Page 111 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

‘What’s it worth to you?’ he said. ‘I mean, would you sleep with me if I agreed?’

‘I thought you’d moved on,’ she said.

‘I have. I’m seeing a couple of women. But I could always use a – what’s the phrase? A friend with benefits? A fu—’

‘Let me get this straight. If I agree to no-strings, casual sex with you, you’ll arrange for the Scrabble club to continue in the church hall on Friday evenings?’

‘Yes, and I’ll sort that with the vicar,’ he said, ‘but only until I find a buyer. Do we have an agreement?’

41

Razz’s head was throbbing. He rubbed at his temples. He wasn’t usually prone to headaches but this one was a belter.

It had been a tough day. A stomach bug was doing the rounds in Hebbleswick and Ludek – the other GP – had called in sick so Razz had had to see quite a few extra patients. In theory, he could fit everyone in and finish on time, if he allocated four minutes to each patient, but Razz liked to give people a little bit longer than that. The trouble was that some people came in to the surgery and said that one thing was wrong with them, but often it was something else entirely that they were worried about. If you gave them a little bit longer, they’d get to it eventually, only like every GP surgery these days, Hebbleswick and Essendale Group Practice was stretched to the hilt and Razz never felt there were enough hours in the day to give each person the time he felt they deserved.

And then there were other patients who didn’t have anything physical wrong with them at all, but who were just lonely and wanted someone to listen to them. They didn’t really need his medical skills, but the thought of sending someone away without giving them a few minutes of his time broke his heart, so he’d sat and listened whilst Mrs McCardle told him that she often felt tired. He’d suggested a blood test just to be on the safe side, then asked her how she was managing since her husband had passed, patted her hand as her eyes welled up and then nudged the box of tissues across his desk towards her.

‘The trouble is,’ she’d said, ‘I’m lonely. I don’t really see anyone these days.’

And Razz had wondered about suggesting she might come along to the Scrabble club. He had no idea, of course, if she liked word games, but he could imagine Mrs McCardle fitting right in with Florence and Sylvia and the others. But really what was the point? They hadn’t got anywhere to play Scrabble anymore. Their Friday evenings were about to come to an abrupt end. Jo had said she’d find another venue, but if there wasn’t another venue to be found… well, even Jo and her amazing organisational ability couldn’t rustle something up that wasn’t there to begin with.

There were very few places in Hebbleswick that were large enough to accommodate them. He’d wondered about the upstairs function room at the George, but the landlord wouldn’t commit to a regular event on a Friday evening – even for the doctor who’d cured his mysterious rash – and, in any case, as he’d told Jo, Razz didn’t want the Scrabble club attendees to feel obliged to buy a drink. Some of them, he knew, were strapped for cash. And in any case, Scrabble club was more cake and tea than G and T, and Razz wanted it to stay that way. If Mr Morgan had agreed to let them use the school hall, well, that would have been ideal, but he’d been adamant that it just wasn’t possible.

It was such a shame that they couldn’t stay in the church hall until it was sold. That would have bought them a little more time at least to think of an alternative solution.

Not that there was an alternative. But still…

Razz looked at Mrs McCardle’s sad, grief-stricken face and longed to have something to offer her, a nugget of hope.

‘Are there any social clubs you could join?’ he said.

‘Not round here. Not for folks my age. If we lived in a bigger town…’

‘The Not So Little Board Game Café in Essendale have board game evenings.’

‘That would be lovely, Doctor, but I’m not confident getting the bus on my own at night. I did wonder about coming along to your Scrabble club but I heard that’s finishing soon. Now the church hall is being demolished.’

Gossip, Razz thought, spread through Hebbleswick even more quickly than a vomiting bug.

To his embarrassment, Razz’s own eyes welled up at this point and Mrs McCardle stretched over and patted his hand, then nudged the box of tissues back towards him.

‘Yes, I would have suggested that,’ he said, dabbing his eyes, ‘but you’re right. I’m not sure we can continue for much longer.’

‘Such a shame,’ she said. ‘I missed your festival as I was visiting my grandchildren that weekend, but I heard it was a great success.’

At least she had grandchildren to visit, Razz thought. That was some consolation. But still he felt bad that he hadn’t been able to come up with anything for her.

The Scrabble club had always been about more than just the game. He’d started the group because he was new to the area and wanted to find people to play his favourite game against, but he also saw it as his way of giving something to the community. Isolation had such a detrimental effect on physical as well as mental health, and Scrabble was a great way to meet other people, especially for introverts like himself. Ludek said much the same about his partner Emily’s board game café. There was something about a board game, Scrabble or Monopoly or even those fancy ones in the board game café. There was less need to make small talk if you had a game board in front of you, which was great for anyone suffering from social anxiety or who was just a little shy.

‘Yes, it’s such a shame about the church hall,’ he’d said to Mrs McCardle.

The headache had come on soon after she’d left his consulting room.

He was writing up his notes, reading letters from hospital consultants and signing off on a pile of repeat prescriptions when his phone rang.

‘Reverend Stone’s here to see you,’ said the practice manager.

‘But surgery’s over,’ said Razz.