The Summer We Loved. Wendy Jones Lou
Pete let out a choke of unhappy laughter.
“Look, I don’t mind for me,” James told him. “But I think Rach would be happier if you stopped trying to drink yourself into oblivion.”
Pete smiled and shook his head. “Tell her I’m sorry, won’t you. And I am grateful. Really.”
“It’s your future I worry about,” James told him, after the moment had settled again. “You’ve got some big exams coming up soon and you seem determined to mess it all up again. All that work you’ve put in. Don’t throw it away like this.”
“I know, I know.”
“So you’ll get some help?”
Pete took the path of least resistance. Not in a million years was he planning on sitting down with some poxy counsellor and spilling his guts to a random stranger, but his brother was looking at him, desperately concerned and with such grave fear in his eyes, so he nodded.
“Good. We’d better get some food into you before I get back home to my long-suffering wife and then you can start getting your act together and get things straightened out. You might want to give your liver a break while you’re at it. And the female population, for that matter. There can’t be many women you haven’t been through left around here now, are there?”
Pete gave him a withering look and thought of the face that had pierced him with enigmatic eyes the night before, or was it the one before that? One of the few supposed to be ‘off limits’ (if Kate had anything to do with it). Jenny Wren: stunningly beautiful, bold and disapproving, devastatingly sexy and tantalising as hell. But she had witnessed the rage inside him. Her turbulent nature and mysterious, all-seeing eyes were unsettling to him. It would be dangerous to get too close to her. From the confines of his mind, however, the delicious taste of fantasy was a spectacular thing. “One or two,” he said.
Monday morning Pete was back in work and, on the surface of it, happy as a pig in mud. His consultant gave him a dressing down for his no-show the Friday before, but he apologised and managed to talk his way out of it, claiming a brief stomach bug, and all was forgiven (on the understanding that his lack of communication never happened again).
New faces appeared on the wards as a couple of young nurses joined the team and Pete was revived for the moment. He flicked his predator switch to “on”, cranked up the charm and watched as fresh eyes turned dreamy; he was back on form.
Pete gassed and consulted with patients for different lists for the following day, and then he went home to his flat, where he had no need of bravado, except for himself.
For some reason he felt out of sorts that evening. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he was uneasy. He couldn’t settle and he needed to; he had exams coming up, even his brother had mentioned them. He looked at the great pile of books crouching ominously at the side of his desk and he had every intention of working. He had an ENT list in the morning, so it would have been an ideal time to recap on the problems particular to that and the different strategies for dealing with them. But instead, he shoved a shepherd’s pie in the microwave and flicked on the TV. Tomorrow night, he thought, when he was feeling better. It wasn’t worth trying to study when you weren’t on top form.
The following afternoon, Jenny was on a late, and the feeling on the ward, as she walked on, was seriously off. Red-rimmed eyes and softly spoken whispers crowded in on her on all sides. The new shift was quickly rounded up and taken into an empty room.
“I have some incredibly sad news to tell you all,” Debbie, the nurse in charge, said. “This morning, we were informed that two days ago, whilst on holiday in the Caribbean, Mr and Mrs Elliott, together with their daughter, were lost at sea when the yacht they were sailing capsized in a freak storm. Their bodies have been recovered and there will be a funeral when they’ve been returned home. I’m sure we’ll hear more nearer the time, but for now, that’s all we’ve got. I’m very sorry.”
Whatever was said after that, Jenny never heard it. What a way to hear about your friend’s death. Debbie wasn’t to know they’d been close, but… Kate was dead? No. Kate; her oldest friend and partner-in-crime. And Adam. Poor Adam, who had turned out to be such a lovely guy, surprising them all. And even little Selena… all gone. Maisie passed across a tissue. Jenny hadn’t even noticed the tears flowing down her face until then. She took the tissue and dabbed at her eyes numbly. She couldn’t process it, so she did all she could do; she worked.
Turning to the nurse in charge, her voice said, “Can we get on?” and she wandered out onto the ward.
The shift drifted by in a surreal daze, but that evening, when she walked in, Jenny found Flis sobbing her heart out on the settee. She walked over; they looked at each other and then folded up in each other’s arms and wept. “I know. I know. It’s so unfair,” she said, pulling back and plucking a tissue to wipe her face. She passed one to Flis. “After all the good they’ve done for others, and just when it was all starting to come together for them.”
“It just doesn’t seem real,” Flis sobbed, pulling another tissue clear to wipe her nose. “Adam had only just… And Kate… Our Kate.” She shook her head. “All gone. It’s just… It’s such a terrible waste!”
They talked for a while, gradually turning the tide and reminiscing about the fun times they’d shared and then, with neither of them having much appetite, they put on a late-night chat show and stared at the screen, before drifting off to bed.
Kate is dead, Jenny wrote in her diary that night. Kate and Adam and Selena. What can I say? It’s too tragic for words.
Jenny was off the following day, so she spent her time trying to keep her mind busy. She rang her aunt to see how she was doing. As her dearest relative, Jenny felt very protective of her. She had been the one who’d taken care of her since the age of 17, a time when she had needed so much and been granted so little.
Jenny got through all her laundry and stocked up on food and then, having no more chores left to do, she decided she would finally succumb and lose herself in Lorna Doone, a story she had always wanted to read but had never quite got around to. She didn’t want to face her inner thoughts that night, couldn’t bear to, so she just kept on reading until she fell asleep.
Thursday she was back in work and rumour was sweeping through the hospital that Dr Florin had disappeared again. This time Jenny was cross. At a time when everything seemed suddenly so vital, such a gift to be living, he had decided to bail out. He was probably skulking around somewhere with a bottle and a bad woman. It was as if he didn’t even care. She knew the three of them had been friends, but so had she. The man had no backbone. How was he ever going to make consultant carrying on like this? He certainly didn’t deserve to. Jenny was disappointed. There were Kate and Adam trying to do so much good with their lives and living life to the full, and they had been cut down in their prime and here he was just pouring it away.
Her mood got under her skin and she bristled at the thought of what he was up to, instead of what he should be doing, which was taking care of all those people on the wards waiting for him. The anaesthetist was the one they most relied on, the one whose very presence could easily calm their fears. “No good, womanising, beer-swilling…” She ran out of words, and it pained her to see him through different eyes.
But by Friday he was still nowhere to be found. Rumours were flying about. Some said he was lying dead in his flat, although Jenny noticed this was mostly put about by those whose hearts he’d broken. Had he suffered bereavement in the family Jenny wondered? Was he lying in a hospital miles away? Or had he finally been thumped hard enough by some boyfriend or husband and lost his memory? Wherever he was, and whatever he was doing, there wasn’t one scenario that looked good for him.
A shadow had been cast over the staff at the hospital. One missing, considered reckless, and two lost for good. Time dragged by on every shift as the light and ease of everyday mirth was suppressed by the weight of their loss.
The funeral was arranged for the following week, and luckily for Jenny,