The Summer We Loved

Turning to the nurse in charge, her voice said, “Can we get on?” and she wandered out onto the ward.

The shift drifted by in a surreal daze, but that evening, when she walked in, Jenny found Flis sobbing her heart out on the settee. She walked over; they looked at each other and then folded up in each other’s arms and wept. “I know. I know. It’s so unfair,” she said, pulling back and plucking a tissue to wipe her face. She passed one to Flis. “After all the good they’ve done for others, and just when it was all starting to come together for them.”

“It just doesn’t seem real,” Flis sobbed, pulling another tissue clear to wipe her nose. “Adam had only just… And Kate… Our Kate.” She shook her head. “All gone. It’s just… It’s such a terrible waste!”

They talked for a while, gradually turning the tide and reminiscing about the fun times they’d shared and then, with neither of them having much appetite, they put on a late-night chat show and stared at the screen, before drifting off to bed.

Kate is dead, Jenny wrote in her diary that night. Kate and Adam and Selena. What can I say? It’s too tragic for words.

Jenny was off the following day, so she spent her time trying to keep her mind busy. She rang her aunt to see how she was doing. As her dearest relative, Jenny felt very protective of her. She had been the one who’d taken care of her since the age of 17, a time when she had needed so much and been granted so little.

Jenny got through all her laundry and stocked up on food and then, having no more chores left to do, she decided she would finally succumb and lose herself in Lorna Doone, a story she had always wanted to read but had never quite got around to. She didn’t want to face her inner thoughts that night, couldn’t bear to, so she just kept on reading until she fell asleep.

Thursday she was back in work and rumour was sweeping through the hospital that Dr Florin had disappeared again. This time Jenny was cross. At a time when everything seemed suddenly so vital, such a gift to be living, he had decided to bail out. He was probably skulking around somewhere with a bottle and a bad woman. It was as if he didn’t even care. She knew the three of them had been friends, but so had she. The man had no backbone. How was he ever going to make consultant carrying on like this? He certainly didn’t deserve to. Jenny was disappointed. There were Kate and Adam trying to do so much good with their lives and living life to the full, and they had been cut down in their prime and here he was just pouring it away.

Her mood got under her skin and she bristled at the thought of what he was up to, instead of what he should be doing, which was taking care of all those people on the wards waiting for him. The anaesthetist was the one they most relied on, the one whose very presence could easily calm their fears. “No good, womanising, beer-swilling…” She ran out of words, and it pained her to see him through different eyes.

But by Friday he was still nowhere to be found. Rumours were flying about. Some said he was lying dead in his flat, although Jenny noticed this was mostly put about by those whose hearts he’d broken. Had he suffered bereavement in the family Jenny wondered? Was he lying in a hospital miles away? Or had he finally been thumped hard enough by some boyfriend or husband and lost his memory? Wherever he was, and whatever he was doing, there wasn’t one scenario that looked good for him.

A shadow had been cast over the staff at the hospital. One missing, considered reckless, and two lost for good. Time dragged by on every shift as the light and ease of everyday mirth was suppressed by the weight of their loss.

The funeral was arranged for the following week, and luckily for Jenny, she was free that day. Flis was working and the other two in the house were so new they’d barely had time to get to know Kate, or Adam, so she was going on her own and she was daring Pete not to show.

The day arrived and it was bright and sunny. As one of Kate’s closest friends, Jenny found herself invited to Kate’s parents’ house before the service. As she approached, she sadly found no need to recheck the address. Curtains were drawn and flowers had begun to carpet the front lawn up the edge of the driveway. Jenny walked up to the front door, took a deep breath and rang the bell.

A gentleman introduced himself as Kate’s uncle and showed her inside and Jenny looked round for someone she might know. More flowers attempted to brighten the inside of the house, but the lost looks on the faces there overpowered them all. She met Gloria in the hallway, a nurse she knew from A&E and they hugged. It was one of those brief, stoical hugs that dared not linger in case it broke the fragile façade and brought on the tears.

“Hi, Jen. I just need to quickly check on Lena.” They walked the few steps to the living-room door and peered through. On the far side of the room was a young girl, about 18 or so, Jenny thought, sitting on her own among a selection of empty chairs, her eyes downcast. Gloria took a calming breath, paused for a second and then turned away. Jenny looked at her.

“She’s had a tough time recently. I just need to keep an eye on her,” she explained.

They walked further back, into the kitchen, where she was introduced to Kate’s mum and Rebecca, her sister-in-law. Jenny offered her condolences and gave Kate’s mother the same brief hug she had given Gloria. She stood back and tried to collect herself.

Another relative walked in and the family were distracted, so Jenny wandered over to the back window.

In the corner of the garden stood two men: the father and a brother, she assumed. They were standing, locked in a powerful embrace that almost broke her heart. It was too intimate a moment to pry on, so she turned back to face away again.

Gloria offered to make her a cup of tea, but just as she was about to pour, word filtered through that the cars had arrived. It was time to go.

Not a single eye was dry by the time the service had finished, but in all the sadness and tragedy of the day, Jenny had not missed the fact that there had been one face that hadn’t shown: Pete. And although she wanted to be angry at him, all she felt was pity. She didn’t know him that well, but she knew he had been friends with both of them and unless he had a solid reason for not being there, she felt sure that he would regret missing the goodbye… one day.

After the interment, the congregation began to split up and Jenny started looking around for the kind couple who had given her a lift. She was just starting to believe they had forgotten and gone without her, when from behind a large yew tree at the side of the church, she spotted a flash of blonde hair. She took a step back and then prowled across to investigate.

The graveyard was virtually empty now, apart from one elderly couple walking slower than the rest. It was just her and the blonde figure behind the tree.

Jenny stepped around the corner and was startled by a figure she barely recognised. Drawn and pale, like a frightened ghost, stood Peter Florin.

Chapter 3

Jenny went to reach out to him, but he flinched away. “Pete? Whatever’s the matter?” she asked him. “You look awful. And why were you hiding back here? Why didn’t you come and pay your respects with the rest of us?” Her mouth moved again to scold him, but something in his demeanour made her hesitate. She looked into his eyes and saw the turmoil inside him. The guy was in torment and her voice fell to a whisper. “What is it, Pete?”

A woman appeared across the far side of the churchyard, calling and beckoning to her. “Jenny, dear, there you are. I’m so sorry. We got to the end of the road before we remembered we were meant to be giving you a lift. Hurry along! I’ve left Harold in the car with the engine running.”

Jenny waved. “I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Pete and put her hand on his chest and felt his heart beating wildly beneath her fingers. His stare widened at the contact and, afraid, she let her hand drop away. She pulled out an old till receipt from her bag and quickly wrote her number on it. “Call me,” she said. “Please. I want to help. You can trust me.” And she stuffed it into his hand and hurried away to catch up with her lift.

Two things were troubling Jenny more than everything else that night, twisting and clambering at the corners of her mind. First, the disturbing sight of Pete, looking lost and alone in the empty graveyard, and second… the tiny coffin. So much was going on inside Jenny’s mind, that the desperate loss of her good friend was getting overshadowed. She needed order, so she pulled out her diary and tried to make sense of it all.

The day was as awful as I’d expected, she wrote. Three coffins and almost 100 people mourning. It was both beautiful and terrible in one fell swoop.

And the tiny coffin. It was so small and sad. How I made it through that without falling to pieces, I will never know. After all this time. I thought I had buried it so far down that it was like a dream, but it still tore at my heart to think of it… of her.

I saw him there too – after. He showed up. His eyes hollowed out and his face drawn and grey. How could I be angry at such a sorry sight? I’m afraid for him, though. I think he might be losing it. I don’t know what it is that’s haunting him, but it’s eating him up inside. Maybe all that flash exterior is just a mask for something far deeper going on. I hope he calls me. He has to. I won’t be able to rest until I know he’s okay. What a state he was in. If this turns out to be just a guilty conscience after sleeping in with a serious hangover, I’m going to kill him. Where has he been?

Oh, Kate, I need you. Pete needs you. Your mum and dad need you. You should have seen them today. I hope you did, them and everyone else, because then you would have seen how very much you were loved.

She couldn’t go on. Words were swimming around the page, so she set down her pen and curled up in a tight ball, and wept… for them all.

Far across town, on a coach heading west, Pete sat looking at his reflection in the window. Barely recognising his features or the thoughts that lay behind them, he settled back in his seat, let his mind drift and was soon swallowed up by the memories that claimed him.

The next day on the ward, a sober turn of mood replaced the saddened one of before. No one had seen anything of Pete, and Jenny was starting to worry.

By Friday, whispers were circulating that he was going to lose his position. And when there was still no sign the Monday of the following week, Jenny made up her mind that she was going to hunt him down. She had already asked around to see if anyone knew what was going on. Flis seemed less than interested, preparing to head off for a fortnight on holiday with her man; none of the staff at work had seen him at all and now the scandal was starting to take on new excitement. Only Jenny seemed to actually care.

She sought out Laura Engelmann, another anaesthetist, in her lunch break and heard from her how little anyone in the department knew about what was going on. Pete hadn’t been answering his mobile and there had been no sign of him at his flat. She asked about his friends and Laura pointed her towards Dave Matthews, a surgical registrar, who seemed to know him better than most. At the end of her shift, Jenny went in search of Mr Matthews, but he was in theatre and wouldn’t be free for hours, so she left him a note and her number and went back home to wait.

He called her that evening, just as Jenny was finishing her tea. She answered. “Hello.”

“Is that Jenny White?” the voice asked.

“Yes.”

“Dave Matthews. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s about Pete. Peter Florin.”

“Yes, I know. What did you want to know? Your note was very cryptic.”

“I’m just worried about him.”

“Well, we all are.”

“But is anybody actually trying to find him?”

“He’s a grown man. I’m sure he’s got his reasons for disappearing like this. He’ll probably be with his family if something’s wrong.”

“But how do you know he’s okay?”

“Pete can handle himself just fine, I assure you,” he said.

“Look, I saw him,” Jenny said abruptly, the frustration of beating her head against a brick wall finally getting to her.

“You did? When?”

“After the funeral. And he looked awful.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line.

“He has… issues; don’t ask me what they are, I’ve no idea, he doesn’t say, but he does this now and again. Admittedly not for this long normally.”

He paused again and Jenny could think of nothing else to say that might persuade him to help. She heaved a deep sigh.

“He has a brother who seems to look out for him,” he said. “I met him once. If you’re really concerned, I’m sure he’d be the best person to talk to.”

“Do you have his number?” she asked, hope suddenly flickering to life inside her.

“Afraid not. But I think he said he lived in Teak. Yes, I remember, because it reminded me of the wood. It’s a little village, or something, outside Upper Conworth.”

Jenny wrote down the name and thanked him for his time. She had two days off before she had to be back in work and this was her mission: she was going to find Peter Florin, wherever he was, and try to sort out whatever mess he was in. She owed him that. He had been there for her once. He had seen her struggle and had given her the strength to pull through, to stand up for herself. It was he who had made her believe she was worth more. He had cared. And dear Kate had cared for him, and she had known him better than all of them. But it was down to her now, that much was clear, and she was going to find him.

That night she studied maps and timetables, working out her route, before finally searching directory inquiries for a Mr Florin in Teak. And it must have been a tiny place because she got lucky; there was only one: number six, Stoney Cross, and two minutes later, Google had him pinned. She printed out a map and wrote herself directions and then made a bag ready for the morning.

That night she had a sense of real hope when she wrote in her diary.

When I return, I will have found him. Someone has to care where he is. He needs a friend right now. He was a friend to me once, when I needed it. I don’t know why he’s like this, but whatever he is facing, he obviously can’t deal with it on his own. So I’m going to find him and I’m going to bring him back. Somehow. God, I hope I can do this. I hope I’m not too late. What if I am? What if he’s…? No, I can’t think like that. This has to work, because I just can’t lose him as well. I can’t. I won’t.

*

There was a knock at the door and two little faces huddled in cautiously. “It’s bedtime, Mummy,” they said.

Jenny stopped typing and turned around in her chair. She looked at her watch. “Oh my goodness, so it is!” she said. Holding her arms out wide, the two little girls ran over and cuddled in. She lifted them briefly on to her lap and kissed them. “Have you brushed your teeth?”

“Yes,” they chorused, showing her the tiny white pearls that she cherished.

“Absolutely dazzling! Would you like me to read you a bedtime story?”

Their dad appeared at the door and they looked at him. “Are you up to it?” he asked softly.

Jenny nodded.

“Just a quick one, then, and then your mum is going to have a rest before she sits her bottom down there and starts writing again.” He looked at her then, with such adoration, that Jenny had to agree. She knew he was only thinking about her and so she would let him care for her for a while, but not too long; the story was far from finished.

*

Jenny awoke with the birds. She was too excited to sleep. She wanted to be up and out of there. She wanted to find Pete, but the first bus didn’t leave for another three and a half hours, so she rechecked her bag, added a packet of chocolate Hobnobs for emergencies and went for a shower.

Still three hours to go. She began tapping her fingers. What could she do until then? She pulled everything out of her bedside drawer and plopped it down on the bed. Junk. It was all junk. She spent two minutes trying to sort it through and then lost all patience and shoved it back inside the drawer again, cramming it down and forcing it shut. She didn’t want to concentrate on something good in case she lost track of the time, so she couldn’t read a book, but she couldn’t think of how else to fill the time. Breakfast. She had to eat. Lord knows when she was going to get to eat again.

Pacing the floor with a muesli bar, she added her book and her MP3 player, in case the hours on the bus were long. She knew where she was going to start, but had no idea where the journey would end. Maps, purse, biscuits, bottle of water, wash kit and comb, spare pair of pants and an extra layer in case it turned chilly. All she needed now was a brass neck as wide as a mountain to go nosing into business she had no reason to be messing in. But this had never been a problem for Jenny; attitude and nerve were her speciality. She’d been an independent soul most of her adult life. She’d had to be, and they had helped her survive.

With two hours left to go, Jenny left the girls a note, checked her mobile, packed her charger and headed off to walk the three or four miles to the bus station. The weather was mild and the walk would do her good before a couple of hours cooped up in a stuffy old bus. So she’d be early; it didn’t matter; it was nice out.

As the journey drew on, Jenny became more and more determined in her venture. Mile after mile of countryside passed by outside the window, and then finally, the bus pulled to a stop in Upper Conworth.

Jenny stepped out and found herself in a quaint old market town bathed in sunshine. People in the street went about their business, happy and carefree, or so it seemed. She pulled out her sunglasses and slipped them on before retrieving the directions from her bag. She checked the bus route to take her to Teak: the number 24. She had 40 minutes before it left, so she decided to have a bit of a look around and maybe get something to eat.

Not far into town Jenny came across a café serving an all-day breakfast. By now she was starving and her anxieties allayed for the moment, she tucked in to a fry-up and a nice mug of tea and then, map in hand, she made her way back through the town to find her stop for the next leg of the journey.

It was a slower trundle through the outlying villages before Jenny spotted the sign she was looking for. The bus stopped and she checked with the woman on the seat next to her. “Is this Teak?” she asked.

The woman nodded and Jenny made her way down the bus and stepped off. And it was only then, as the bus pulled away and she was left on her own in a village she had never known, that she started to feel anxious. The weight of her mission had seemed so important that before arriving in Teak she had been confident in her intrusion, but now… here… possibly only yards away from where Pete might be, she began to question herself.

What if he was fine and had just had enough of his job? What then? What was she going to do if it was a woman who had tempted him? How would that make her feel? What if his brother turned her away? And how small and stupid would she feel if he appeared at the door, happy as a child at Christmas and totally bemused to see her?

Jenny stood watching as the bus disappeared around the bend, and then, hoisting her rucksack onto her shoulder, she fished the instructions out of her pocket. She had drawn a rough plan of the village on the back of the timetable and she turned it around in her hand until she had her bearings and then looked up. Over there, she thought, and blocking out all worries for the time being she made her way up the road in the direction of Stoney Cross.

A postman walked by. “Good day,” he said and Jenny smiled and greeted him warmly, but whether it was going to be a good day remained to be seen.

She passed a pub and took a left, then a right and followed the road to the end, to a small nook of houses tucked away around the back: Stoney Cross.

Nerves began to rise as she approached the front door of the house. She really hadn’t given much thought to what would happen next. All she had known was she needed to find him. The rest, she supposed, would take care of itself. There were no cars in the driveway now. Was nobody at home? She took a deep breath and knocked. There was no answer. She looked around for a doorbell and found it, camouflaged against the frame of the door. She pressed it once. Still nothing. What was she supposed to do now? There was little point in getting all this way and then turning back at the first hurdle, so she sat with her back to the garage door, her face to the sun, and waited.

After a while she became thirsty and drank some of her emergency bottle of water. Feeling bored, she put on her headphones and listened to some music, and after that, the next thing she knew, a car was pulling up in front of her and two feet were stepping out.

Chapter 4

Pulling off her headphones, Jenny scrambled to her feet. She shoved everything back into her bag and then, searching rapidly for the right words, she looked at the woman beside the car. For a moment she considered running, but she couldn’t, not when she had come so far, so she forced herself to stay calm and started by apologising.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, taking a hesitant step forward. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your driveway. But I’m looking for Mr Florin. Have I got the right address?”

The woman kept her children safely inside the car, out of the way of the stranger invading their privacy. She had obviously found little reassurance in Jenny’s explanation thus far, so she added, “It’s about his brother. He’s gone missing.”

The woman’s face fell. Reaching back inside the car, she undid the children’s straps and herded them towards the front door. “You’d better come in.”

Inside, the little children kept close to their mother while they assessed the stranger trespassing in their lives. “I’m Jenny White,” she told them. “I’m trying to find Dr Peter Florin. I work with him.”

“How did you find us?” the woman asked.

“Dr Matthews, one of his colleagues at the hospital, told me he had a brother who looked out for him.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “For his sins.”

“And he remembered Pete had mentioned the name of the village where you lived.”

“Ah.” She held out her hand. “I’m Rachel Florin, Jamie’s wife, and these two horrors are Joshua and Annabel.” The children were still looking at her cautiously. “Please, take a seat. Can I get you a drink? You look a bit flushed. I think you might have caught the sun there.”

Jenny felt her face. It was tight and hot. “A glass of water would be lovely, thank you,” she said.

Rachel ran her a glass of water and dropped in a couple of ice cubes. She handed it over and led her children away to settle them down to play. Jenny looked around the room. It was a nice, ordinary kitchen in a nice, ordinary house. The garden was smallish and littered with children’s toys and the fridge was covered with paintings. It was a home, and for a minute, Jenny recalled a similar scene in her early childhood with affection.

Rachel returned with a bottle of moisturiser in hand. She offered it up and Jenny took it gratefully and smoothed some on.

“It’s a lovely spot you’ve got here,” she said.

Rachel smiled. She was busy searching in a cupboard for something. She stood up again, with a toy in her hand, obviously relieved. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just…”

Jenny was very aware she had intruded. “No. Please,” she said, and she kept her silence while Rachel sorted out her children, leaving her own mind space to think. How had she got here? What was she doing? Doubt was champing at the bit for free rein and she had to battle hard to remember the reason she was there.