‘The patients.’
I wasn’t expecting that. ‘You don’t strike me as the kind of person who doesn’t like helping people.’
He waited until turning out of the country lane onto the busy main road before answering.
‘It’s not that I don’t like people. I don’t love being forced to interact with them.’ He frowned. ‘That’s not quite true. I didn’t mind the difficult conversations, breaking bad news, discussing treatment options. What I found excruciating was the hours of having to reassure patients with small talk. A surprising number of people find it uncomfortable or even frightening to have someone examining them in silence. They’d prefer me to be prattling on about sport, or roadworks, rather than concentrating on what I’m supposed to be doing. It felt more exhausting than an A & E night shift.’
‘So you thought a job famously involving waffling about nothing was a better option?’
‘I find that most people prefer their taxi driver to remain quiet. The rest are happy to do the chatting while I nod occasionally. What was a better option, in order for me to be able to look after Gramps, was a job where I could pick and choose my hours, clock off early or cancel a shift as and when I needed to, with the bonus of driving between clients with nothing but my own thoughts for company.’
‘But if Marvin hadn’t got ill, you’d have carried on as a doctor?’
‘I was looking into specialising as a pathologist. Their patients aren’t so bothered by silence.’
‘Why did you keep going if it didn’t suit you?’
‘A five-year slog to get there, a hideously sized student loan, and the dream of being able to provide for Gramps. I took a year out to earn as much as I could before starting uni, but I could have kept working, or at least chosen a degree that allowed time for a part-time job, so Gramps didn’t have to be subbing my rent when I was twenty-four. He was so proud, said it was all worth it. If I dropped out, then his sacrifice was for nothing.’
‘That must have been really tough.’
He was quiet for a moment.
‘Yeah. This is tougher.’
‘You don’t seem to have much problem talking to me,’ I observed a mile or so later.
Beckett kept his eyes on the road. ‘I don’t remember us having much time for idle chit-chat. I told you, I don’t have a problem talking about things that matter, or hold some interest.’
‘I hold some interest?’
He flashed a glance in the rear-view mirror this time. ‘If you think what happened last month was boring, I’m definitely interested in what the rest of your life is like.’
I shook my head. ‘The rest of my life is desperately trying to grab more than ninety minutes’ sleep, hours wrangling Bob’s feet into separate legs of his sleepsuit, only for one of them to wriggle out again the second I’ve done all the poppers, and crying. So. Much. Crying. Probably more me than him. It’s agonisingly mundane. I had cream cheese on my toast for breakfast, and that felt like a wild decision.’
I cleared my throat, and again the filter on my mouth seemed to have taken a leave of absence, because I never would normally admit something like this to anyone apart from Shay or Kieran.
‘The only people I’ve spoken to this week are you and Gramps, Bob and a woman in the farm shop who stopped to admire his hat. Except she was talking to him, not me, so that doesn’t count.’
‘That’s three more people than I speak to on the average weekend.’
‘So, compared to you, my life is fascinating?’
‘My one friend is my grandpa. Maybe I’m curious about how someone else ended up as alone as me.’
I might have told him, something at least, but then Marvin woke up, opened the car door and tried throwing himself out. Thankfully, he couldn’t undo the seat belt, so Beckett was able to pull over before any harm was done.
It was well past midday by the time we arrived at the church. The car park was full, so Beckett found a space on a nearby street. I tucked Bob into his papoose, picked up the flowers I’d bought that morning at the farm shop down the road, and Beckett carried the car seat. A group of people were leaving as we walked up, and a couple of vehicles were now pulling out, so I felt hopeful that we were in time to see at least someone who’d been there when Bob was born.
‘What is this place?’ Marvin asked, leaning heavily on his grandson. ‘It smells.’
‘It really doesn’t,’ Beckett said firmly, but there was a definite waft of spices coming from somewhere.
‘I don’t want to be here. Take me home.’
‘We won’t stay long. Mary just needs to give these flowers to someone.’
‘Who the hell is Mary?’
