Chapter 22 Even After Everything
EVEN AFTER EVERYTHING
PRESENT DAY
By the time Thursday rolled around, exhaustion had seeped into Catherine’s bones. Spiralling thoughts and anxieties had triggered a bad bout of insomnia, which meant instead of sleeping she’d sat up sipping chamomile and doing the Sappho puzzle.
Penny:
Marvellous, but you really need to get laid, babe x
As Catherine chuckled at the message and rolled Sappho away, the ceiling creaked, bringing her back to the present. Despite sharing an entranceway and assuming they’d bump into each other all the time, she hadn’t seen Jules since the other morning at Snoots.
Now, she smiled and cocked her head to listen out for the soft, padded sounds of her new neighbour moving around above her. Penny’s right; you really do need to get laid.
Catherine mentally berated herself for being a creep and committed to an extra lap of the park as penance, although her morning walk was hardly a punishment.
The clear sky beyond the puffy cloud breaks hinted at a bright day ahead, but the air was dewy and still cool, so she set off at a quick pace to get her blood pumping.
She mindfully focused on the chirps and whistles of birdsong, a big dog’s deep bark, followed by an answering yap from a smaller breed.
Heavy-breathing runners sped past, Lycra shuffling and stretching across rippling muscles.
Further along the path, a flock of women power-walked in a synchronised sashay, their matching pink jackets identifying them as the Stroll Sisters.
Catherine gave a small nod as they passed.
She’d once contemplated signing up, but pink really wasn’t her colour, and she enjoyed the solitude of her morning walks — this was always the calm before the storm of a day ahead, full of complex people and their complex problems.
On the way home, she couldn’t resist the draw of Snoots. Admittedly, it wasn’t just the coffee pulling her in, but the hope that she might bump into Jules again.
Tomorrow. You have a date with her tomorrow. Christ — tomorrow!
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 waved from 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 to enjoy each 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, in fact! 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.
“Ah, good. A vacation will do you—”
“No, not on vacation.” He glanced up, letting the pause linger for dramatic effect. “We’re going to live there. I’ve bought a place in Tuscany. My offer was accepted this morning, so, all being well, we’ll…”
“Hold on… did you just say that you’re moving to Italy? I mean, shouldn’t we have discussed this first?”
Jeremy’s lips drew together in an infuriating half-formed question, which she wasn’t prepared to let him finish.
“Don’t you dare say ‘why’… I’m your bloody business partner. Your decisions impact me too. What about the practice?”
“Yes, I was about to get to that—”
“I can’t afford to buy you out.” The words rushed out of her in a sudden surge of panic.
Jeremy held up his hands. “Good, because I’m not selling.”
“So what, you expect me to keep running things, while you’re off living your best life in the bloody Italian Riviera?”
Jeremy chuckled, and she had to fight the urge to lunge across the table at him, or douse him with the jug of water, ice cubes and all. He must have sensed her irritation as he held up his hands and squashed the laughter in his voice when he spoke.
“I’m signing my half of the business over to you.
It’ll be all yours, so do with it what you will.
Run it alone. Bring in another partner. Or sell it if you want…
” the words floated between them like dust motes in the afternoon sun, “Go live out your days in a queer hippy commune, foraging wild berries and teaching conflict resolution with crocheted sock puppets.” He pincered his fingers in a goofy demonstration. “I won’t hold you back.”
He poured himself another glass of water from the jug that she somehow hadn’t emptied over his head.
This was a lot. This was too much. Her noisy thoughts swirled along with the rush of the river, the chatter from the other tables, and car horns honking at the intersection.
Their food arrived before she said another word, and Jeremy sat, waiting patiently.
Slow, strong and ever-present, like he’d always been.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” she eventually said.
“It’s more than fair… after everything, you deserve it. Ma and Pa will be delighted!” He gestured to her with a forkful of salad leaves. “They think the world of you, you know?”
And truly, she thought the world of the eccentric pair too. They may not have been blood relatives, but they’d treated her like one of their own from the day they’d met her. Their generosity had seen her through university and established her career. She owed Jane and Jasper a lot.
“Anyway, it’s settled. The paperwork is with the lawyers. We’ll work everything through together, of course, but this is what I want—”
“You can walk away from it all, just like that?”
“There’s only so many years a chap can sit listening to other people’s problems whilst not dealing with his own.” His mouth stretched into a sardonic grin.
Catherine sipped her wine, trying to hide the you said it look no doubt written all over her face.
“The fact is, Francesca needs this. We both need this. I’ve spent my entire career prescribing remedies to other people, and it’s time I wrote my own script — it could be worse than retirement in a Tuscan villa.”
Catherine popped a ravioli parcel into her mouth and considered him as she chewed.
Yes, this was a snap decision, but instinct was telling her it was the right one — for him and for herself.
Like Penny had said a few days ago — don’t you think it’s time you broke away from the Daltons and all their nonsense? This was her out.
“You know I think the world of you too, Trusty. I heard what you said about not dredging up the past, but I’m still truly sorry for what happened back then. I wish it hadn’t been like that and things had been easier for us. We always had fun, didn’t we? I mean, at least we did before…”
Before Francesca. Catherine sighed and prodded her tongue at a stray piece of pine nut caught in her teeth.
“Once we’re settled, do you think you’d consider paying us a visit? You might make sure she hasn’t finished me off and stuffed my corpse in a closet, whilst she carries on with the pool girl.”
Catherine snorted out her wine. “Not a chance.”
“That she’ll be carrying on with the pool girl?”
“No, that I’ll ever visit you.”
Jeremy pressed his lips together, but he couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes.
Catherine picked up her wine glass and clinked it to his.
“Cheers, it is then. To you and your fresh start.”