The Country Doctor's Choice (19 page)

‘Oh, Jeremy my love, don’t be too bitter,’ Iris pleaded, touching his shoulder and kissing him on the cheek. ‘You’ve been chucked out of the house, and that awful woman would chuck you out again if you went round there and offered any help.’

‘I dare say she would, but Denise is never going to
cope with premature twins, and there’s Peter-poppet to think about, poor little chap. I’ll have to send more money.’

‘Oh, yes, she’ll have no objections to your money,’ said Iris with a bitterness she prided herself on not showing. Damn and blast that useless lot, she thought silently. She knew that Fiona would take all the money he offered, and still demand more, leaving very little over for himself. Iris had no objection to being the breadwinner for them both, and not charging him rent. Just so long as he doesn’t leave me, she thought – I’m his only happiness, and whatever that madwoman says, he’s staying here with me, come what may.

‘What would I do without you, darling Iris?’ he asked, and she tightened her arms around him.

‘You don’t have to, dearest,’ she said.

Jeremy’s own thoughts were of a more practical nature. Fiona could look after the twins and Peter, while Denise got a job to earn some money for herself and her three children. Catherine would have to get a job, and Roy’s destiny was in his own hands. When the divorce eventually took place, he intended to apply for access to his innocent little grandson.

After only one week’s absence, the Reverend Derek Bolt was back in harness as vicar of St Matthew’s, and Beryl Johnson had not reappeared. Mrs Whittaker informed him that Miss Johnson wished
to attend church as she had always done with her mother, and for the past two Sundays had attended St Peter’s at North Camp, four miles away, and had cycled there and back, though Mary would have offered her a lift.

‘I honestly don’t think she’s likely to do anything like
that
again, Derek,’ Mary had told the vicar. ‘She’s been prescribed tranquillisers by the psychiatrist she saw while in hospital, and she doesn’t want to go and live near her brother in Canada, as some have suggested. She says that she misses her friends here at St Matthew’s, but she knows she mustn’t breach the injunction, and I’ve told her she’ll make new friends at St Peter’s after a while, won’t she?’

Derek was still deeply troubled about Beryl Johnson, and had prayed for and about her since the near-tragedy. And then one morning he woke up with the answer to his prayers:
He
must leave St Matthew’s, not poor Miss Johnson. He lost no time in telephoning Bishop Grieve to ask for a change of parish, and knowing of the Bishop’s sympathy, thought that his request would be granted.

As indeed it was. To Daphne’s dismay and resentment, Derek was transferred to a parish in a built-up area where greater London had spread into Surrey, and where the present incumbent was taking early retirement. St Christopher’s was a relatively new red-brick church, and had fold-up seats as in a cinema. The vicarage was one of two dozen new
houses on an adjacent estate where drugs and knife crimes were a constant problem.

‘It will be a challenge to you, Derek,’ said the Bishop, ‘and I don’t expect that Mrs Bolt will be too impressed, but—’

‘It’ll be fine, George, and I’m deeply grateful. Just so long as Miss Johnson can worship here as she has always done, without embarrassment, I’ll gladly take up the challenge.’

And Daphne can like it or she can lump it, he thought silently.

Sister Iris Oates was unusually thoughtful. The North twins, Daisy and Danny, were progressing well and putting on weight, Jeremy had told her. He’d had no say in choosing names for them, which he only knew from their cot cards.

‘It’s a strange sensation, Iris, looking down on two new human beings, knowing that they’re of your blood and wondering what in God’s name lies ahead for them. No father that we know of, an absentee grandfather and a drunken uncle, a scatterbrained aunt and a nice little half-brother. They’ll be brought up by their mother and grandmother, not much of a prospect.’

‘You had no say whatsoever in their conception, Jeremy, so don’t look on them as your responsibility.’
Iris spoke forcibly, unable to suppress her irritation at his constant concern for these babies. ‘Let’s face it, Jeremy, you were thrown out of that house, she physically attacked you, and if you went back there, you’d be thrown out again. You came to me that night because you had nowhere else to go – those were your own words, and I was so happy to be here for you – oh, Jeremy my love,
this
is your home!’

‘I know, Iris, I know, I know,’ he soothed, holding her in his arms and kissing her cheek. ‘I don’t know how I’d manage without you.’

Nor I without you, she thought silently. For Iris had a secret, a suspicion she would keep to herself for the time being, in case she was mistaken; but if it materialised, everything would be changed. Everything. She had missed her May period, and was waiting to see what June would bring or not bring. She would have to wait until she was absolutely certain before telling Jeremy of his latest responsibility, and to miss two periods would be confirmation enough. Now, if her suspicion was correct, he would be bound to her – and their child. O Lord, let it be!

When the doorbell rang, Shelagh’s heart leapt, and she was suddenly breathless. Could it possibly be—?

It was. Leigh McDowall stood there on the doorstep, smiling at her. ‘Shelagh.’

‘Oh – Leigh! Are you coming in?’ She held the door open, but he made no move.

‘I – I’ll be returning to work tomorrow,’ she said, unable to think of what to say.

‘I know, that’s why I need to see you first.’ She sensed there was something different about him; could it be hesitation, or even shyness? Surely not, a man as laid-back as McDowall. He went on, ‘There’s something I have to ask you, Shelagh.’

Her heart was thudding as she held on to the door handle. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she repeated.

‘Not until you give me an answer.’

‘An answer to what?’

‘Will you marry me, Shelagh?’

She drew a quick intake of breath. Was he serious or joking? She could not organise her thoughts, and the words that came out were, ‘It’s what my mother and aunt wanted.’

‘Well, there you are, then – we can’t go against their wishes, can we?’

‘If you’re serious, Leigh, then yes – oh, yes!’ She held the door wide open, and he stepped across the threshold.

‘Shelagh, my angel, my love.’ She was enfolded in his arms, and all doubts, all misgivings were swept aside on an overwhelming tide of happiness. Her only surprise was that it had taken her so long to know her own heart.

‘But Leigh, what about Tanya Dickenson?’ she asked, drawing back a little.

‘I’ve had a word with her, Shelagh – though she
was beginning to have her suspicions. There was never any engagement, or talk of one. I know I was wrong to act as if we were a couple, but that was because I was half crazy at the way Sykes took you for granted, and you let him. I suppose I wanted to show that I didn’t care – talk about self-deception!’

‘And I was so slow to realise that you were – that it was
you
I’d gradually begun to – to love over all these months. Oh, Leigh, how ashamed I was when you had to cover for me at New Year when I was back late, and the way you looked at me, despising me for it!’

‘All in the past now, my angel, don’t look back. Actually that actress has done me a favour, and let’s hope she isn’t too disappointed with her wonderful doctor! I’ve an idea that those two deserve each other, but that needn’t worry us, my love, my angel who came to me just when I – and Denise North and her babies – most needed you.’

For the next few minutes there were no words but tender, joyful, astonished kisses, until he exclaimed, ‘I must get to the office of the
Everham News
to put in this notice in time for tomorrow!’

‘Notice? What notice?’ she asked blankly.

‘The notice of our engagement, of course – we want them all to read about it tomorrow, don’t we?’

A shower of good wishes greeted Shelagh when she re-entered the maternity department the next day. Smiles, handshakes, kisses and a few naughty jokes
expressed the delight of all, and Tanya Dickenson managed a smile and a nod that showed her goodwill. Laurie Moffatt was delighted, and the Rowans sent an engagement congratulations card.

In the staff canteen at lunchtime the ward sister of Women’s Medical approached Shelagh with a certain diffidence.

‘I hear that congratulations are in order, Dr Hammond,’ she said. ‘And I believe you’re a friend of Sister Oates.’

‘We sometimes work together in Outpatients,’ said Shelagh warily, not willing to be drawn into any gossip about Iris.

‘I wonder if she knows that Mrs Fiona North has been admitted to my ward with a severe cerebral haemorrhage. She’s deeply unconscious, and the outlook isn’t good. She may or may not come out of the coma, and even if she does it could leave her with a degree of hemiplegia and aphasia, unable to walk or speak. Terrible for the family, of course, the daughter’s just had premature twins, and the husband walked out a few weeks ago. I wonder if you could let Sister Oates know if she doesn’t know already?’

‘Yes, I’ll be seeing her this afternoon in the antenatal clinic,’ said Shelagh, ‘and I’ll have a word. Thanks very much for telling me, Sister.’

In clinic that afternoon Sister Oates appeared much the same as usual, calm and quietly efficient; when
the last patient had left the clinic, Shelagh suggested that they get a cup of tea from the Women’s Royal Voluntary Service counter, and sit down for a talk. Surprised, Iris agreed, looking apprehensive.

‘I take it that you’ve heard the latest news, Iris.’

‘What latest news?’ Iris was at once on the alert. ‘Is it to do with those twins you delivered? I hear they’re doing well.’

‘No, m’dear, it’s not the twins, it’s their grandmother, Mrs North. She’s had a stroke, and is in Women’s Medical in a coma. She’s—’

‘What?
What
are you saying? Oh, Christ, what will he do? Is this true? Are you
sure
?’

Poor Iris Oates had no time for politeness, and leapt from the chair Shelagh had drawn up for her. Taken aback by this reaction, Shelagh too rose quickly, and tried to advise calmness, but Iris was in no mood to be soothed.

‘I’m sorry, but I must go.’ And still in uniform, she hurried from the outpatients hall.

‘Jenny, he’s
beautiful
,’ said Phyllis Maynard in wonder, holding the baby on her lap and smiling down at him, receiving a cheeky, toothless smile in return. ‘Yes, little fellow, I’m your granny, and we’re going to see a lot of each other, aren’t we? You know, Jenny I’m sure he knows who I am!’

‘Whether he knows or not, Mum, he’s certainly taken a fancy to you!’ said Jenny, holding out a blue
plastic rattle and watching Donovan stretching out chubby fingers for it.

‘Ba-ba-ba-ba!’ he said, and Jenny laughed.

‘Look, he’s blowing bubbles – who’s a clever boy, then?’

Phyllis could not remember when she had last felt such happiness. If only Ben had lived to see this third grandchild, and yet she felt his presence in the room with her, and believed he shared her joy.

‘We want Marion to be his godmother at the christening, and Tim’s friend to be godfather – you know, he was best man at our wedding,’ said Jenny.

‘It’ll have to be soon, before Derek Bolt leaves the parish,’ said Phyllis. ‘Isn’t it a pity, so sudden and unexpected – I’ve heard his wife’s furious.’

‘Surely it can’t be because of poor Miss Johnson, can it?’ asked Jenny. ‘I’m sure nobody blames him for what happened.’

‘I’m afraid that a lot of his parishioners
do
think it was cruel and unnecessary to take her to court over it, and I’m sure he blames himself. Mary Whittaker thinks he’s doing the right thing.’

‘We must ask Mary to the christening,’ said Jenny, ‘because it was thanks to her handing us that cutting from the
Daily Mail
that set us off on the road to adoption – and to Donovan.’

‘How do Tim’s parents feel about it now?’ asked Phyllis.

‘Oh, they can’t help loving him, can they? You
know Tim’s father said he’d never be able to love a child that wasn’t Tim’s – and told us we didn’t know what we were getting. Tim told him that
no
parents know what they’re getting, I mean, just look at the way that awful North family has turned out! Anyway, now that they’ve seen Donovan, his Gifford granny and granddad think the world of him.’

Phyllis looked thoughtful. ‘To be quite honest, I have to admit that I’ve felt sorry for Jeremy North, even though on the face of it he’s a neglectful father and has taken advantage of Iris Oates – it’s cut her off from taking the Sacrament in church, and makes her share in his—I wonder, does he ever consider the effect on her?’ She sighed, but Donovan claimed her attention.

‘Oh, look, Jenny, he’s smacking his lips, and any minute now he’s going to holler for his tea! You’d better take him and see if he needs changing, and I’ll go to the kitchen and get him a drink and a rusk!’

Mother and daughter exchanged proprietary smiles over the adored baby who had come into their lives. I already love him as much as Marion’s two, perhaps more, thought Phyllis in gratitude for this answer to her fervent prayers.

Jeremy North believed that his life had changed forever on the day he had left his family and gone to live with Iris Oates in her pleasant flat, her welcoming bed. He knew that he was breaking a commandment
and causing her too to commit adultery, but such was the relief he found with her, the unreserved love that was like bread to a starving man, he could not in his heart believe that God condemned them. He felt no guilt, except in the case of Peter, his three-year-old grandson, soon to be four, the only family member whom he truly loved, and who loved him in return. He had approached Fiona by letter and by telephone, to request contact with the boy – to take him out occasionally, but had met with total refusal; Peter was to have no contact with that wicked woman, that slut he had chosen in preference to his duty to his own family. He told himself that when he was finally divorced from Fiona – and to date there had been no move on either side to commence proceedings – he would apply for legal access to his grandson, so that Iris could build up a relationship with the little boy.

Such had been his plan, such was his dream. Then had come the telephone call from the hospital to the school, and another frantic call from Denise; Mrs Whittaker had also telephoned, to make sure that he knew. Now as he stood beside the bed of his wife in a single room on Women’s Medical, he realised that his life would have to change again. Fiona was deeply unconscious, and might not recover; without her presence in the home, how would his adult children cope, especially when the premature twins were discharged home with all their needs and necessities? Jeremy North’s conscience could
no longer be dismissed, and the way ahead now appeared frighteningly bleak.

And what about Iris? Sweet, adoring Iris who had withdrawn from the Sacrament because of him, as well as her place in the church choir; he trembled at the prospect of the pain he would have to inflict, and tried to pray for courage as he got into the car and headed for Number One Elm Grove.

He found that she already knew, and was home when he arrived, her face pale and anxious.

‘Iris, my love.’ It was all he could say at first, enfolding her in his arms. ‘How did you hear?’

‘Via the hospital grapevine – news travels fast. Jeremy, what are you going to do?’

‘I’ve just come from seeing her, Iris. I went there straight from school. She’s in a coma, and being fed through a tube down into her stomach. It doesn’t look good, they say she’s got a less than fifty-fifty chance of recovering, and even if she does, she’s going to need a lot of care. She won’t be able to carry the family around under her arm, as she has been doing, and it will be chaos.’ He gave a groan.

‘But they’re
adults
, Jeremy, and they’ll have to learn to stand on their own two feet!’ protested Iris. ‘And if you go back to those – those good-for-nothings, they’ll expect you to take her place and hold their hands for evermore. Don’t let them, Jeremy – you belong
here
now, with me!’

‘I know, dearest, I know, but for the time being I’ll
have
to go back to see what’s best to be done. Don’t worry, I’ll read them the riot act and won’t stay a day longer than necessary.’

‘How long?’ He heard the note of urgency in her voice.

‘I’ll be back when things are sorted out – no, Iris, don’t get into a state, you’ll have to back me up and help me to do the right thing. We’re both going to have to be brave, dearest.’

‘I’ll try – but you must promise me on your word of honour that you will come back to me. That’s all I ask.’

‘Thank you, my love, I promise. Only I’ll have to go there straight away, you must see that.’

‘Do you mean
now
? Can’t you stay for supper – it’s salmon salad and yoghurt.’

‘I’ll have to go, my love, to see how things are. And there’s Peter-poppet.’

Yes, thought Iris, Peter-poppet. I’ve known that all along. ‘Can’t you bring him back with you? I can take unpaid leave to look after him till you break up for the summer holidays.’

‘No, you’ve already done so much, Iris.’ He straightened his back and spoke firmly. ‘I have to go and see how things are. I’ll phone as soon as I can.’ He kissed her, and left her standing at the door as he got into his car and drove to his former home. Several people saw him, and noted that his car remained in the drive overnight. The word went round that
Jeremy North had come to his senses and was facing up to his responsibilities.