Risk of a Lifetime

What was it with a mother’s radar? She could almost hear the antenna twirling.

‘Single?’

She stuck the fork into her curry and lifted a chunk of chicken up to her mouth.

‘Mum, I have no idea. It’s irrelevant. I’m not interested.’

‘How old?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Thirty? Thirty-two? He’s a registrar.’

And he didn’t wear a ring, which meant nothing, of course, because she didn’t either and she was far from free. Single, yes, but free? Available? Not in this lifetime.

‘So what’s the problem with him?’

Nothing she was about to discuss with her mother!

‘Nothing. There’s no problem. It’s just—settling into a new working relationship. It’s difficult.’

Which was a downright lie, because there was nothing difficult about it. Not professionally. They seemed to work together seamlessly as if they’d done it for years, anticipating each other, communicating without words.

They made a great team.

She just didn’t want to be on the same team as a man like Ed Shackleton, because he played havoc with her hard-won peace of mind, and she resented that.

A lot.

* * *

Ed let himself in and closed the door softly, following the sound of running water to the kitchen.

‘Hi, Marnie. How’re you doing?’

His grandmother dried her hands and smiled fondly at him. ‘All the better for seeing you. How was your first day?’

He laughed softly and hugged her. ‘It was fine. Nice people, interesting cases. How’s Grumps?’

She shrugged, and he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, bit up and down today. You know. Living up to his name.’

He knew only too well, and he hugged her again, rocking her against his chest as she’d rocked him so many, many times over the years.

She let him hold her for a while, then sighed softly and pushed away, her hands, the hands that so many times had wiped away his childish tears, gentle on his chest. He let her go, tipped up her chin and stared down into her eyes. Her own tears now weren’t very far away, and he frowned and tutted softly.

‘I’m here for you, Marnie, you know that, don’t you? Any time, day or night. You just have to call me.’

‘I know that, darling. Thank you.’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t thank me. We’re all in this together. I love him, too, you know.’

‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘I think he’s going to need a wash and a change before we settle him for the night.’

‘OK. I’ll sort him out. You make yourself a drink and sit down and have a rest. You look done in.’

It took him a while to sort out his grandfather. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the old man was a bit feisty and resistant to his physio.

But when Ed tucked him back up in bed, settled him on his pillows and kissed him goodnight, the old man settled back with a sigh.

‘That’s better, Edward.’

The words were slurred, but he knew what his grandfather was saying and it was the nearest he’d get to thanks. His answering smile was a little crooked. ‘We aim to please, Grumps.’

‘Well, go on. All done now.’

Ed sighed and straightened up, the tenuous link broken. ‘Goodnight, Grumps. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.’

There was a grunt, but the old man was already drifting off, and he went out and closed the door softly behind him.

His grandmother was waiting in the kitchen, a cup by the kettle. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Oh, tea, weak. I’ve had too much coffee today.’

‘So how was he with you?’

‘OK. Bit argumentative.’ He gave a wry grin, and his grandmother smiled sadly.

‘I don’t know what we’d do without you.’ Her face crumpled briefly. ‘Hideous bloody disease,’ she muttered, a little quiver in her voice. ‘It’s so cruel, so wicked. He used to be such a nice man, so kind and affectionate, just like you. I can’t bear the thought of having to watch you disintegrate like him—’

‘You won’t have to,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve told you that.’

‘So you have,’ she said quietly, and then she straightened up and looked him in the eye with that way of hers that told him she knew he was lying.

He felt a flicker of guilt and dismissed it. It wasn’t really a lie. She wouldn’t see him deteriorate like his grandfather—but possibly only because she was unlikely to live long enough for the disease to manifest itself. If he’d even got the gene...

He drank his tea, chatted about his day to give his grandmother something to distract her from the topic he was so keen to avoid, and then left her, driving the short distance to his rented house.

He hadn’t needed to rent it. He could have stayed with his grandparents or his parents. Both of them lived within minutes of the hospital, but this had been closer, and he’d used that as an excuse because he’d needed it. It was his sanctuary, his private space, his bolthole from the awful reality that was his potential destiny.

He parked in the carport at the back of the garden and let himself in through the conservatory. It was a lovely evening, a little chilly but he didn’t mind that. He needed the fresh air. He poured himself a glass of wine, took it back out to the garden and dropped into the swing seat, shifting it idly to and fro with one foot and letting his mind drift over the day.

And centre stage was Annie Brooks.

She was older than him. Mid-thirties? Maybe late? He didn’t know exactly, but she was consultant grade and even with his rigid focus on his career he hadn’t got there yet. Just this last rung on the ladder to go and he’d be able to look for a consultant’s post.

Where would he be then?

London? Back to Great Ormond Street, maybe.

Not here, that was for sure. Once his grandfather had gone, there would be nothing to keep him here in this quiet coastal backwater where nothing much ever happened.