Overlapping Lives Read online

  Claire had a place at a university in the Midlands to read English. They had agreed that undergraduate life was too exciting and sociable to attempt to maintain their long school-days’ relationship; they gave each other permission to find new partners. Their teenage love was tender and they stayed in touch. When Claire returned to London after her university years she was offered a job with a publishing company and embarked on her career. In her mid-twenties Claire was an assertive young woman, blonde and attractive with a bubbling sense of humour. She had not forgotten the appeal of Roger’s athletic, adolescent body and the empathetic sex, which they had discovered together in the Buckinghamshire farmhouse. It was a precious recollection and no one who Claire met at university had been equal to Roger’s masculine charms. She decided to seek him out.

  Roger was approaching the end of his medical school years when Claire contacted him. He was preoccupied with revision for his final exams which involved a degree of self-denial. Keeping away from the social rituals of medical school life in order to revise was troublesome. The reappearance of Claire in his life was well-timed. She imposed a discipline, realising that she needed to respect Roger’s priorities. Only after Roger had completed an acceptable number of hours with his text books each evening, and not before, did she take him to bed to renew their alliance, only slightly less unsentimentally than before. It worked. Roger had nothing, apart from Claire, to distract him from his work regime. The delights of Claire’s body all over again, after he had completed the evening’s revision, were an alluring incentive. They resumed their school time relationship and fell in love all over again.

  Life as a junior doctor was hard, mainly due to the unsociable hours. But Roger felt alienated by the refusal of senior doctors in the hospital hierarchy to modernise the professional rituals of working excessive hours. He had to acknowledge that he had learnt a great deal in a short time, mainly by making mistakes. The criticism of his seniors was unforgiving and sometimes hurtful. At the earliest opportunity Roger embarked on the training necessary to become a general practitioner. Three years later, his training completed, he started to seek a partnership out of town. After a succession of congenial interviews he was delighted to be offered a partnership in the small, rural Buckinghamshire practice which looked after the village where they had spent their idyllic, harvest holiday. Partnerships were like gold dust: a job for life as long as everyone got on together, which they did. It was a deeply satisfying existence; the doctors were respected by the rural community in the midst of which they worked. They had control over their lives and work and ran their practice as they chose. Roger was content. He announced to Claire that he would be moving to Buckinghamshire to join the partnership which he had been offered. In the same announcement he added:

  ‘Oh, and another thing, my love, please will you marry me?’

  They had a riotous wedding, with hordes of their university friends, spent two weeks in Italy honeymooning and moved to Buckinghamshire. Roger had been able to afford to buy a small house in the village close to the surgery. Claire started to commute to the London office where she continued to work.

  Slowly, they were assimilated into the community of the village. The gossip in the pub was endlessly fascinating and picturesque. They found out about the disappearance of the wife of the owner of the big house on the edge of the village, with her girlfriend, and the arrival of the two women, who had been in prison, at the bungalow. Over the months they met all the characters who populated the village narrative and became a part of it themselves. Steadily, the months passed and the seasons changed the colour of the fields and the sky. The cottage where Roger and Claire lived was a red brick building with large Edwardian windows and a small garden at the back. It was old enough to have fireplaces in all the downstairs rooms which insulated them from the winter bitterness. Life was congenial, but after a year of contented marriage Claire became frustrated with having to travel to work every day. On a Friday night in December, after the usual boozy evening in the pub, they snuggled lovingly in bed.

  ‘My darling,’ whispered Claire, ‘I want to be a kept woman. You’re going to be a rich doctor soon. I’m going to stop work and you’re going to get me pregnant.’ Roger was used to Claire’s impetuous decisions and knew that she was always right once she had made up her mind. He pushed her gently onto her back and kissed her at length.

  ‘That seems to make perfect sense,’ he agreed, ‘having you here all the time would be lovely and good for both of us.’ Roger possessed a conservative domesticity. Claire resigned the following Monday. She had to work her notice and commuted through the winter. As the first signs of spring appeared in the fields and gardens, she stopped working and stayed at home. When Roger arrived back after the surgery had closed, on Claire’s first domestic day, she went to their bedroom and found her supply of contraceptive pills. She took them to the kitchen where Roger was opening a wine bottle. Ceremoniously, she pressed out the contents of the blister pack until she had a pile of small, yellow tablets on the kitchen table. She swept them into a sieve and ran the hot tap on them, watching them dissolve and disappear down the kitchen sink. Roger observed this ceremony with interest and handed her a glass.

  ‘We had better drink to your ovaries,’ he suggested.

  ‘And the return of fertility. It’s nearly spring,’ added Claire.

  Claire became a model doctor’s wife. She cooked and cleaned, decorated the remaining rooms in the house which they had not yet got round to and visited the neighbours all over the village. The garden became ordered and colourful. They started to have dinner parties for the friends they had made in the village. She was content and longed to conceive. Spring blossomed into summer. The countryside became lush and leafy and the sky turned blue; but the thin line on Claire’s pregnancy test obstinately did not. A year went by, another winter came and went. They started to count the days during each of Claire’s cycles, careful to have sex when she was most likely to be ovulating. Roger carefully avoided raising the subject of fertility tests, knowing that any additional pressure was not likely to help. He knew that sooner or later Claire would decide she needed to see a gynaecologist. Inevitably, they both went through all the testing and imaging to seek a cause for not conceiving. At the final appointment the gynaecologist explained that everything was normal; there was no reason why Claire should not conceive. They were advised to keep trying. So they did, but Claire was becoming restless. She decided she must go back to work. After Roger, what she loved most were books. She found a job in a large bookshop in the middle of Aylesbury.

  The absence of a pregnancy insidiously undermined Claire; she felt diminished. As Roger’s tests had all been normal she assumed that it was something to do with her which prevented her from conceiving. Sex with Roger had always been joyful and they had good reason to do it as often as possible. It became the focal point of the marriage; everything revolved around getting Claire’s ovaries to do what they were supposed to. The prospect of a childless marriage, stuck in a remote village, stretching far into the future, seemed to Claire a bleak prospect. Occasional black thoughts encroached on Claire’s consciousness. What was the alternative? Roger was wedded to his practice and patients, immersed in the community. He had become known as Doctor Roger. She did not think it possible that he could be dislodged. At first, she banished the idea of leaving him to return to her previous urban existence. She reminded herself that she loved Roger and had done for years. Life was superficially good, but her inability to conceive slowly eroded her self-confident contentment. She had explored the various ways to conceive artificially and rapidly decided that it either had to happen spontaneously or not at all. Adoption had no appeal. Being an impetuous woman, she knew that unless the pregnancy happened she would decide to seek another life.

  The job at the bookshop had become absorbing. Claire had always been a quick learner. She became expert at customer care, enhancing the business, marketing and the shar
ing of ideas. The organisation provided training and she was sent on conferences about publishing and publicity. After a year of work she had an appraisal at which she was asked if she would like to be seconded to the head office. Were she to agree it would mean resuming the commute to London. It would also mean more money and Claire believed that all women should be financially independent, with or without a well-paid husband. A serious career seemed increasingly attractive if making babies was not going to be possible. She accepted the offer. Claire knew that the best place to tell Roger about her life-changing decisions was in bed. If her news turned out to be upsetting, sex would put things right again.

  ‘My love,’ she said quietly, ‘I accepted a job today – a promotion. It’s in London and I’ll have to start commuting again.’ Roger was insightful and had anticipated that Claire’s innate restlessness would lead her back to London sooner or later.

  ‘I thought you might do something like that. I know it’s been hard with no pregnancy; you must do what’s right for you if it’ll make you happier. I don’t like the way you’ve been sad recently. You deserve to do what’s right for you.’ Roger knew there was no point in objecting even if it meant a change in the domesticity of their marriage. Claire pulled him on top of her, moving her thighs apart.

  ‘I love you for being understanding. Please don’t let’s ever stop doing this, babies or not!’

  Claire launched herself into her new commercial life. She was excited by the new people and places she frequented and, at least at work, was happy. Roger felt increasingly unable to compete with the bright events which cluttered Claire’s life and slowly became introspective. He immersed himself in the lives of his patients, who in reality were a source of genuine fascination and rarely allowed him a dull moment. But the contentment of their work was not enough to sustain contentment at home. The sex, which had been the cornerstone of their long relationship, gradually died, and tolled the death knell of their marriage. They agreed an amicable divorce and Claire moved back to London.

  Reinventing himself as a divorcee, a single man again, discomfited Roger. He was uncertain how to go about it and knew he must resign himself to the disappearance of Claire. The absence of her infectious humour and assertive announcements about plans for their future was disquieting. No longer having her long, sensual body close to his at night saddened him; the smell of her hair, her skin and her feet, no longer lingered in the bed. Claire had not liked wearing socks, a habit which created a particular foot smell when she took off her well-worn sneakers. Before undressing, she had always sat on the edge of the bed, leant over and unlaced the sneakers before pulling them off. Roger closely associated the faint smell of Claire’s feet with the prelude to sex. But he refused to become self-pitying. Life had to go on. There was too much to interest and entertain him in the village to allow him to become maudlin about his new circumstances. He was much loved by the village community, which he served, and they came to his rescue. Invitations to meals with the neighbours, barbecues while the summer lasted and the congeniality of the pub were sufficient to sustain his morale.

  Ben, who lived in the big house on the edge of the village, had taken an immediate liking to Roger after he had consulted him about the wisdom of taking pills for high cholesterol. After the consultation Ben realised that during the whole of the appointment Roger had not said a word, until right at the end of the consultation, when he had said no, don’t take pills, and provided a brief explanation for his opinion. Ben felt he had been listened to: a rare sensation. When Ben heard about the departure of Claire he felt an instant kindred sense; his own wife had left him, albeit in rather different circumstances. His sadness following this change in his life had been dispelled by the appearance of Catherine, who had become his regular weekend partner. One of Catherine’s many attributes was an ability to connect with people. Ben despatched her to Roger’s cottage on a Friday evening when they arrived back from London together. Catherine was instructed to be sure that Roger would come to their barbecue the following day. Julie and Morag, from the bungalow, were coming, and also Paula, from London, after she had closed her shop on Saturday afternoon.

  Saturday evening at Ben’s house was an eclectic gathering: two convicted murderers, a banker, a florist and her assistant, who was also an art student, and a general practitioner. The September evening cooled as the sun set, so they adjourned from the garden to the spacious dining room. Ben brought in the smoky meat from the barbecue with the wine bottles. There was the usual tureen of roasted vegetables and more potatoes than they could eat. It was a cheerful party. Catherine was careful to sit Paula opposite Roger, eye contact being important in her plan for them. Also, Roger could not fail to notice how beautiful Paula’s face was. The arrangement was not wasted on Roger. He was struck by Paula’s wide smile and the charming dimple in her left cheek, which he soon realised, was a scar. At the end of the evening Roger sensed an opportunity.

  ‘If this is a monthly occasion, why not have it at my house in October? I’ve learnt to cook since Claire’s departure. It would be lovely to see you all.’ Before they parted company Roger was careful to hug Paula, kissing her on both cheeks and adding, ‘Make sure Catherine has you to stay next month. I’ll look forward to seeing you again.’ As Catherine had intended, Paula was beguiled by the understated charm of the doctor. He was the first man she had encountered since the assault by whom she felt she could bare to be touched; his farewell hug had felt spontaneous.

  It became a monthly pattern. The same group gathered, with the addition of Alan, who was close to completing his story about the lives of Julie and Morag. Roger planned the October dinner party at his cottage with great care. It was made additionally hilarious by too much wine. Paula was sufficiently disinhibited to reciprocate Roger’s hug at the end of the evening. She gave him an extra kiss, with a promise to see him in November, whether Catherine invited her or not.

  The following month, at the end of the dinner in November, while winter gathered outside, Ben proposed that they should spend Christmas together. Julie and Morag had no family ties, Paula and Alan were free and Roger would be on his own. It made sense. Before Roger left, Paula had given him a small piece of paper on which was written her email address – in Catherine’s hand writing – he discovered later. It provided a perfect catalyst.

  During the years Roger had spent with Claire he had been a good lover: faithful, considerate and always empathetic, wanting to please her constantly, both in bed and not in bed. He was sure his capacity for love was undiminished and Paula seemed to be in need of a man able to understand her. On Monday morning, after the November dinner party, before he walked to the surgery, he had emailed Paula.

  On Christmas Eve, as everyone arrived in the village, Paula went to Roger’s cottage and stayed until New Year’s Day. Catherine was immensely pleased with the fruit of her endeavours. She knew all about bearing the most precious gifts of all at Christmas time.