She knocked back a double espresso and braced herself for her busy day.
First up, a long-term client with bipolar disorder.Catherine listened as the emotionally fraught woman listed off her worsening symptoms, and she recommended an adjustment to the dosage of her medication. Then, she called through a quick coffee order to Stephanie before her telephone consultation with Doctor Harding at The Milverton Clinic. They discussed their shared patient’s recent behavioural changes, which had led to hospitalisation, and they agreed on a course of treatment. Next up, evaluation of a new patient referred for possible ADHD. After only five minutes in the young woman’s company, Catherine was ready for a nap and in no doubt that the woman had ADHD, but she ordered some further diagnostic tests just to be sure.
She got up to make another coffee and stretch her legs before facing her final clients of the day — the couple she privately referred to as The Grudgewells. It would be unprofessional to tell Nigel and Carol Dudwell that they really needed to give up the ghost of their dead marriage. And besides, it was an easy — if not awkward — fortnightly session, where she usually wrote out her grocery list as they sat seething in silence, refusing to answer any of her questions or address each other at all. Inexplicably, they always left holding hands. Despite Catherine’s years of experience, some things were quite simply beyond her.
By midday she was dreading lunch with Jeremy.Really dreading it.For the first time, she’d sat through The Grudgewells’ session willing the time to tick slower.
She’d been pleased to hear Francesca was doing better, but she didn’t need to dissect it all over a meal with the woman’s husband, even if he was her oldest friend.
Why did I agree to this?It was a good question, but she’d never denied him anything he’d asked of her. She’d enabled him, just as much as he enabled Francesca.
She pulled on her jacket and called out to Stephanie as she left the office.
Jeremy wavedfrom a table on the terrace and got up to greet her when she arrived, kissing both cheeks like he used to. Warm after the ten-minute walk, Catherine slipped off her jacket and sat.
He passed her the menu and poured water into her glass.
“Glorious weather, isn’t it?” He relaxed back into his chair, the collar turned up on his polo shirt, and sunglasses perched atop his head.
“Mmm,” she agreed with a flat smile, a little unnerved that he seemed too relaxed, too pleased to see her. This whole thing was starting to smell like another favour.
She scanned the menu and, without overthinking, settled on a pine nut pesto ravioli. And she’d have a small glass of the Pecorino to take the edge off whatever this was. As soon as she closed the menu, the waiter hovered over them, ready with his pad. After he’d bustled off, she and Jeremy were left toenjoyeach other’s company.
“So…” she said, reaching for something to say. “Is Francesca still doing well?”
Jeremy bobbed his head enthusiastically as he swallowed a mouthful of water. “Yes, yes. She’s doing great, infact! I’m really hopeful that we’ve turned a corner with everything.”
“Good, I’m pleased.”
Jeremy tipped his head and cocked his lips in a wry smile.
“No, really, I am,” she said. “It wasn’t very nice to see her like that.”
“Right, of course. No, it wasn’t. And thank you again for going to her. You understand now, at least, why I was so worried.”
Catherine nodded. After a beat, Jeremy frowned and drew a breath.
“You were right — all those years ago, what you said about her. Even though I didn’t want you to be right…” He held up his hands. “Actually, if I’m really honest, I hated that you knew her better than I did.”
As much as Catherine enjoyed him saying it, it was uncomfortable watching him do so. She diverted her eyes to the river bubbling by below them.Water under the bridge.Or at least that’s what she’d thought until recently. But to paraphrase the walking man-mullet, Rod Stewart,the first cut was the deepest… and so it seemed; she’d never truly healed.
“I was always jealous of what you had with her. I could never compete,” Jeremy continued.
Catherine surprised herself by scoffing. “She married you. You won.” She wasn’t bitter, not anymore. Decades had passed — yes, she was still tied to Jeremy, but she’d moved on from all of that. She’d had other lovers and a whole lifetime of experiences since.
She closed her eyes, hoping he might’ve disappeared when she opened them again.No such luck.“Look, why are you dredging all of this up now?”
“Well, even after everything, I still love her.” He fiddled with the napkin folded under the cutlery. “Deep down, I think she loves me too… for more than my money.”
Catherine opened her mouth to protest, but when she looked back at his face, his earnest expression stamped out her words. Perhaps, as with The Grudgewells, there was a marital bond she couldn’t comprehend, something transcending common sense.
If she were a contrary woman, she’d tell him that Francesca only loved his wallet, just as she’d tell Nigel and Carol Dudwell that no company is better than the wrong company. But who was she to argue on this point?
A shrivelled old spinster.Francesca’s words echoed again.
Their drinks arrived, thankfully interrupting her need to respond.
“We’re going to Italy,” he announced, raising his glass of white wine in celebration.
