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‘I thought I’d find you out here,’ said Tom Webster, upon his return from work. He went over to kiss his wife who was busy in their large garden.
‘I’m a bit hot and sweaty,’ Trish said, returning his kiss.
‘You look like you’re wearing warpaint,’ he said, rubbing at a smear of soil on her right cheek. ‘It’s looking lovely as always,’ he said, scanning around their largish garden. ‘Very neat. That bed is amazing, it’s really coming into flower now.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘The rain this morning freshened everything up, but it’s all dried off quite quickly now with the heat.’ She paused to cast an eye over the garden. ‘The lawn still looks like straw though.’
‘Lawns always recover, remember the drought of seventy-five?’
‘Not very well, I wasn’t interested in gardening then, I was nine. Shall I get us a drink and we can sit for a while unless you want dinner straightaway?’
‘No, I’m not very hungry, it’s so hot and humid.’
‘Gin and tonic?’
‘Why not? Perfect drink for a summer’s evening.’
Trish dropped her garden gloves on the lawn and went inside to get the drinks. Tom flopped down into one of the chairs on the terrace and stretched out his legs. The evening was still warm, but the sun had now moved over to the west leaving the terrace in the shade. He’d already removed his tie on his way home, and he rolled up his sleeves a bit further to cool himself down. He sighed and rubbed his greasy forehead. It had been a stressful day, but then that was what most days were like in his job as Practice Manager at a recently formed GP super-hub surgery. The new surgery had only been in operation for about six months and had been largely successful, providing many more services in a centralised location. With nearly twenty doctors on one site, the administration was a huge task, and the responsibility for efficient management was Tom’s although he had two part-time assistants.
‘Ah, lovely,’ he said as Trish brought out a tray with the drinks. ‘Cheers to happy gardening,’ he said, and they clinked glasses.
‘So, what’s been happening in the world of medicine today?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘I do, it’s good to talk about things. I can see the tension in your shoulders, they are all hunched up.’
‘OK, well, don’t blame me for depressing you,’ he said sipping his drink. ‘The GP we were hoping to recruit has now changed his mind and is going to Leeds instead. We were banking on him, and now we have to start the process of advertising all over again.’
‘Oh, no, that’s a blow.’
‘Yes, and Pete Summerhayes has announced that as he’s now sixty he wants to reduce his hours to two days a week which will put more pressure on us,’ he paused. ‘Do you want more?’
Trish nodded. ‘Why not?’
‘A patient has gone on social media slagging us off and claiming that she can never get an appointment, says she has been refused treatment with us and had no choice but to go to A&E. Not only that, she has said that the receptionist swore at her, which I find very hard to believe.’
‘Have you contacted her?’
‘I tried, but she didn’t pick up my calls. Then on top of that, we’ve had a problem with the firm which did some of the building work, a large crack has appeared in one of the treatment rooms, and it’s been deemed to be unsafe to use. The builders are refusing to come back as they are busy with work up in London.’
‘Another G and T?’ asked Trish.
‘I shouldn’t but sod it. It’s one thing after another, and it means I can’t get on with other things which need my attention. I’m counting down the days to retirement.’
His wife went back into the house and returned with another drink for Tom.
‘Not having another one?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘I should go for a run this evening but it’s just too hot. I’m really going to struggle in that 10 K race at the weekend. God, I hope it cools down by then.’
‘Shouldn’t you be taking up a less strenuous hobby? I’m worried about how it’s affecting your knees and joints.’
‘Like bowls, you mean?’
‘Not bowls, no, perhaps we should do more walking. Aren’t we designed for walking long distances and just running for short bursts?’
‘Look, I’m going to carry on running for as long as possible. It gives me a buzz. We’ve had this conversation before, and I don’t want to start arguing again.’
‘Sorry,’ said his wife, realising she’d touched a nerve. Perhaps Tom’s body would tell him when it was time to stop and relieve her of the task. She just hoped he wouldn’t push himself too hard and end up having a hip operation before he reached sixty.
‘So, how’s your day been?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘Oh, the usual. Nothing special really.’
‘You sure? You seem a bit flat.’
‘Well, I had a difficult morning, that’s all, and the weather is so hot and stuffy, but I’m OK.’
Trish looked into the distance as she replied and Tom began to worry that she was downplaying her depressed mood. In truth, Trish did feel dispirited, but she felt reluctant to open up to her husband, it would cause him to start being overly concerned which usually led to him pressurising her to give up her job. A job which she needed for her own self-esteem.
‘Is your arm OK? It’s looking redder than usual. Do you think you should put some cream on it?’
Trish looked at the inside of her left arm.’
‘It’s OK, probably the heat.’ She looked again. ‘Or, I might have brushed against something, rue, for example, can be an irritant. Ruta graveolens to give it its proper name.’
‘Show off,’ replied Tom, joking. ‘I don’t know how you remember all the names of the plants.’
‘Maybe I’m just naturally gifted?’
Tom laughed. It was good to hear his wife joking, but it seemed unnatural and forced. Beneath the surface, he could sense a fragment of unhappiness.
‘But seriously, you should be careful about rubbing against the plants, you know how sensitive your skin is.’
She looked at him with a slight pull of her mouth to express her displeasure.
‘I know, you aren’t a child, I shouldn’t lecture you.’
Trish patted his knee and remained silent. The tension seemed to have dissipated.
‘You don’t have to work so many hours you know, you can reduce and spend more time at home if you want.’
‘I know, but it’s good for me. Keeps me occupied, although I have to admit I’d like to do more gardening. That’s my exercise regime.’
‘Sure it’s not putting too much strain on your back?’
‘Touché,’ she smiled.
‘If you did reduce your hours you could do a course or something practical, it doesn’t have to be something academic. That might be fun?’
‘Like pottery?’
‘It could be but there are loads of other things on offer. What’s that thing called where you can go to talks and learn new skills?’
Trish thought, ‘Oh, you mean U3A, University of the 3rd Age?’
‘That’s it.’
‘I could have a look, but I don’t think I want to get back into studying.’
‘But aren’t they sort of talks by people who have an expertise rather than studying?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘You could do a talk on gardening, don’t you think?’
‘No I don’t. It’s not as if I’m a gardener at a stately home or something.’
‘I bet you know just as much.’
‘Well, anyway, for the next few weeks I will be reducing my hours as I’m going to accompany Beth to the inquiry when she needs me. I’ve told my clients I’ll not be available for a couple of weeks.’
‘That will hardly be a break though, it could be so distressing.’
‘I’m aware of that, but I want to help her.’
‘But it might be too much for you. I don’t want it to,’ he paused, ‘well, to depress you too much.’
‘Look, I’m fine, don’t keep on about things,’ she snapped and turned away, avoiding his gaze.
The evening was deteriorating, and they had both ended up bickering.
‘You just seem a bit down and I want to do anything I can to help you. It’s important we don’t let things,’ he paused again, ‘well, don’t let things get out of control.’
‘I’m not a child! I am perfectly capable of monitoring how I am emotionally! I’ve had enough practice, haven’t I? Enough episodes? Don’t you think?’
‘Hey, love, don’t get agitated. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he said quietly, putting up his hands in a defensive gesture.
Trish remained silent. Her heart was pounding, and she was soaked in sweat. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck and she felt grubby and dishevelled. She stood, knocking back her chair which toppled over, just missing a pot containing begonias.
‘Look, what’s for dinner? I’ll get it ready, and you can go and have a cool bath, forget the gardening you’ve done enough.’
Trish smiled. ‘I just got some deli things as it’s so hot and salad. I wasn’t going to cook.’
‘You go upstairs, and I’ll set things out. Go on. You’ll feel better,’ he tapped her knee.
‘OK, thanks. Don’t let’s fight, I hate it.’
‘I hate it too. I’ll have a rummage in the fridge and see what there is, OK?’
She collected the glasses and went inside.
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ said Tom. ‘When I went out this morning I noticed a dead squirrel on the lawn. I’ve never noticed a dead one in the garden before.’
‘Oh, yes. I saw it and buried it.’
‘Well, that will be one less digging in your flowerbeds,’ he joked.
‘Well, that’s true,’ agreed his wife as she climbed the stairs.
