Читать книгу A Thousand Roads Home: ‘A weepy but important book’ Cecelia Ahern - Carmel Harrington - Страница 11

Bette Davis nuzzled Tom’s hand again, her apology for knocking him off his feet earlier. ‘It’s OK, girl,’ he said to his dog, ruffling her coat behind her ears, the way she liked. He leaned back into the curve of his park bench. His home now, he supposed, as it was where he spent most of his nights. Bette rested her head on his feet. Tom closed his eyes. His breathing slowed down and his lids flickered, heavy, until every sense lost its place in the now and went back in time to his dreams, to his happy place, to his home …

Tom stretched his aching muscles upwards, knowing that a locum was a priority. He couldn’t keep this pace up for much longer. His bones ached, older than his forty years. His small general practice had grown to the point that Tom had to turn new patients away. And patients were beginning to complain that the usual twenty-minute waiting time for their appointment was stretching towards an hour. That didn’t sit well with him.

His receptionist, Breda, poked her head through his door. The sound of the Spice Girls singing their Christmas hit ‘Too Much’ drifted in towards him. He stood up and heard his knees click in protest. He needed to get out for a run. He’d been saying that to himself for the past two months. But somehow or other, another day would go by and he’d find himself falling onto his couch, tired and hungry, exercising his fingers with the TV remote.

‘What’s the plan for the weekend?’ Breda asked.

‘Not listening to the Spice Girls. That’s for starters,’ Tom said.

‘Would suit you well to find a Spice Girl for yourself.’

‘Would be a lucky lady to get me,’ Tom said, smiling. ‘But if she’s out there tonight she’ll have to wait. Because my only plan is to head to Tesco. I need to replenish my poor cupboards, then it’s home to catch up on some sleep.’

‘It’s no life you have,’ Breda said. ‘Good-looking man like you.’

‘Stop flirting with me,’ Tom joked.

Breda waved her hands at him and grinned, ‘Oh, you, you’re such a messer.’

‘What are you up to this weekend, Breda?’ He watched her tidy her reception desk, switching off the computer. She looked as tired as he felt. Was he expecting too much from her? Probably.

‘I’m going dancing. Don’t laugh. I told you not to laugh!’ Breda said when Tom’s face broke into a grin. ‘Himself has it in his head that we should learn how to ballroom dance. I’m not sure I’ll ever be Ginger to his Fred, though.’

Tom walked over to Breda and grabbed her hand, spinning her around 360 degrees. ‘I don’t know. I reckon you have all the moves.’

She laughed as she pushed him away. ‘Get away out of that! Maybe thirty years ago. But I’m nearly sixty now!’

‘Never, you don’t look a day over forty!’ Tom didn’t miss a beat and she beamed. They had formed their mutual appreciation society nearly fifteen years previously, when he’d opened the practice. He would be lost without her.

They both groaned when the doorbell rang. Who on earth was calling at this late hour? They had cleared all appointments and it was now twenty minutes past their closing time.

‘Is it Ben, maybe?’ Breda asked. Sometimes Tom and his solicitor friend had a drink together after work.

‘Not tonight. He’s got a hot date with a new woman called Orla. Right now he’s dousing himself in aftershave.’ He unlocked the front door to a young mother with a young child in her arms, wrapped in a blanket.

‘Siobhan!’ Breda exclaimed, walking towards the woman.

‘I saw the light on. I hoped you were still here,’ Siobhan replied.

‘We were just about to walk out the door,’ Breda answered.

Siobhan’s face clouded with anxiety. ‘I’m worried. Daniel’s chest is really bad. His wheeze has gotten worse.’

Breda looked at Tom, ready to take his lead. Technically they were closed. Surgery hours were explicit on the sign at the front of their office.

‘You did the right thing coming,’ Tom said, shrugging his jacket off. Daniel looked smaller than his four years, his face bleached white.

Breda was unsurprised. Her boss had a big heart. It was one of the reasons she loved him like her own son.

Once they got into Tom’s office, Daniel climbed off his mother’s lap and stood in front of the doctor. Daniel knew the drill – he’d been here so many times before. He lifted his top up before he was asked, so that Dr Tom could listen to his chest.

‘Good man. Big deep breath for me. Hold it. And exhale,’ Tom said. ‘You’re a great fella. Do that again for me.’

Tom took his temperature, which was high, and looked in his ears and throat. ‘His left lung doesn’t sound good. The wheeze is particularly bad there.’

Siobhan wrung her hands back and forth. ‘I knew I should have brought him in earlier today. But Lulu has a bad cold. And I didn’t like to bring her out. She’s been so bad-tempered with it all. Gerard was away working. As soon as he came home, I told him I had to bring Daniel to see you. I rushed here as fast as I could. I’m so sorry …’

Tom put his hand up to stop the apologies. The woman would have a heart attack if she didn’t let herself off the hook. Nothing like a mother’s guilt. Unnecessary in this case. Her children were idolised and well looked after. ‘You were right to come to me.’

An hour spent on Tom’s new nebuliser made Daniel a new boy. Tom walked them both to the door with a prescription in hand. ‘If anything happens during the night that worries you, just go straight to A&E. But I think he’s going to be OK at home with the steroids.’

‘Bye, Dr Tom,’ Daniel said. He looked better already and was walking beside his mam now, holding her hand. Seeing how much improved the little fella was made the late night worth it. He locked up and jumped in his car. With a bit of luck, with traffic on his side, he’d make the supermarket before it closed.

The store announced its imminent closure as Tom raced up the escalators. He grabbed a trolley, ignoring the look of annoyance on the spotty-faced store assistant, who was restocking the baskets and trollies. The last thing he wanted was a last-minute trolley dasher like Tom to delay closure of the store. ‘Sorry, buddy,’ Tom said. ‘Promise I’ll be quick.’

He went straight to the pre-packed meal counter to cut out any procrastination on what to buy or, indeed, cook. Not quite home cooked but marginally better than living in the chipper all weekend. If he was fast he could hit the booze aisle to grab some beer too. It was Friday night, and while he was planning a weekend of little else but a book and maybe a bit of TV, alcohol would play a part, too.

His parents would be horrified if they knew he wasn’t going out this weekend looking for love. They were obsessed with his social activities and he found himself making up events that he’d been to just to satisfy them. Not that he was short of social opportunities. He just didn’t want any of them right now.

Tom was one of those people who always had lots of friends. He was born with charisma. His mother used to say that from the moment he arrived into the world people would stop and stare at him. He would lock his big brown eyes onto theirs and they were putty in his hands. In school kids loved him. His easy-going nature, coupled with a quick wit, made him good company. Children and teachers alike gravitated towards him.

This aura that surrounded him followed him through to university. His best friend, Ben, would watch him sail his way through his classes, making friends and finding new girlfriends without breaking a sweat. Whereas he always had to try harder. And whenever he complained, asking him what his secret was, Tom would answer, ‘I’m a charming fecker, that’s how.’

And he was. People liked him.

But even charmers like him need a chance to recharge batteries every now and then. The savage hours in work were taking their toll.

But, if Tom had finished his day at 6 p.m., as was originally planned, he would never have met Cathy. And that would have been the greatest tragedy. Cathy liked to think that something else governed their destined meet-up that day. Fate. Tom thought it was dumb luck. Either way, it was the start of everything.

In the shadow of the bench, Bette Davis looked up when she felt her master shift to the right. Even though he had his eyes closed, he was smiling. He was happy. He was home.