I prodded my partner, Walter, awake as I became aware of a winter dawn, that we were already running an hour late and I had a hangover.
"Get up and sort the kids, I must get ready for work."
He shook his head and rose from the bed and looked at me in that hangdog fashion that said without a word being uttered, "Why don't you love me anymore?".
He probably had a hangover too.
I bit my lip and turned away silently screaming to myself, "Because you were caught shagging a secretary twenty years younger than you in the boardroom and lost your directorship and a fat salary."
The clattering of breakfast crockery and scrambling for clothes and time in the bathroom, filled the house with frantic activity.
I came to the kitchen to say goodbye to the children who looked at me in puzzlement and unquiet. They sensed something was wrong, that something bad could be coming, but not what it was or why it was. I cuddled them both and kissed them and said "See you this evening."
I said to Walter, "See if you can think of how we can do with one car. We can't afford two now. Certainly not your sports car."
He sighed a yes.
As I walked into the lobby to pick up my bag and coat I heard the five year old ask,"Why didn't Mummy kiss you Daddy?"
The front door slammed shut on the reply.
It was a grey damp day, the streets and slate roofs of that suffering, once prosperous, Lancashire mill town were sheened with drizzle.
I entered the surgery and Sharen, the receptionist, said a relieved, "Good morning, Doctor Sutton. You have a big list."
Sharen was intelligent, resourceful, and as good with the paperwork as she was adept at handling the patients and me and my colleagues. Her first class degree in history was wasted here, and she was worth twice as much as we paid her. But she cheerfully accepted the mundanity of the tasks she was called upon to do.
We were working through the morning list and I was with Reg Unsworth, a retired window cleaner when the telephone rang.
"Hello, Sharon.Why -"
"Sorry Doctor, I know I shouldn't interrupt a consultation, but I don't know what to do."
"Oh. Sorry Mr Unsworth - er can you wait a minute - you can let your trouser legs go and please sit down."
The blue and red ulcerations of his thrombophlebitic legs were covered and he sat carefully on the chair.
"Tell me the problem, Sharen".
"Dr Jean, I have Mr Riley on the phone. He tells me he thinks his wife is dying - so I said call an ambulance because they're nearer than we are - and there's a paramedic and all the emergency kit on board - and you won't have as much with you - but he won't call an ambulance and insists you come and says he'll call the Marsden Express if you don't. What should I do?"
"I'll speak to him. Can you come and look after Mr Unsworth."
The phone clicked in my ear and I said,"Mr Riley?"
Sharen led a bewildered Mr Unsworth from the room.
A gravelly voice sounded loudly in the earpiece. "Yeah, is that Doctor?"
"Jean Sutton, Mr Riley - how can I help."
"You can get over 'ere and 'elp me wife."
"It'll take me much longer to -"
