Read The Forever Girl for Free Online Page B

she had almost forgotten what it was like, but now she knew once more.
    He was sitting some distance away from the bar, at a table overlooking the sea. When he saw her come in, he simply nodded, although he rose to his feet as she approached the table. He smiled at her as she sat down.
    “It’s been a hellish day,” he said. “And alcohol helps. I know it shouldn’t, but it does.”
    She made a gesture of acceptance. “I’m sure you don’t overdo it. But I suppose, being a doctor …”
    He completed the sentence. “Makes no difference. None at all. Doctors are as weak as the rest of humanity. The only difference is that we know how all the parts work, and we know what the odds are.” He paused. “Or I used to know them. You’d be surprised at how much the average doctor has forgotten.”
    She laughed. Talking to him was pleasant – so easy. “Buteverybody forgets what they learned. I learned a lot about art when I was a student. I could rattle off the names of painters and knew how they influenced one another. Nowadays, I’ve forgotten everybody’s dates.”
    He went off to order her a drink at the bar. While he was away she looked around the room, as naturally as she could. There was nobody she knew. She relaxed.
    They raised their glasses to one another.
    “Thank you,” he said. “Thanks for coming at virtually no notice. I thought that you’d have the children to look after.”
    “They’re with the maid. They love going to her house. She spoils them.”
    He nodded. “Jamaican?”
    “Yes.”
    “They love children. They …” He stopped himself. “Or does that sound patronising?”
    She thought it did not. “It’s true. It’s not patronising in the slightest. Complimentary, I’d have thought. Italians love children too.”
    “Yes,” he said. “Yes, but … white people can’t really say anything about black people, can they? Because of the past. Because of the fact that we stole so much from them. Their freedom. Their lives. Everything.”
    “You didn’t. I didn’t.”
    He looked into his glass. “Our grandparents did.”
    “I thought it was a bit before that. How long do people have to say sorry?”
    He thought for a few moments before answering. “A bit longer, I’d say.” He paused. “After all, what colour are the people living in the large houses and what colour are the people wholook after their gardens? What colour are the maids? What does that tell us?”
    She thought: yes, you’re right. And then she thought: David would never say that. Never. That was the difference.
    “We had a Jamaican lady working for us,” he said. “She was with us until a year or so ago. She was substitute grandmother. The kids still miss her.”
    “They would.”
    There was a brief moment of silence. He took a sip of his drink. “That poor woman …”
    “Bella?”
    “Mrs Rosales.”
    “Yes, Bella.”
    He looked up at the ceiling. “It makes my blood boil.”
    She waited for him to continue.
    “I assume that her employers know what’s what. I assume that somebody told them what she needed.”
    “I believe they did. I only heard about it from Margaret – the woman who helps me. She implied that they just couldn’t be bothered.”
    He shook his head in disbelief. “It could be too late, you know. She may have to lose the leg anyway.”
    “Well, at least you’ll have tried. This person in Kingston – who is he?”
    “He’s a general surgeon – an increasingly rare breed. He does anything and everything. He used to be in one of the big hospitals in Miami but he retired early and went off to this clinic in Kingston. They’re Lutherans, I believe. Missionaries. People like that still exist.”
    “Do you think he’ll be able to help?”
    He nodded. “I phoned him just before I came here. He says that he’ll see her tomorrow. We took the liberty of booking her on the Cayman Airways flight first thing. I’ve got my nurse to go round and let her know.”
    She told him that