Chapter 3 Jennifer #2
Jenny was torn between guilt at being disloyal and her own need to talk to someone about it. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s early days. But he’s not as—” she struggled to find the right word “—buoyant as I expected him to be.”
Could he be clinically depressed? Was that it?
Her father gave a nod. “It takes some getting used to, even when it’s something you want. Martin has been a family doctor here for decades. He’s well known and respected. And he was busy, which is both good and bad.”
Jenny gave up trying to pretend everything was fine. “Right now it’s more bad than good. Did you struggle with it?”
“He did not.” Her mother sat down too and picked up her knitting.
“He was on the golf course the day after his farewell party. I saw more of him when he was working.” But it was said with affection, because Jennifer knew her mother enjoyed having time to herself to read, knit and meet her friends for coffee.
“Martin doesn’t play golf.”
Her father gave her a long look. “I’d love another cup of coffee, Phyllis. I’m sure our Jenny would love one too. No point in rushing off. Sit for a while. Eat one of those cookies you baked for us.”
It was easy to see why her father had been so beloved by the community when he’d been a doctor. He had an instinct for when someone needed to talk and he always made time for them.
Her mother sighed and put down her knitting. “You’ve already had one coffee.”
“Two is fine.”
“Don’t blame me if your body disagrees.” Her mother stood up, walked to the kitchen area and reached for the coffee.
“Martin just needs time to adjust, Jenny. Work gives you a purpose. Everyone needs a purpose. A reason to get up in the morning. What he needs is something important in his life. Something to focus on.”
She was in his life, and she was important, wasn’t she? Why couldn’t he focus on their relationship? On having some fun now that they were free of responsibilities. Wasn’t that what retirement was supposed to do? Give them more time for each other?
She’d imagined them booking a once-in-a-lifetime trip together, but when she’d mentioned it he’d said that perhaps they could talk about it in the summer.
Her father reached across and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I’ve been thinking of coming round and asking his advice on my book. His knowledge is more current than mine. Maybe I’ll give him a call.”
“Good idea.” Her mother made a pot of coffee and carried it to the table along with mugs. “With Martin’s help you might even make a start on it. Goodness knows you’ve been talking about it for long enough.”
Jenny hid a smile because her mother was right about that. For as long as she could remember, her father had talked about writing a book on health for the general public.
“Have you made any progress, Dad?”
“Not progress as such. Although I do have a working title. I’m calling it Lessons from a Life as a Family Doctor .”
Phyllis rolled her eyes. “It’s not exactly catchy, is it?” She put the mugs down on the table. “And it makes it sound as if it’s about you. Like a memoir. Whereas really it’s going to be about them, isn’t it? A self-help book. What can they do to help themselves?”
“Yes.” Her father pulled a face. “Maybe I don’t have a title after all. Perhaps I could call it Things Your Doctor Would Like to Tell You if Appointments Were Longer than Six Minutes .”
Phyllis patted him on the shoulder. “Why don’t we leave the title for now?”
“I’ll have to give it more thought.”
“Brian, I love you but you need to stop thinking and start doing.”
He gave her a wounded look. “Starting a sentence with ‘I love you’ doesn’t make the contents less harsh, you know.
Writing a book isn’t easy. First, there is the sheer volume of information and the challenge of working out what the average person needs to know, and then you have to communicate it all in words that everyone can understand. ”
Phyllis poured coffee into mugs. “I know, dear, but you were always very good at that part. It’s why the patients loved you.
Your problem with the book is sitting down and getting on with it.
You are the king of procrastination. Just write something, for heaven’s sake.
Anything! Or I might just have to write it for you.
I’ve listened to you enough over the years to have picked up a thing or two. ”
Jenny winced. Her mother wasn’t known for her tact.
She gave her father a sympathetic smile and he rolled his eyes.
“Your mother’s bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” he said.
“Germs didn’t dare inhabit the ward when she was in charge.
Anyway, back to Martin. Try not to worry, Jen.
He’ll cheer up now it’s Christmas, I’m sure.
And the children will be home soon. That will be a treat.
You must be looking forward to it. It will be the first time they’ve all been home together for ages. ”
That was true and she was looking forward to it, not least because she didn’t know how many more of these lovely family Christmases they would have.
Not that any of them had so much as hinted at a change, but she was a realist. Her children were adults now.
Someday soon they’d decide they’d rather spend Christmas in their own homes.
Or maybe Rosie would have to go and spend Christmas with Declan’s father and stepmother.
She imagined them arguing about which set of parents they’d be spending Christmas with.
She gave herself a silent telling-off.
This year they were all coming home, and that was all that mattered right now.
She should be grateful. If there was one thing nursing had taught her it was to make the most of the moment.
There was no point in worrying about next year, or the year after that, because no one knew what life would look like.
And the irony was that a few hours after they’d all descended on Mill House, her home would be filled with chatter, laughter, suitcases, coats and what felt like hundreds of pairs of shoes discarded by the door, and in no time she’d be feeling drained and in desperate need of a moment of peace and quiet, even though just a day earlier she’d sat in the quiet and craved the noise of a busy household.
She loved the idea of a family Christmas, but the gap between her idealized version (visions of cosy evenings spent chatting in front of the fire, or long winter walks) and the reality (a close resemblance to running a boutique hotel single-handed, with no time off and extremely demanding guests) seemed to grow bigger every year.
It was partly her fault. It was her desire to give everyone a perfect Christmas that led her to spend hours in the kitchen.
And the pressure was greater than ever this year because Jamie was bringing his new girlfriend, who apparently had never had a proper family Christmas and was desperately excited.
She felt a flicker of anxiety that the Christmas she delivered might fall short of expectations.
Her mother picked up her knitting again. “I thought I’d wear my gold dress to the party. The one Rosie made me for Jamie’s wedding. It has a little tear in it but I’m hoping she will mend it for me.”
“I’m sure she will. And you look lovely in that dress.” And she realised that she hadn’t given a single thought to what she might wear to the party.
The party.
It was the party, of course, that had provided the final challenge to her stress levels.
“A party?” Her voice had risen when she’d taken the phone call from Jamie. “A few days before Christmas?”
“I have something special to announce.”
And that could only mean one thing. Jamie and Hayley were going to announce their engagement.
All he’d said was we’ll talk when I’m home and she wondered if that meant he was busy, or that he didn’t want to answer any of the questions he knew she was dying to ask.
She’d always tried to respect her children’s boundaries and let them make their own mistakes (she’d made enough of her own when she was their age) but occasionally she wanted to nudge them and say are you sure?
“I’m delighted for Jamie. After what happened with Poppy, I thought maybe he’d given up on love.” Her mother put her knitting down. “And whoever she is, she’s a lucky girl.”
Whoever she is...
And who was she? That question had been nagging at Jenny in the night.
Jamie was about to get engaged to someone he’d met a couple of months ago and had yet to introduce to his family.
Why the rush? Did he feel he needed to put a ring on her finger to stop her leaving him the way Poppy had?
Did he think marriage would make a difference?
She rubbed her ribs with her fingers, trying to get rid of the ache in her heart.
Jamie was her firstborn, and it didn’t matter whether he was three or thirty-three, she still worried about him.
They’d had almost five years together before the twins had arrived and changed life beyond recognition.
Still, Jamie had loved his sisters, and his steady nature had calmed their often chaotic family.
He’d never given her a single day of worry until he’d fallen in love with Poppy in his second year of medical school.
They’d dated for eight years and done everything together, to the extent that everyone in the family got used to saying Jamie-and-Poppy, instead of just Jamie, as if they’d somehow become a single entity.
They’d both taken jobs in London, and they’d shared a small apartment where the train rattled past and woke them up early in the morning.
That they would spend the rest of their lives together had been a foregone conclusion, until one day Jamie had called and said that Poppy had left.