THE LAST RAY
Everyone at the Westbrook Hospital kept a close eye on the head of the therapy department: men admired her, women observed her with undisguised envy. The white coat suited her long figure and dark brown eyes. She always wore her hair in a neat chignon, and her starched cap added an extra inch or two to her height. Maybe it was the shoes, maybe the grace of her step, but the gentle click of her heels didnt grate on anyones nerves. She seemed around forty-five, but no one in the hospital knew her actual age. Strict and uncompromising, Dr. Grace Middleton was quietly feared by both colleagues and patients alike.
The menpatients and staffattempted to flirt with her, invited her to dinner, brought her chocolates and flowers. But at the first sign of that stern look, theyd freeze in their tracks, tongue-tied and immobilized. The rumour mill around her churned relentlessly. Some claimed shed suffered a broken heart, that her husband had died either at sea or in the Falklands. Others whispered shed lost a child… The line between fact and fiction was anyones guess.
All anyone knew for certain was that Grace lived alone and kept everyone at arms length. She had no close friends, but no one could call her spiteful or malicious.
Back in her youth, shed fallen hopelessly for a classmate, the dashing Peter Middleton. She could hardly breathe without him. But Peter, used to abundant female attention, bristled at her unwavering devotion and left her for someone else.
Since then, not a soul had been allowed near her heart. Maybe Grace still loved Peter, or maybe she simply feared betrayal all over again.
She approached the nurses station.
Vera, please could you give me Mr. Benthams chart from bed five? Ill sort the discharge notes for tomorrow.
Chart clutched to her chest, she returned to her office.
Well, the mans mended. Now, whether we see him again depends on his determination and his bodys own resources, she mused as she typed the usual list of tests and recommendations into the discharge form.
It was half past four; just thirty minutes left before home.
Grace locked her office door and paused. At the far end of the corridor, a woman stood with her back to everyone, talking quietly on her mobile by the window. Grace caught a snippet of the conversation.
No, hes not dead. Alive and kicking, I said. Dont get cross. I’ve told him yes, really Do you think he hadnt guessed? Alright, see you tonight, well talk.
The woman pocketed her phone and disappeared down the stairs without so much as a glance.
Grace breezed into bed five. Normally, with the beds empty, shed have made some remark about the perils of smoking out the back, but she noticed Mr. Benthams tense back, gazing out the window, and let it go.
Mr. Bentham, tomorrow she began, but when he turned, agony in his eyes, she caught her words.
Whats happened? Grace perched on the edge of his bed to avoid towering over him, and asked gently. Are you unwell? Is something hurting?
Could you not discharge me? I I have nowhere… he stammered, not meeting her gaze.
His spots already taken. His wifes brought another chap in and made it clear: Thats enough now. I belong to someone else, and thats that. Poor old Alan here got the boot, Im afraid, piped up his silver-haired roommate from the corner.
Is that true? Grace asked softly.
Ahso that was the woman on the phone, Grace realised. Shed been counting on her husband to pop his clogs. As hed failed in that, shed simply moved on and filled his spot.
Alan Bentham, a big man in his fifties, cropped greying hair and sad eyes, lay turned towards the window, working his jaw.
Grace looked out as well. April was coming to an end. The hospital parks branches were swollen with buds, ready to burst with new green, though from the chill grey sky youd sooner expect snowflakes than sunshine.
Is there really nowhere to go? No friends? Any family? Grace asked, her voice full of genuine concern.
Theyve got their own lives. I could stay for a day or two, but beyond that? Bit much, really, knocking around at my age. I knew she was seeing someone else thought it might just be a phase.
Mr. Bentham, a few more days wont change much, and we need to make up the beds for others. Grace paused. You know, I have a cottage in the country, about fifty miles out of the city. The roads decent. The house is solid, but itll need someone with a bit of muscle and enthusiasm. No ones lived there for years. Tomorrow morning, Ill bring you the keys and directions. No arguments, she said, turning smartly on her heel before he could protest.
Well, blow me down! exclaimed the roommate, beaming. Youre always so stern, but youre an absolute peach, really. Dont you dare refuse, Alan. That wayward cat of yours isnt worth the tip of her own tail.
The hawthorn blossom faded and fell; suddenly, warm sun swept in, banishing the chilly winds.
On Sunday morning, Grace set off in her Honda to check on her new tenant.
She was greeted by a pleasant surprisethe cottage had been transformed. The window frames sported a fresh, cheerful blue, the roof was patched up, and a brand new step gleamed on the porch where the old one had once groaned. Pulling into the yard and cutting the engine, she watched as Alan Bentham appeared on the steps in a t-shirt, jeans and barefoot. The pallid, demoralised patient was unrecognisable. Shoulders square, face tanned, arms already developing working-man muscle. He lookeddare she say itcontent.
Hello, thought Id come and check in. Any trouble with the local crowd? She leaned on the car door.
Oh, not at all. The three village grannies are delighted Ive shown upmakes a change! As for the weekenders, they couldnt care less, Alan said, still overwhelmed by seeing her outside the hospital.
Country airs done you some good. Found any work for yourself? She stayed by the car; Alan, caught off-guard, didnt invite her in.
My job? Not really worth boasting about, he shrugged. Left the Army, found I was only qualified to shout at squaddies. Security jobs since then. No great shakes. The pensions enough these days.
Well, show me what youve done with the place. At last, Grace shut her car door and joined him on the porch.
Alan knocked himself on the forehead. Sorrytotally flummoxed! Come in, come in, he babbled, hurrying to hold the door.
Grace paused in the lounge. On the waxed boards, handwoven rugs added colour, all dappled by sunbeams dancing through sheer curtains. Pots of geraniums stood on the sills. An old clock ticked cosily.
That was Val from the far end of the laneshe gave me the geraniums. They make it all homelier, dont you think? Alan said apologetically, following her gaze.
And whats that lovely smell? Grace turned and smiled.
I made a stew and roasted some potatoes in the Aga. Will you have some? Alan busied himself, looking delighteda smile hovered at the corners of Graces mouth for the first time. Took a while to get the hang of it. Never lived out here before. Kept cocking it upeither raw or burnt to a cinder! The neighbours helped me out.
Grace wanted to stretch her arms, enjoying the homey warmth and bursts of childhood memoriesher grandmothers hands, her mothers voice She hadnt been here since her mother died. Couldnt bring herself to come. But couldnt bring herself to sell it either. The cottage had once belonged to her grandparents; her mother retreated here for the summers, only returning to the city for winter. Now her mother was gone also.
Grace remembered packing the car full of jarspickles, jam, mushroomsdriving back to town, then eating them through the winter, reminiscing about summer days. Mum How long ago that seemed.
How long do you plan to let me stay? Alans voice brought her back. Be honestjust say.
Live as long as you want. Ive not been here for a decadecouldnt. Ill pop by now and then if you dont mind. It feels as warm as it did when Mum was here. Im hopeless with houses and gardens, to be honest. Not my thing, and I dont want it to be.
She dropped her gaze, embarrassed; Alan let her be.
Oh, I nearly forgotI brought you some groceries. Grace dashed out to the car.
Alan let out a long breath. First time hed seen her without the hospital whites and cap. The light dress suited her, took years offwisps of hair had escaped the usual chignon. She seemed more approachable, nearer somehow. Alan looked at his hands, rough and scratched from country chores, and suddenly felt rather his age.
She left at dusk, her perfume lingering in the little house. Whatever Alan touched, it smelled of Grace and her perfume. It made his heart race in a way he hadnt expected nor felt for years. Odd to say, but for the first time he almost felt grateful for his wife. He spent a sleepless night chasing away vivid daydreams.
Two months later, Grace returned, groceries in tow and a new fishing rod for good measure. Alan had mended the sagging fence and boasted that widows from the next village walked over asking him to fix a thing or two, grateful to pay in milk, cream, and eggs.
The cottage itself stood prouder now, puffing out its (now painted) chest as if to say, Well, look! I have an owner, Im as handsome as the rest!
In winter, youll be eating my homemade pickled onions, Alan grinned. Grace, pleased, saw he was leaner, stomach gone, looking dapper. She found herself shy around his gaze.
The sun was just about to dip below the pines, setting the whole world alight with orange.
Ill just be a sec, Alan said and hurried outside.
Grace wandered the house, now full of another persons thingsother scents, other stories. Then, noticing hed been gone a while, she strolled out onto the porch, looked up and down the lane, then circled into the garden. There she found Alan, slumped against the fence, sitting on the ground.
Alan! She dropped to her knees.
She checked his strong, erratic pulse, sprinted for her first aid kithalfway remembered the water, ran back inside for a glass, skirt flapping around her knees. A shot would do, she thought, rushing back, popping a tablet in his mouth, holding water to his lips.
Fifteen minutes later, Alan got to his feet. She helped him back inside and settled him on the bed.
Overdid it in the sun, thats all, he apologised. Wanted to get you some onions for the road Would you stay? Alan dared, switching to the familiar you at last.
Grace hesitated, wondering what to say. Alan pressed his forehead to her waist, overcome.
Happiness is an odd thing. You wait, you search, you call for it, checking it hasnt got lost. You get used to being alone, free of betrayals and fear of loss. And suddenly, by pure chance, your path crosses anothers, and then you go on together.
As for lovewell, it comes in many shapes. In youth, its all-consuming, a fever to possess. As you grow older, it becomes gentle and companionable, warm and quiet. Like the very last ray of the setting sun.
