Three Amazing Things About You (37 page)

‘Will you stop trying to set me up? If I wanted a man, I’d organise it myself.’

‘OK, fine. How are you feeling, anyway?’

Hallie smiled, because she’d just told Bea she’d completed a 5K run on the treadmill and it had been true. ‘I’m great.’

And this was true too. It hadn’t all been plain sailing, of course. The first few days following the transplant had passed in a muggy haze of sedation, discomfort and tubing, peppered with endlessly being woken up when she’d far rather be asleep. But from day one the hospital staff had informed her that the surgery had been a success, and even in her drugged-up state, Hallie had been aware that breathing was easier, that the endless weight of the cystic fibrosis in her lungs was gone.

She’d been lucky not to succumb to any infections. After the initial post-op period, recovery had been smooth and utterly miraculous. The fog had cleared, physiotherapy had intensified and eventually visitors had no longer needed to be masked and gowned-up when they came to see her.

A stranger’s heart and lungs were now functioning beautifully inside her chest, and somewhere, hopefully, her own heart was beating inside another person’s body. It was just the most extraordinary thing . . . yet it didn’t
feel
extraordinary; it just felt normal and right.

Two and a half weeks after the surgery, she’d been discharged from the hospital. And yes, she still had plenty of tablets to take and regular tests to undergo – that went without saying – but it didn’t
matter
; it was a tiny price to pay in return for the unbelievable gift she’d received.

And now, three months on, Hallie found herself appreciating each day more and more, jogging and cycling and amazing everyone with her achievements. This was the new life she’d never truly expected to get the chance to live, and she wasn’t going to waste a moment of it. In due course she planned to do all the things other people took for granted – get a proper job, take foreign holidays . . . even having a baby at some stage was now a possibility.

Basically, who knew what the future held?

As they drove back to Carranford later on that afternoon, Bea said, ‘I was reading some of the problems on your website last night.’

Since Hallie had outed herself on the night of the transplant, it had become common knowledge that she was Dear Rose; even Carranford’s least internet-savvy inhabitants now knew about threethingsaboutyou.com. Hallie said, ‘Oh yes?’

‘There’s something I feel really bad about.’

Mystified, Hallie looked at Bea. ‘Go on.’

‘There was a message from a girl called Fran who had loads of scars after a car accident. She was in love with her best friend’s boyfriend but knew he’d never be interested in her.’

‘I remember.’

‘And you said you knew exactly how she felt.’

‘Yes.’ Hallie nodded. She remembered that too.

‘And I saw the date you replied to that message. It was the night of Marilyn’s party at the pub,’ said Bea. ‘When you first met Ross and he didn’t know you were ill.’

‘Right.’ Baffled, Hallie tilted her head. ‘Why are you being weird? What’s he got to do with anything?’

‘Because you told me you didn’t fancy him, but when I read that, I realised you must have done . . . and it just made me feel terrible all over again . . .’

Hallie started to laugh. ‘Well you can stop feeling terrible, because I wasn’t talking about
Ross
!’

Then she abruptly stopped laughing, because Bea had done a double-take and was now raising her eyebrows in Miss Marple fashion.

‘No? So who
were
you talking about?’

‘No one. Just not Ross.’

‘Come on, I heard the way you said it. You weren’t just telling me it wasn’t anyone, you were stressing that Ross wasn’t the one. You emphasised his name,’ Bea pointed out. ‘Like, it wasn’t
Ross
, but it was definitely someone else.’ Her eyebrows were still up. ‘See? I know I’m right. I’m not stupid.’

God, she was like a ferret when she got her teeth into an idea. To change the subject, Hallie said, ‘Although we did lose the last pub quiz because you thought the capital of Azerbaijan was Baklava.’

‘And now you’re trying to change the subject.’ Bea was triumphant. ‘But it won’t work. Because I’m not going to give up until I find out who it is.’

‘Well good luck with that.’ Hallie surreptitiously wiped her palms, slick with perspiration, against the sides of her jeans. ‘Because there isn’t anyone. I just made it up to make the girl feel better.’

‘Don’t believe you.’ Narrowing her eyes, Bea tapped her nails against the steering wheel as she gave the matter some thought. ‘OK, is it Brendan?’

Brendan ran the hotel across the river from the pub.

‘Yes, it is.’ Hallie nodded.

‘Shut up, it isn’t. How about Den Simpson?’

‘Yes, it’s Den Simpson.’

‘OK, it’s not him. Is it Steve from the rugby club?’

‘Yes, it’s definitely him. All these years I’ve been secretly in love with Steve Biggins.’

‘No you haven’t. You don’t like his ears.’

Was it any surprise, seeing as they were as weird and curly as cooked snails?

Hallie said, ‘Maybe I was only pretending not to like his ears. Maybe I actually find their curliness completely irresistible.’

‘Don’t you make fun of me. I’ll figure it out sooner or later. Ooh look, there’s Christina.’ Driving past Luke’s cottage, Bea tooted and waved as Christina and Daley emerged from Christina’s car. ‘Anyway, are we going to the pub tomorrow night? It’s Luke’s thing, remember.’

Luke
. Hallie inwardly jumped, bracing herself for yet more suspicious questioning, but it didn’t happen. Bea’s interrogation had concluded; this time the subject really had been changed and she’d moved on to tomorrow’s meet-and-greet.

‘We should go.’ Hallie nodded in agreement. ‘Everyone else is. And I know Marilyn’s doing food.’

As she’d guessed they would, her friend’s eyes lit up.

‘Brilliant. I wonder if there’ll be Scotch eggs?’ said Bea.

Luke was in the living room, checking emails on his computer, ensuring that the changeover would be smooth. Yesterday Jennifer, his ex-colleague, had left Carranford and was at this moment aboard a flight to Uganda. Tomorrow evening her replacement at the practice would be introducing herself to the villagers by way of an informal get-together at the White Hart. Which might not be standard GP practice but seemed like a pretty good idea all the same.

Dr Tess Hannigan was about as far removed from her predecessor as it was possible to be. The other week Jennifer West had pursed her lips and said, ‘Hmm, I’m not sure, is she really the kind of person you’d want working here?’ Whereupon Luke had replied with great firmness, ‘Oh yes.’

Tess was in her forties, happily divorced, chatty and friendly, with a frizz of chestnut hair, crimson lipstick and oversized jewellery. Plump, curvy and given to bright outfits and elaborate shoes, she was extrovert but also evidently extremely bright, incisive and hard-working. Most importantly, Luke knew the villagers would like her.

He pressed Print on the computer, and the printer next to him trundled into life.

He’d left the front door on the latch, and now it creaked open as a small, determined animal pushed its way through the gap. Luke turned as Daley came skittering across the floor and launched himself on to his lap.

‘Hey you, hello! Where’ve you been then? Careful now . . .’ He swung round in his chair before Daley’s enthusiastic tail-wagging could send flying the sheets of paper that were being rhythmically churned out by the printer. Then he tickled the dog’s ears and paddled his paws in the air. ‘Look at you, who’s a good boy?’

‘Hi,’ said Christina, watching them from the doorway.

Luke smiled at her. ‘Hi.’

‘What’s this?’ Crossing the living room, she picked up one of the printed sheets.

‘That’s Tess. It was her idea to put up a few photos of herself, then people would know what she looked like. So I took some of her this afternoon.’

Christina eyed the end result. ‘Hmm. Thought she’d be prettier. I mean, I suppose she’s not bad, if you like that sort of thing. Not exactly stunning, though.’

‘She’s a very nice person,’ said Luke.

‘You’re looking forward to working with her, aren’t you?’ There was a slight edge to Christina’s voice.

‘I am.’ Luke nodded, outwardly calm. Inside his brain, however, a switch had been flicked, the decision made. The time had come; he simply couldn’t do this any more. Once his mind was made up, that was it. ‘OK, we need to talk.’

‘About what?’

He looked at her steadily. ‘Come on, you know the answer to that. This isn’t working out, is it?’

She froze. ‘Is it her?
Tess?
’

‘No. Absolutely not. And it’s not your fault either. It’s no one’s fault,’ said Luke. ‘We tried our best, but it isn’t happening. Be honest, you know it as well as I do.’

All the tension slid from Christina’s shoulders and she nodded slowly. ‘Oh God, I suppose you’re right.’

‘Sorry,’ said Luke. He meant it, too; since getting back together, they’d both been doing their level best to pretend that everything was fine, but the basic central premise – the bit where genuine love was called for – simply wasn’t there. They’d hoped they might be able to recreate it, but it hadn’t happened.

‘It’s all right. I thought I was making such a grand romantic gesture, turning up at Marilyn’s party that night.’ Christina’s slim fingers fiddled with the rolled hem of her pistachio silk scarf. ‘I think I thought it would make you love me more. But all it did was railroad you into going along with the whole thing. You didn’t want everyone to see me make a big fool of myself, so you pretended to be happy about it.’

‘That’s not true.’ Luke shook his head. ‘Don’t put yourself down. I didn’t pretend to be happy. I genuinely thought it might work. We both gave it our best shot.’

‘But it wasn’t enough,’ said Christina. There was sadness in her voice, but also acceptance.

‘No,’ he reluctantly agreed. ‘It wasn’t.’

‘Shame.’ She managed a brief smile. ‘Oh well, at least we tried. Shall I tell you what’s ironic?’

‘Go on.’

‘Last time you finished with me, it was partly because you didn’t like my beautiful snakes.’ Christina glanced at Daley, still lying happily against Luke’s chest. ‘And this time I’m pretty sure you stuck it out a bit longer than you wanted because you like my beautiful dog so much.’

She was pretty much spot on; he knew he was going to miss Daley more than he’d miss Christina.

‘You don’t need to say anything,’ she continued wryly. ‘Look at the way you greet him when we turn up. Then look at the way you greet me.’

Feeling bad, Luke apologised again. But in truth, the overwhelming sensation was one of relief. He’d said it at last; the deed was done.

‘Never mind, can’t be helped. I noticed you’ve been a bit more distant over the last few weeks.’ Christina’s sleek hair fell forward as she took another look at the photo in her hand. ‘Sure it isn’t her?’

The early evening sun was streaming in through the windows, reflecting off the glossy photographic paper that bore the image of Dr Tess Hannigan with her frizzy hair, beaming smile and plump pink cheeks.

‘I promise you it isn’t,’ said Luke.

Silence, followed by one last disparaging glance at the photo.

‘Well, good,’ said Christina. ‘Because she’s definitely not your type.’

If Luke had imagined he’d need to make a welcoming speech and introduce Dr Tess Hannigan to the villagers who’d come along to this evening’s get-together at the pub, he’d been wrong. Tess had stood up on the stage and made her own speech, welcoming herself to Carranford and expressing her joy at being here. She’d then gone around and started introducing herself to everyone present, pausing to chat to each person in turn. It had been a triumphant PR exercise; within minutes even the most dubious potential patient had been visibly charmed and won over.

Approaching the bar for a refill, Luke found himself next to Hallie. ‘Well?’ He indicated Tess at the other end of the room. ‘What’s the verdict?’

‘She’s fantastic, so warm and friendly.’ Hallie gave him a sympathetic look. ‘And to think you used to be the popular one. You do realise what’s going to start happening now, don’t you?’

‘You mean all my regular patients are going to abandon me and want to become her regular patients instead? I know.’

‘Think of all the extra free time you’ll have.’ Hallie’s eyes sparkled. ‘You’ll be able to take up golf.’

Luke smiled, because she knew how much he hated the idea of golf; it had been a running joke between them for years. ‘You’re looking well.’

‘Thanks. Feeling well. Still getting used to being out and about without my oxygen. I keep doing this.’ She mimed adjusting a set of nasal specs and tucking the plastic tubing behind her ear.

‘You’re doing brilliantly,’ said Luke. Appearance-wise, the difference was dramatic: the dark shadows beneath her eyes had vanished, her eyes were brighter, her hair shinier. She exuded new-found energy and
joie de vivre
.

‘I ran 5K on the treadmill at the club yesterday, and swam twenty-five lengths. I’m very smug about it.’ Hallie paused for a second. ‘We passed Christina outside your place yesterday. I thought she might be here tonight. Will she be along later?’

Luke prevaricated; was now the time to say it? ‘No . . . she won’t. Not tonight.’

‘Oh, OK. It’s just that she wanted to watch the
Les Mis
DVD and I said I’d lend her my copy.’ Hallie unzipped her shoulder bag and rummaged around in its depths. ‘That’s why I brought it along with me. But if I give it to you, you can pass it on to her, can’t you? You can watch it together!’

Looked like he was going to have to say it after all.

‘Actually, not much point giving it to me.’ He shook his head as she finally, with an air of triumph, produced the DVD from her bag. ‘I won’t be seeing Christina for a while . . . well, for quite a while . . . um, probably never, to be honest.’
Oh yes, that was cool, handled like a pro. Well done you
.

Hallie was staring at him. ‘What? Why?’