feeling the pain?”
Having fixed for Gaby to come and see her the following morning, Jude told Carole she’d better be getting on. Carole agreed that she should be getting on too.
There was shopping to be done, and Gulliver needed a walk. Jude said that a car was coming to pick her up at two. She was going to meet Gita. Resisting the appeal in Carole’s pale blue eyes for more information, Jude saw her neighbour to the door, and made herself a quick lunch of bruschetta with salami, cheese and tomato.
The car was on time. It was a big expense, but a necessary one. Carole’s offer of help would certainly have covered a trip to North London in her immaculate white Renault, but Jude didn’t want to confuse Gita with new acquaintances. An anonymous hire-car driver was a pricey option, but the right one.
The clinic was private, housed in two adjacent West Hampstead mansions. The girl at reception was expecting her. Miss Millington was ready to leave. If Jude wouldn’t mind waiting for a moment, a nurse would take her to Miss Millington. The doctor would like a word.
Gita looked pale rather than ill. A smile flickered across her lined face at the sight of Jude. Though not resisting her friend’s hug, she did not return it. She was docile almost to the point of being uninterested. On heavy medication, Jude reckoned.
Gita Millington was almost her exact contemporary, but looked older. Without its usual make-up, her face seemed pulled downwards by care. Her hair had always been carefully dyed to reproduce its erstwhile dark- chocolate sheen, but enforced absence from the hairdresser now left a stripe of white along the parting. She was dressed casually, too. Trainers and grey jogging bottoms, a zip-up navy-blue fleece a couple of sizes too big, whose sleeves came down over her knuckles. A scruffy nylon knapsack on the floor by her chair presumably contained her other clothes. Gita, normally so soignee, seemed to have lost interest in what she looked like.
She seemed, in fact, to have lost interest in everything. Again, probably the medication.
There was a lot of it. The woman doctor, practical, efficient and seemingly determined to allow no glimpse of personality, took Jude through the various pills and doses. She concluded by asking how long Gita would be staying in Fethering.
Jude shrugged. “As long as she wants to. There’s no rush from my point of view.”
The doctor said this was good, and checked that Jude would be there a lot of the time.
“Yes. I do work, but most of my clients come to me.”
The doctor asked politely what her work was. On hearing a mention of the word ‘healing’, a professional disapproval of alternative medicine froze into her face, and she reiterated the importance of Gita’s taking her medication regularly.
“It’s all right,” said Jude. “I’m not about to put her on a regime of St John’s Wort and aromatherapy. I believe in complementary medicine. I don’t think you should exclude anything that might help.”
The doctor’s sniff suggested that there were a good few things
At this, Gita spoke for the first time. Her voice sounded furry, unfamiliar to herself, as if she had not used it for a long time. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t speak again in the car on the way back. Jude chatted a bit about Fethering and the surrounding area, but soon stopped. The lack of response from Gita was not combative, though, and the atmosphere in the silent car was peaceful.
When they arrived at Woodside Cottage, Jude paid the driver – yes, it had been expensive – and led her guest inside. Was Gita hungry? No, most of all she was tired. Very tired. Would it be all right if she had a sleep?
Jude showed her the spare bedroom and the bathroom, and went downstairs to prepare a meal for later. While she was in the kitchen, the phone rang.
“Hi, it’s Gaby Martin. You know, we spoke earlier about my back.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thing is, I don’t really want to waste your time.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t be wasting my time.”
“No, but coming tomorrow morning, well, I’m not sure that…Point is, my back actually feels better, so I think we should take a rain check on it.”
“OK. It’s your back, it’s your decision.”
“Sure. Sorry to mess you around.”
“No problem. And if it does get bad again, and you’re in the area, just give me a call.”
“Yes. Thanks. Bye.”
Slightly odd, thought Jude. But not that odd. Backs, she knew, worked by a logic all their own.
Half an hour later she tiptoed up again to the spare room.
Gita Millington was out cold, her face more relaxed and younger in sleep. The short-sleeved nightdress revealed what the tracksuit top had hidden.
A bandage held in place a dressing over the slashes on the inside of her left wrist.
? The Witness at the Wedding ?
Three
“Hi, it’s Gaby. I spoke to them.”
Not expecting the phone call, Carole couldn’t think what her future daughter-in-law was talking about.
“My parents,” came the explanation. “I’ve talked to them about us getting together.”
“Oh yes, of course.” Their lunchtime conversation in the Crown and Anchor came back.
“I suggested us meeting in London. Hope that’ll be all right with you?”
“Yes, fine. Halfway.”
“Well, Harlow’s a bit nearer London than Fethering, but…”
“It’s not a problem. When did you have in mind?”
“They could do next Tuesday. Rather make it lunch, if it suits you. They’re not very keen on going back on the train late.”
“Lunch on Tuesday would suit me very well,” said Carole, wondering for a moment how old Gaby’s parents were. There had, of course, been talk of her father’s pension. But then again, Carole herself had a pension. And she too would try to avoid late-night trains if she could.
“Haven’t worked out where yet, but I’ll give you a call in the next couple of days.”
“Fine,” said Carole, already starting to feel nervous at the prospect of the meeting ahead.
“I’ll be there, of course, but I’m not sure whether Steve will be able to get away from work. Everything seems pretty frantic there at the moment.”
“Well, be nice to see him if he can. But if he can’t, he can’t.”
Another potential cause for disquiet loomed up in front of Carole. “Erm…will you be inviting David to the lunch?”
Gaby sounded surprised. “I hadn’t intended to. I mean, he has already met Mum and Dad.”
Yes, of course he would have done, thought Carole with another pang of jealousy. “But I could invite him, if you like?”
“No, no. No need at all,” came the hasty response. “Well, I’ll really look forward to meeting your parents. I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned what their names are.”
“Oh, haven’t I? No, you’re right, I probably haven’t. Well, they’re Marie and Howard.”
“Marie and Howard, right.”
“And they’re…” Gaby hesitated, uncertain how to put the next bit. “They’re very…quiet. I mean, not flamboyant people. They live a sort of…” no other adjective offered itself “…quiet life.”
“That’s fine. So do I.”
“Yes, but I mean even quieter than yours. I – ” But the words wouldn’t come to describe exactly what Gaby was trying to say. “You’ll know what I mean when you meet them.”
“Fine. As I say, I’ll look forward to it,” said Carole with even less conviction than she’d had when she last used the words. “Oh, by the way, I gather you’ve talked to Jude.”
