‘But won’t we be—’
‘Course we’ll be going to Portugal, love. I just won’t be there during that first week in May is all.’
‘Oh, now, I’m not so sure that’ll work, darling. Will it? What about Mary and Ray?’
Captain George pawed at the back door.
‘What about them? I’m doing something for charity, darling.’ Flo crossed to let the dog out for a lollop in the garden.
‘But it’s their golden wedding anniversary. The table’s already booked at the club.’
Irritation cracked through her. For heaven’s sake! When had the man become such a slave to monotony! They’d been celebrating Mary and Ray’s anniversary since the beginning of time! Hadn’t she raised enough glasses to them? They could ring her on one of those video apps if necessary. Pre-record her. She already knew exactly what they’d be talking about anyway. The weather (too sunny or too windy). The golf (Flo never really tuned in to those bits). The tournament dinner (Harold Cookson always won). Stu never won, so it was an exercise in smiling, smiling, smiling until they got through the bland, roast supper, offering a few toasts, have a spin or two round the dance floor as everyone did an hour or so before last orders, then excused themselves to go back to their matching houses on the pristine green to go to sleep only to wake up and do it all over again the next day (bar, of course, the tournament). It was like being a child again. All of this routine.
The dog pressed a muddy paw to the window, woofed, then bounded back down the garden. At least someone had a bit of Spring Fever in them.
‘I think Captain George is needing a proper walk, love. Shall we talk about this later?’
Stu gave his head a little disappointed shake. As if she’d told him she was foregoing the anniversary dinner with Mary and Ray to take up pole-dancing classes.
Unexpectedly, her husband smiled at her so lovingly she actually felt its warmth right there in the centre of her heart. He loved her so very much. So purely. Lately, all she felt she did was let him know how impatient she was with him. How frustrated. How could a man love a woman so much and not actually notice her? The real her?
Stu held up the instruction manual. ‘I’ll have your watch sorted for you by the time you get back, alright?’ He looked at her with such hope, such trust that she would, in the end, do the right thing. Take up her seat next to him at the club. Applaud for the chaps who’d, once again, wiped the floor with their opponents out on the green. Stuart never once doubted her. Never once believed she was anything other than perfectly content. To the point she could hardly bear it.
And in that instant, she was suddenly torn.
Incident No: 627428
Time of Call: 21:48
Call Handler: SUNITA ‘RAVEN’ CHAKRABARTI
Call Handler: You’re through to the NHS 111 service, my name’s Raven and I’m a health advisor. Are you calling about yourself or someone else?
Caller: I’m calling for a friend. Flatmate really, but … whatever.
Call Handler: Can you tell me your friend’s name please?
Caller: Yeah, um … it’s Amber, but you’re not going to write that down or anything are you? There’s not a record of this?
Call Handler: We do record all of our calls for training and quality purposes. Okay. Why did Amber ask you to ring in today?
Caller: She didn’t.
Call Handler: No?
Caller: No. I mean, yeah, she totally did. She’s just … she won’t get out of bed.
Call Handler: Would you be able to put that into context for me please?
Caller: I don’t understand.
Call Handler: How long has Amber been in bed?
Caller: Four days.
Call Handler: Is she not feeling well?
Caller: No, she’s fine. Healthwise. She’s depressed.
Call Handler: Has she seen her GP about her symptoms?
Caller: No, that’s why I’m calling you. I don’t even know if she has one. She does this sometimes. Crawls into bed, doesn’t get out for a few days. Loses whatever lame-ass job she’s had. It’s not what I signed up for when I moved in here. Are you able to section her or put her in hospital anonymously or something?
Call Handler: No, I’m sorry. We’re a health advisory service.
Caller: I thought you were the NHS.
Call Handler: We are, but we can only advise you on the best way to treat your situation.
Caller: Uhhh … hello! Doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out the girl’s depressed. She needs medication or something. Medication she ain’t gonna get lying in bed!
Call Handler: Madam, sorry. I did mention these calls are monitored, right?
Caller: I don’t give a flying fuck if they’re monitored. I want you to help me find a way to help my flatmate and I don’t want her screwed-up family finding out because if they do they’ll stop paying her rent and they’re the ones who signed the lease agreement and I don’t have the money to put down a deposit if they take her out and then we’d both be up shit’s creek. C’mon. Please. Can you help me out here?
Call Handler: I can offer you the number of a service your friend can call. There’s LifeTime which has a number you can ring—
Caller: Have you been listening to a word I’ve said? She’s lying in bed like a zombie. She’s not going to call anyone.
Call Handler: Maybe if you rang for her and brought the phone in, she might listen?
Caller: Wow. They’ve really plumbed the gene pool for staff haven’t they?
Call Handler: Madam, I’m only trying to help. LifeTime has seasoned counsellors who—
Caller: I’m twenty-fucking-five. Don’t call me Madam. Forget it. Just forget it. You obviously can’t help. Buh-bye! Have a nice day! [Call ends]
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘… and finally, we
