Chapter 18 #2
‘Good idea, two of those,’ Will said, and the boss wandered off through the tables again. ‘Perhaps you should take a bottle home with you in your luggage.’
‘But what if it broke? We discussed this before, didn’t we? I’d never get the smell out. I’d spend my next holiday pursued by sniffer dogs.’
‘And where will you go next?’ he said.
‘I think I will go and visit my sister in Washington; it’s a while since I’ve seen her.
And then perhaps Carcassonne,’ I said, imagining myself wandering through those medieval streets and learning all about the Cathars.
‘Or maybe a transatlantic crossing. The trouble is when I get to New York, what would I do? I wouldn’t know where to stay or how to get there, that’s the problem.
It’s the travelling I like the idea of.’
‘You could always join a tour group?’
‘Hmm, I’m not very good at being herded around by someone,’ I said with a rueful smile, ‘as you may have noticed.’
‘Me neither,’ he said. ‘My sister made me come on this trip. She used to go to the Begley Mortimer group a few years ago and she’s still on their Facebook group.
I think she was fed up with me refusing to book anything, so she did it for me and paid the deposit and presented it to me as a fait accompli.
If I’m honest, I didn’t realise there would be such an emphasis on the group as a thing, or I wouldn’t have come.
And before you ask, no I haven’t done much actual painting since I’ve been here. A few sketches, the picture of Costas.’
‘That was hilarious,’ I said. ‘What a character he is. Tell me some more about your sister?’
‘Lorna is twelve years younger than me, she’s a doctor, and married with twin boys. She lives in Banbury now, with her husband Oliver.’
I seized my moment.
‘So you were both doctors.’
He shot me a look as though he knew where I was going.
‘Yes, following in a family tradition.’
Our drinks arrived at that point, in long narrow glasses decorated with mint.
I took a sip through the straw. ‘Look, you can either tell me or not tell me about what happened when you stopped doing television work, I don’t mind. Although I am mildly curious, but that’s all.’
He stirred his drink with the plastic stick which had a tinsel cocktail umbrella on the end and looked thoughtful.
‘Have you ever had people photographing you through the windows of your kitchen? Or chasing your car down the street, banging on the windows so much that you had to move house? Or people going through your rubbish bins? Invading every aspect of your life so that nothing was safe and you didn’t know who to trust any more? ’
I shook my head. ‘None of those things. I’m very uninteresting.’
‘I wouldn’t say that, but I know what you mean.
One minute I was just a doctor who had worked in general practice and then gone to Africa, doing my best there against terrible odds of poverty and disease, and the next I was in a television studio with a girl patting make up on my face, interviewing celebrities I’d never heard of about their weight loss or smoking or pregnancies. Sometimes all three at the same time.’
‘A bit of a culture shock, I imagine?’
‘It was ridiculous. There are so many medical professionals out there quietly getting on with their jobs, and yet because I looked a certain way, had a certain background and had been approached by an agent who was married to one of my patients, I was invited to premieres and openings, celebrity events and the sort of parties you and I would normally run a mile from.’
‘It must have been exciting though?’
‘For about a year, I suppose it was. But then after we got married, all sorts of ridiculous stories started coming out. Rumours and lies – click-bait, I think they are called these days. And my wife was beautiful and incapable of having a bad photograph taken, designers lent her clothes, the press interest got worse. And then you know what happened.’
‘Well, no, actually, I don’t,’ I said. ‘I have to admit whatever it was passed me by completely.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you said that.
For years my wife’s behaviour was fair game for the press.
Long lens cameras following her into hotels, pictures of her stumbling out with her shoes in her hand the following morning.
Until she realised they were there and she was becoming famous for the wrong reasons.
Back then I thought it was just a blip that we could weather, that eventually interest would die down and we would rebuild our marriage.
That’s what I wanted. I had microphones stuck in my face asking for a comment.
She was followed into shops and restaurants.
Even then, while it was going on, I couldn’t believe anyone would care that much. ’
‘So what happened?’
‘She left me for some hairy individual in a heavy metal band. She went off in their private jet to Los Angeles just after our second wedding anniversary and filed for divorce three weeks later. He had promised her a career in films, an exciting life where the house was decorated with gold discs and awards, not books and research papers about obscure illnesses.’
‘And did she get the exciting life?’
He shrugged. ‘I think so, until he took up with someone else and then she met an actor, and after that she married a basketball star, and when that relationship failed I think she went into running a wellness retreat. I haven’t heard from her in years.
I hope she found what she was looking for.
I hope she’s happy. It must have been difficult for her too. ’
‘And what about you?’
‘For a while after she left, things got worse. The media wanted to know the most intrusive details of our marriage, which for years afterwards she was happy to give them. You know what they say – all publicity is good publicity. She did talk shows, in-depth interviews about life on the road with the band, glossy colour spreads of her new home in Hollywood or her wedding in Venice, relationship advice; she did it all. And meanwhile, back in London, every time she did something outrageous, I couldn’t get out of my house without journalists asking me what I thought.
As if my opinion mattered. Who was I dating.
Was there any chance we would get back together again.
I suppose there were fewer so-called celebrities around then, and that’s why they were so fascinated.
Then at one point they started going through my rubbish to find something interesting. I can’t imagine what.
‘About a year after all this blew up, I found myself on a panel show being quizzed about my sex life while another panellist, a woman I hardly knew, offered all sorts of inappropriate ways to cheer me up. And that was it for me. I couldn’t take any more of it, and of course I had no time to actually practise medicine.
So I gave in my notice and left. And I went back to Africa and then India, trying to get my life and my self-respect back.
And it worked. No one knew who I was; they only cared that I could help them.
And after all, that’s what I had trained to do.
And after that I did a lot of travelling, and yes, I was hiding from everything.
I had a few short relationships which came to nothing, because of my inability to really trust anyone.
And one of them went to the papers to tell them what I was like, how she was hoping we would get married.
But then at last, I got to the time when no one cared whether my ex-wife was pregnant or not, if I was in a relationship with anyone new.
There were new, younger, more interesting people to focus on, people who behaved far worse.
And then I retired and bought a house near my sister and started renovating it. ’
I sipped my drink, listening intently. No wonder he went to such lengths to avoid being seen after putting up with years of that.
I looked around, wondering for a moment how it would feel to know that there were camera lenses trained on me at that moment, snapping away as I scratched my nose or adjusted my bra strap.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m old news now, I’m sure of it,’ he said, noticing my unease, ‘but for a long time, those years left me with an inability to deal with the world again. And that took a very long time to get over.’
‘I promise I won’t go to the newspapers,’ I said. ‘Doctor Bill has drink with completely unimportant woman in Greece. I don’t think that would sell many papers.’
‘Doctor Bill, even that was made up. Nobody in my life had ever called me Bill. They thought it would make me sound more approachable. It could have been worse; the other alternative was Doc Willie.’
I snorted with laughter into my drink and choked a bit, and after a moment he laughed too.
‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘that does sound bad.’
‘I’m okay. Time moves on. Today’s sensation is tomorrow’s has-been.’
‘You’re not a has-been,’ I said firmly, ‘you’re a very nice person.’
‘I like to think so. And you’re wrong, you’re not completely unimportant. You’ve made me laugh more than anyone has for a very long time. And maybe you have helped me to see that a straightforward, simple life, which is what I want, is possible after all.’
We sipped our drinks in a companionable silence for a while. A few other people came in and ordered food and drinks, while outside the lights along the street flickered and shone out into the evening.
‘Gosh, it’s ten o’clock,’ I said.
‘Middle of the night,’ he agreed.
‘I’ll remember this evening when I am back home, and it’s raining and I am bringing logs in for the wood burner,’ I said.
‘I’ll remember this evening too,’ he said quietly.
We left the little café and headed for the hotel. Outside it was getting chilly as the warmth of the day cooled and I shivered in my thin cardigan.
‘Here,’ he said, and he took off his jacket and slung it around my shoulders.
I’d seen that done in films, but never in real life, and I was faintly shocked by the gesture.
But then I began to appreciate the warmth of it, and I snuggled my neck into the collar, breathing in the familiar lemony scent of his aftershave.
‘Nearly back,’ he said, and then he put one arm around my shoulders and rubbed the back of his jacket to warm me up. And I’m not ashamed to admit I felt like a teenager again. Just for a moment. And it was delicious.
Back in the deserted hotel reception, I shrugged off his jacket and handed it back to him.
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’
‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I said.
‘See you tomorrow.’
And then just as I was turning towards the staircase, he took my hand, hesitated for a moment and then pulled me in towards him, put his warm hands on either side of my head and kissed me. Properly this time, not just a peck on the cheek.
I was stunned into silence. I hadn’t been kissed like that for – well, I couldn’t remember.
It was certainly decades. Did people our age kiss like that?
Yes, they did, and for a lovely few moments I stood in his arms and allowed the warmth of him, the scent of him and the strength of him seep into my cold body.
‘Gosh,’ I said.
‘Good night,’ he said with a smile that was almost shy and definitely uncertain. ‘And thank you for everything.’