The Garden of Memories

Chapter 3

Sally Penwith takes off her shoes in the small courtyard at the back of the surgery and wiggles her toes. There’s a painful blister on her little toe because she’s not ‘worn in’ the new shoes enough before wearing them to work. Her daughter Pippa commented on her mum’s choice of footwear that morning as she left the house. It was as though she was psychic. ‘You know what you’re like with new shoes, Mum, and no tights or socks with them either? Come lunchtime you’ll be in agony.’ Pippa’s frown was so like her dad’s, Sally had to look away. She had waved away the concern and gone ahead anyway. At almost fifty, she ought to know better than her twenty-year-old daughter, but the throbbing little toe tells her she doesn’t.

The early afternoon sunshine pokes a few warm fingers through the thin cloud and Sally turns her face to their caress. She could do with going home after her lunch break and sitting in the garden in the spring sunshine, if she were honest, rather than sitting on reception. It isn’t that she hates her job, it’s just that it all feels a bit disjointed lately. Her life, not the job, though the job is part of it, of course. The last two weeks have been a bit of a rollercoaster. Normality has been turned upside down, inside out and stripped of all familiarity. Sally dribbles a bit of water from her glass onto her blistered toe and considers the order of things, or disorder, more like. First, Paul, her husband of twenty-five years, left her for another woman, a much younger one. And if that weren’t totally devastating enough, both her children moved out of the family home too. Well, Pippa was moving in with her girlfriend this coming weekend, but Angus left to go travelling with his friends the day before his father walked out. Last she heard, they were in Thailand.

Thailand. Sally thinks about that. How exotic. Even the name sounds exotic; it’s almost as if it exists on a different planet, not just across the world. The furthest she’s ever been is Mallorca. Memories of white sandy beaches and lazy days flood her mind, and she smiles. The kids were little and she and Paul were happy … well, as happy as they could be, as he was never really satisfied. They must have gone about five or six times over the years, but then latterly, Paul said it cost too much money and he was getting busier at work. Newly promoted hotel managers couldn’t be swanning off abroad at the drop of a hat, didn’t she know? Sally wonders whether he was actually busy with other women at work, because that was where he found the new one, apparently.

A seagull’s cry startles her out of her reminiscing, and a quick glance at her phone tells her she only has five minutes left of her break. Rose’s laughing face looks at her from the screen saver – a photo from her ‘surprise leaving do’ a few weeks ago. This was another change in her life she could do without. Rose had been like a mooring buoy Sally could tether herself to when she felt like she was floating adrift. Rose had always been there with a kind word and a listening ear. She was one of those people who was ready to support people, no matter what. She always made time for a chat and seemed genuinely interested in Sally’s life. Such as it was. Sally hadn’t told Rose the whole story of her marriage (which had been struggling long before Paul walked out), but Rose knew enough to get the gist without Sally having to divulge the whole humiliating plotline. No spoilers, please. Now Rose, too, was gone. Maybe that was a bit dramatic, because she was on the end of a phone, if need be. But it was the end of a lovely era when Rose hung up her uniform for the last time.

Sally finds a sticking plaster in her bag and gingerly applies it to her toe, still thinking about Rose. The surgery seems to be lacking something, now she isn’t in it. Exactly what, Sally can’t say. That indefinable something that held them all together. Not to say that their little staff group is falling apart – Sally expects that’s just her – but the whole is fragmented, more fragile. Cracking, like a much-loved vase that no longer holds water. Shaking off that thought, she decides that she will go over and see Rose in the next few days. Take her some flowers and chocolate, to show how much she’s missed. Maybe Sally won’t say that’s what they’re for, though, because it could be seen as being a bit needy. This is something Sally prides herself on – not being needy. She’s an independent woman who’s had to put up with years of shit from her husband and managed to do it without anyone knowing. It takes a strong woman to hide the scars of abuse. Not physical – no, that wasn’t Paul’s way. Cruel words and sneers were his fists, and the wounds ran deep.

Without intending to, she watches again the scene from two weeks ago playing out before her eyes like some grim TV drama. Her waking early to find Paul’s side of the bed empty, going downstairs to find him talking in hushed tones on the phone in the kitchen, his back to her, a cup of coffee in hand. He sounds like a teenager, all breathy whispers, sighs and chuckles. He just said the word babe: ‘Of course I do, babe.’

This is wrong. Very wrong. It’s the kind of wrong that twists her stomach and clamps a hand over her mouth to stop herself speaking – she can’t let him know she’s listening. She needs to hear it, more than she’s desperate to turn and leave. She can’t leave. She’s welded to the spot. Frozen. Drawn like a moth to a flame. Moths are oblivious to the danger, but Sally’s not. She knows her wings are going to burn, but she’s unable to prevent it.

Sally tries to blot out what comes next, but as on almost every occasion since he walked out, she fails. He turns and sees her, fleeting surprise in his eyes becoming contempt, then resignation. Paul ends the call and calmly answers her anguished question – ‘Are you having an affair?’ – as if she’d asked him if he was enjoying his coffee, with, ‘Yes, I am.’

She slumps into a kitchen chair and listens slack-jawed as he folds his arms and tells her in a flat monotone that he’s leaving her. He’s had enough, Sally doesn’t excite him anymore, they were just going through the motions and he’s not prepared to fritter away his life doing that. Paul sees her as an old friend now, really, and does have affection for her, but that’s not enough. Not anymore. Not now the children have grown up and are flying the nest. This new woman is his soulmate, they didn’t intend for it to happen but…

Sally’s aware of pain in the palm of her hand as her fingernails dig into the flesh. She’s been trying this method to shock herself out of constantly reliving these awful scenes the past few weeks, and it sometimes works. She tells herself she must stop it. He’s gone. She’s strong, she’s independent, she’s … falling apart. A deep breath swells her chest and she holds it for five. Releasing it slowly, she tests the plaster on her toe again. It’s still tender, like her heart, but it’s time to go back into work. Sally winces as she squeezes her shoe back on, finds a welcoming smile from her ever-depleting reserves and goes inside.