Barbara clutched the medical reports in a trembling fist. The paper was damp with her sweat. In the cramped corridor of the local health centre, there was no way to slip past the other women.
Smith, Barbara Margaret! a nurse called.
Barbara rose, slipped into the consulting room. The doctora stout woman with weary eyestook the folder from her hands and flicked a quick glance over the pages.
Take a seat, she said, giving the results a detached look. Everything is normal. You should have your husband examined.
A chill ran through Barbara. Victor? But he
***
At home, her motherinlaw, Evelyn Peters, was shredding cabbage for a stew, the knife chopping furiously as if she were felling an enemy.
Whats the news, love? Evelyn asked without looking up.
Everythings fine with me, Barbara muttered, shrugging off her coat.
Then why? Evelyn finally lifted her eyes, a flash of worry there.
Victor needs a checkup. The knife froze over the board. Evelyn straightened, tension coiling in her like a bowstring.
What nonsense! My son is perfectly healthy. Its your doctors who dont know what theyre talking about. Women used to give birth without a single test long ago.
Barbara drifted into the sitting room. On the sofa lay two mismatched socksone navy, one black. She picked them up automatically and tossed them into the laundry basket. In three years of marriage those socks had become a quiet symbol of their life: the odd pair that never quite matched.
Victor came home late.
Whats with the funeral face? he grunted, dropping into an armchair.
Victor, we need to talk.
About what?
She handed him the papers. He skimmed them, then tossed them onto the coffee table.
And?
You need to see a doctor.
On what grounds? Victor sprang to his feet, pacing the room. Im a healthy man! Look at me!
He did look the partbroadshouldered, dark hair thick as a hedgerow. Yet health, as Barbara had learned, was not always visible.
Victor, please she pleaded.
Enough! he snapped. If you dont want children, just say so! Why all these theatrics with the doctors?
The sound of clacking slippers came from the kitchen. Evelyn lingered in the doorway, breathing so loudly it filled the room.
I want children more than anything, Barbara whispered.
Then why none? Are you hiding something? Had an abortion perhaps?
The accusation stung. Barbara recoiled.
How could you?
How could I? Three years and no result! And now the doctors tell me Im He cut himself off, fists clenched.
The door burst open. Evelyn stormed in like a battering ram.
Victor, dont listen to her! This is all laziness. If she worked more, she wouldnt be chasing doctors.
Barbara looked at her husband. He turned toward the window.
Victor, do you really think I
I dont know what to think, he rasped through clenched teeth. One thing I know: a healthy man never needs a doctor.
Evelyn nodded triumphantly.
Exactly, my son says. Its not a mans job to be in hospitals.
Inside, Barbara felt something snap, a tightened string finally breaking.
Fine, she said evenly.
The next day a battle began. Evelyn found fault with everything: salt overpoured, the pot not rinsed, dust on the dresser. Barbara kept her mouth shut, teeth clenched.
Maybe you shouldnt stay at home at all? the motherinlaw hissed over dinner. Go work instead of chasing doctors.
Victor chewed his meat, eyes downcast.
I work, Barbara reminded him.
Three days a week is not work, its a hobby.
What does my work have to do with this?
Its because my son is fine, and you want to paint him sick! When there are no children, its always the womans fault! Its always been that way!
Barbara rose from the table, legs shaking.
Whats wrong with you? Evelyn asked. You ate and now youre fleeing?
I’m tired, Barbara replied softly.
Tired? From what? You only work three days a weekwhat load can that be?
Victor finally met her gaze. A flicker of pity passed through his eyes, then he said nothing.
That night Barbara lay listening to Victors snore. Once it had been a comforting sound, proof that a loved one lay nearby. Now it grated on her nerves. How had she not noticed his stubbornness sooner?
At dawn she packed a few items into an old sports backpacktwo dresses, some underwear, a small makeup case.
Where are you off to? Evelyn asked, standing in the kitchen doorway with a teacup.
To my mothers.
For long?
I dont know.
Victor emerged from the bathroom, saw the bag.
Barb, whats that?
Just what you see.
You serious?
What else? You wont see a doctor, and my mother blames me for everything. Why should I stay?
He stepped closer, voice low.
Dont be daft. Where will you go?
To Grans Fanny.
To that tiny cottage? Its only a mile away!
In a snug corner, not in spite.
Evelyn scoffed.
Fine, let her go. Shell learn how sweet life was for an old lady.
Victor shot a angry glance at his mother but said nothing.
Barbara lifted her bag and headed for the door.
Barb! Victor called.
She turned. He stood in the hallway, hair damp from his shower.
When will you be back?
When you finally see a doctor.
The door slammed behind her.
Gran Fanny gasped when she saw her granddaughter arrive with a bag.
Barb! Whats happened?
Ive had a fight with Victor. May I stay here?
Of course, love. Its cramped, but well manage.
The flat was indeed tinyone bed, a table, two chairs, a dated television. Yet it was clean and scented with vanilla; Gran loved baking.
Tell me whats happened, Gran asked, setting the kettle on.
Barbara poured out everything. Gran listened, nodding her silvered head.
Oh, dear Men can be so proud. Admitting somethings wrong feels to them like a death sentence.
Should I sit here and wait for him to change?
No, you did right by leaving. Let him think on his own.
The first days passed peacefully. Barbara settled on a foldout sofa in the corner, helped Gran with chores. Victor called now and then, but she let the calls go to voicemail.
Later Gran complained of chest pains. An ambulance rushed her to the hospital.
Dont worry, love, Gran whispered as the paramedics lifted her. Im old, these things happen.
In the ward Gran recovered. Barbara visited daily, bringing homecooked meals, sharing news.
Hows Victor? Gran asked one afternoon.
Nothing much. Hes shouted at the phone a couple of times.
Did you answer?
First time, yes. Second, no. Whats the point of hearing the same rant?
Maybe hes finally gone to a doctor?
Unlikely.
The corridors swarmed with visitors. Barbara headed for the exit and nearly collided with a young doctor in a white coatblond, brighteyed, gentle.
Excuse me, she murmured.
No harm done. Who are you looking for?
For my gran, in ward seven.
Oh, Mrs. E. K.! the doctor smiled. Im Dr. David Clarke, cardiologist.
Barbara, she replied.
A pleasure. Dont worry, your grans in good hands. Age does its thing, you know.
He spoke about Grans condition, treatment, while Barbara watched his handslong fingers, neat nails, steady.
Thank you for your care, she said.
He lingered to chat the next day, then the day after. Barbara began arriving early, hoping to catch a glimpse.
Barb, the doctor asks if youll be in today, Gran said one evening with a sly smile.
The doctor? What doctor?
He means David. He asks how youre doing. Hes a good lad, single as well.
Barbara blushed.
Gran, what are you saying?
What? Youre almost free. That Victor of yours
Im married.
Pah!
A week later David was transferred to another ward. On his final day he stopped by Barbara in the corridor.
Ill miss you, he said simply.
And I you, she admitted.
He handed her his card.
If you ever need anything or just a chat.
Barbara took it, their fingers brushing.
Thank you.
And also David hesitated. Youre very beautiful, though a little sad. I hope that lifts someday.
Gran was discharged and grew stronger, yet Barbara still dreaded leaving her alone.
Victor called now and then; sometimes she answered, sometimes she didnt. The last call ended with him shouting that she was behaving like a spoiled child. She hung up and never lifted the receiver again.
A month later a strangers voice rang through the phone.
Barbara? Im Davids mother. He gave me your number
Is something wrong?
No, no Its just that tomorrow is his birthday and hed love to see you. Could you come?
Barbara hesitated, but Gran, having overheard, waved her on.
Go on, love! When was the last time you had a good laugh?
The birthday turned out splendidly. David introduced Barbara to his friends, was attentive but never overbearing. As they walked her home, he said, Id like to see you again. May I?
Yes, she whispered.
They began seeing each other cautiously, gently. David never pried or demanded explanations. Sometimes Barbara spent the night at his modest flat.
Then, unexpectedly, she discovered she was pregnant.
Will you marry me? David asked when she told him.
Yes, she laughed, tears of joy shining.
A year later Barbara pushed a pram along a leafy lane. David walked beside her, telling a joke. Their son, Michael, gurgled in his sleep.
Ahead, Victor and Evelyn were strolling. Seeing Barbara, both froze as if struck by a stone.
Barbara kept her pace, head held high. In Victors eyes she read pain, regret, and dawning understanding.
Evelyn tugged Victors sleeve.
Come on, Victor.
He stayed rooted, watching the pram, the smiling Barbara, the happy David. He realised his mistake, but it was too late.
