy and Mum’s coffee pot is calling.
Bev Foster, my mother, is the definition of a matriarch. She rules the roost here in our family home, but my dad wouldn’t have it any other way. With parents whose names are Bev and Mike, we Foster siblings have often wondered why our names sound as though we should be the next big thing in country music. But that’s Bev for you. She liked the names, and so we got them. She also loves ice hockey. In fact, it’s what she and Dad bonded over. Even though she’s a Bruins fan, everyone else supports theSeattle Kraken. How two farmers from East Anglia found themselves immersed in the NHL is a mystery I’m not sure we’ll ever solve, but we’ve all inherited the passion, and it makes for some lively family dinners at times.
Mum is pottering in the kitchen, as always, when I enter through the back door. With one look at me, she tuts and turns to the perpetually full coffee pot that has sat on this counter since I was a child.
“Drink this before you fall asleep at the wheel,” she chides, concern lacing her words.
“Thanks, Mum.”
“What kept you up last night? Worrying about the panel?” Relief is sweet.
“Y-yeah. I just want to get it sorted now, you know?”
“I know, darling. But it’ll all be settled before you know it. You won’t do yourself or my future grandchild any favours by exhausting yourself with worry before they even arrive.”
Mothers are truly magical beings. In my efforts to hide the truth of my sleepless night so I wouldn’t inadvertently share any of Corey’s private and personal information, I’ve somehow landed myself slap-bang in the middle of Mum’s psychic ability to read her children likebooks. The adoption panel is an ever-present spectre in the back of my mind, but since it’s currently out of my control, I’ve compartmentalised it so I can continue to function.
I must admit, though, her words have landed with a warm glow in my chest.
“I really like hearing you call them your grandchild.” I smile at her over the brim of my cup.
“Well, that’s exactly what they are. There are many ways to become a parent, Nash, and creating a child yourself is only one of them.”
