Dr Fowler
I’m early, it’s only quarter to six.
Despite living across The Square, it’s been a while since I visited The Peacock. I nod and acknowledge a few recognisable faces and make my way to the bar. Nothing has changed. The atmosphere remains warm and traditional, a smattering of drinkers and a group of youths congregate around the flashing fruit machine – a different generation but the same mentality.
‘Hello Jeffery… what’ll it be?’ asks Annie cheerfully from behind her bar.
‘A scotch and water, no ice, please?’
I watch as Annie moves rhythmically around the optics.
Pleasant woman, I’ve known her since childhood, though sadly I wasn’t able to assist her and her husband as I’d have hoped; options regards fertility were limited back then. Science doesn’t always work as we’d wish, regardless of attempts or effort.
‘On the house,’ murmurs Annie, placing the drink on a bar mat.
‘Annie.’
She shakes her head firmly.
‘I’m sure.’
‘Thank you, good health to you both.’
‘Nice one,’ she laughs, drifting off to serve another customer.
When was the last time I came in here? It must have been when me and Nina were still married… I’m going back almost thirty years. It hasn’t been that long, surely?
I turn to view the roaring coal fire, the adjoining alcove looks intriguing as it’s filled with a large map and multi-coloured pinned flags. I near the display as the recognition hits me… ‘my house!’
Drink in hand, I peer at the array of photos. A series of snap shots, taken from various angles of The Square have been pinned round the edge and linked with string at various points, into which the tiny flags are stabbed like an abstract finger-buffet positioned on the wall.
I sit down in the alcove and absorb the many details.
Boy oh boy, some work has gone into this.
A manuscript book on the table requests that I browse and add comments.
I sip my drink while flicking through and reading the chunks of handwriting in various ink colours. It’s like a trip down memory lane seeing some of the names and remembering them – all grown with families of their own, I suppose. It takes me back to those days.
I hadn’t expected her to cry that much. From the moment Nina answered the door, she didn’t stop crying. A torrent of tears stained her face for weeks, nothing I said gave her any comfort.
I’d wondered what the racket was while I was in the bathroom but to come downstairs with a shaving foam beard and razor in hand to be greeted by my young wife, the paperboy and a baby was some shock.
Did I run back upstairs or wipe my face on a dish-cloth from the kitchen? Who knows, I can’t remember, but coming down the stairs and seeing that lad standing in our hallway while Nina sobbed was an image that I’ve replayed many times.
‘Jeffery, it’s a baby!’ Nina’s smile was from ear to ear, as she cradled the new-born, as though the stork had delivered her wildest dream.
‘I can see that but what’s it doing here?’ I’d said, pausing halfway down the staircase in my trousers and a vest.
‘She was on your doorstep, Mister,’ said the paper lad, peering up at me.
I called the police. And then an ambulance. Nina never forgave me for doing that.
The baby girl looked healthy even in that manky towel. And all the time Nina stood on the side lines, sobbing and begging. What was I supposed to say? She wasn’t ours to keep, was she? And the lad knew that, he’d found her. How could we pretend otherwise? Even a doctor’s wife can’t hide a pregnancy that well and then step out into The Square and parade a Silver Cross pram.
I take a swig of my drink.
I knew it would hit Nina hard but I never fully appreciated her instinct or reaction until it was too late for us. Was that morning truly the beginning of our end?
The image as I ran down the stairs to behold the three of them clustered in our hallway fills my memory.
Oh Nina, what could I do?
After her tears dried the harsh accusations began. The niggling doubt that played upon her mind for every minute of every hour. How many times had she accused me of having an affair? Why would I want to be a father without her being the mother? But it was too late; the catalyst for such insinuations had arrived on our doorstep. Who’d have imagined that five years of marriage would unravel from that day onwards? Not me.
Before that morning, the focus had always been us having a child but once the police and ambulance had taken away her dream, she’d called me selfish. Was I? Could we have concealed her? Could the newspaper lad have kept such a secret for three decades?
I sip my drink.
And yet, someone had!
I eyed the bar, watched Annie laugh with a young couple before disappearing along the bar to tidy glasses.
Maybe we could have concealed her with some planning. Nina said the young are so naïve… surely not that naïve? Could Nina have gone into hiding, started to drip feed the happy news before ‘hey presto’ the arrival of a baby girl.
I shudder at such ideas.
Don’t refine the perfect plan now, Jeffery – it’s thirty years too late, old chap.
Guilt rises in my throat; I wash it down with whisky.
How could I not understand how broody she was? But how could I be dishonest within our new community? What would old Dr Bird have said if the deceit came to light? My old medical mentor would have run me out of the surgery had I followed Nina’s thinking. Why couldn’t she be patient and give science a chance. It was early days regarding test-tube babies but it had worked for some couples – it might have worked for us. If not, adoption remained an option but no, Nina could think of nothing else but the baby I sent from our doorstep.
I wonder how Nina is? Did she ever believe me about the baby? After all these years, she must do. Maybe I should give her a call someday, go for a drink and catch up… though maybe Steve… was it Steve she married? Yeah Steve, he might not appreciate that. Would I want a wife catching up with her ex-husband? Mmmm, maybe not.
The church clock strikes six. Flora arrives at the bottom of the staircase dressed in red jeans and a large shirt.
Come on, old man, what’s there to worry about – a simple conversation recalling and remembering – how difficult can that be?