How To Save A Marriage In A Million. Leonie Knight
realised what he’d said.
‘I didn’t mean…I’m not…’ he stumbled, and then they both laughed.
‘I know.’
‘Shall we start again?’
Twenty minutes later, Richard had signed a lease, organised for the rent to be deducted from his salary and taken possession of a set of keys to number 6B Peppermint Mews, the second house in the row of quaint terraces that the hospital owned. He’d made the decision without even viewing the place, on the basis that it was the only empty house in the row at the present time. The fact that it was fully furnished, he had a three-month lease with the option of staying longer and he could move in straight away added to its attraction. There was a tiny light at the end of a very long dark tunnel, he thought as he said goodbye to Jodie and strode off towards the main part of the hospital.
* * *
Joanna was in Richard’s thoughts for most of the day and into the evening as well. She was a remarkable woman, an amazingly dedicated nurse and she had stated, without hesitation, that she wanted to go ahead with the divorce as soon as possible. Before their private talk that morning he’d nursed the tiniest hope she might still have some feelings for him. He was not deluded, though, and didn’t expect to recapture what they’d once had. He’d thought more in terms of the remnants of their former relationship being intact; a starting point; a foundation from which to rebuild.
It wasn’t going to happen.
Joanna had changed, while he was stuck in the past.
So what he had to do was cast away any thoughts of rekindling a personal relationship with his wife and start over.
Today. Right now.
He returned to the ward after the meeting but his and Jo’s paths didn’t cross again. He focused his attention on his patients.
He spent an hour with an eight-year-old and his parents, explaining stem-cell transplants and answering their many questions. Then he’d been called to deal with a teenager who had developed a dread of her chemotherapy and, for the last two treatments, had started intractable vomiting the night before her three-weekly sessions, in anticipation. She was on the verge of refusing to continue despite an excellent response and it took a lot of persuading to get her to consider coming into the ward as an inpatient to tailor strategies to help her cope. There’d also been two new admissions he made a special effort to see before he left for a hurried, late lunch.
Joanna had been busy with her own duties and, though he’d been aware of her presence, they hadn’t actually spoken again and Richard’s afternoon had been a full on session in clinics.
Now he was heading home.
Home…
He’d stay in the apartment until at least the weekend, when he hoped he’d have time to shop for food and the essentials like bed linen that weren’t provided as part of the package of his new home. He was looking forward to moving in.
Alone.
If only things had been different.
He drove into the underground car park and headed for the lifts. It wasn’t long before he let himself into his apartment and faced the prospect of a long evening with the only company his own. He dumped his briefcase on the coffee table, opened the blinds, exposing a vast expanse of glass and an impressive view of the ocean opposite, and went to the fridge.
He knew exactly how Old Mother Hubbard felt.
There was enough milk left in the half-litre complimentary carton to make a cup of coffee—but he’d used all the coffee. A lonely bottle of mineral water stood next to two bottles of beer, the remains of a six-pack he’d bought on the weekend. Apart from a loaf of stale raisin bread his cupboard was indeed bare.
He reached for a beer, opened it and threw the cap into the bin, the bottle tilting as he did so and dribbling part of its contents onto his hand and the cuff of his shirt. He pulled a couple of tissues from the box on the kitchen counter at the same moment his phone rang.
‘Hello, Richard Howell.’ He gave the automatic greeting.
‘Hi, Dr Howell. It’s Jodie.’ She paused. ‘Remember me? We met this morning.’
Richard’s initial response was annoyance. He couldn’t think of any reason a member of the administrative staff would ring him at home on his mobile.
‘Yes, I remember. Is there a problem with the house?’
It was the only reason he could think of for her after-hours call.
‘No, it’s nothing to do with that.’
‘What, then?’
He thought he could hear the rumbling of voices in the background and then she giggled. He had the fleeting thought it might be a prank and it was the last thing he needed at the end of a long day.
‘I know you’ve only been back at work two days…’
It sounded like she was about to ask him a favour and he took a deep breath.
‘Go on.’
‘And you may not know that my dad is James Francis and he said he’s known you since you were an RMO and that you used to be a member of the hospital jazz band.’
He heard her take a deep breath and tried to make sense of a conversation that was becoming increasingly vague and convoluted. So Jodie was the daughter of Mr Francis, the paediatric surgeon, and, yes, he’d known her father for a long time and they’d jammed together a few times. But when he’d commenced his specialist training at the Stirling then married Joanna within the year, Richard had found the commitment to regular band practice and the occasional charity performance hadn’t fitted with the long hours and hectic schedule of a paediatric registrar with a pregnant wife. Most of the other band members had been either old enough to be grandparents or young and unattached. He’d given away music almost completely, although he still had his saxophone.
‘And?’
‘Um…There’s a charity concert planned for the Easter weekend and the band is without a sax player. Dad suggested contacting you. I know it’s over two months away but—’
‘No. Thanks for thinking of me but I don’t play any more. Even if I wanted to it’s been so long and I doubt I’d have the time for regular practice. I was never any good.’
He’d first met Joanna through his music. She’d been in the Stratton University choir and he’d continued to play in what had jokingly been called the Lady Lawler Big Band—more to do with its size than the type of music they’d played, which could range from pop rock to classical as well as traditional jazz. The good old days…
The last thing he needed at the moment was to be reminded of a time in his life that was in his thoughts nearly every day. Playing the saxophone was a rare, solitary activity these days.
‘That’s not what Dad says. He reckons you’re the best saxophone player the band has ever had. Are you doing anything Friday night?’
‘Er…’ Lord, this woman was pushy, just like her father. He tried to picture the oncology after-hours roster. ‘I’m on call.’ He was fairly certain Friday and Sunday were his rostered days.
‘Perfect. We’re having auditions in the B J Cohen Lecture Theatre so if you get a call you’ll already be at the hospital.’ He heard her clear her throat. ‘Not that you need to audition, but it will give you a chance to meet the crew and assess the new talent. What do you say?’
The woman was wearing him down and the idea of getting back to his music had some appeal. Maybe it was meant to be, all part of his new start. There was also the possibility of rescuing his social life, which he’d thought he’d lost for ever.
‘Okay. I’ll come on Friday, but it doesn’t mean I’m committing to playing.’
‘Great. Seven-thirty, and