Wendy Jones - The Summer We Loved

“She’s had a tough time recently. I just need to keep an eye on her,” she explained.

They walked further back, into the kitchen, where she was introduced to Kate’s mum and Rebecca, her sister-in-law. Jenny offered her condolences and gave Kate’s mother the same brief hug she had given Gloria. She stood back and tried to collect herself.

Another relative walked in and the family were distracted, so Jenny wandered over to the back window.

In the corner of the garden stood two men: the father and a brother, she assumed. They were standing, locked in a powerful embrace that almost broke her heart. It was too intimate a moment to pry on, so she turned back to face away again.

Gloria offered to make her a cup of tea, but just as she was about to pour, word filtered through that the cars had arrived. It was time to go.

Not a single eye was dry by the time the service had finished, but in all the sadness and tragedy of the day, Jenny had not missed the fact that there had been one face that hadn’t shown: Pete. And although she wanted to be angry at him, all she felt was pity. She didn’t know him that well, but she knew he had been friends with both of them and unless he had a solid reason for not being there, she felt sure that he would regret missing the goodbye… one day.

After the interment, the congregation began to split up and Jenny started looking around for the kind couple who had given her a lift. She was just starting to believe they had forgotten and gone without her, when from behind a large yew tree at the side of the church, she spotted a flash of blonde hair. She took a step back and then prowled across to investigate.

The graveyard was virtually empty now, apart from one elderly couple walking slower than the rest. It was just her and the blonde figure behind the tree.

Jenny stepped around the corner and was startled by a figure she barely recognised. Drawn and pale, like a frightened ghost, stood Peter Florin.

Jenny went to reach out to him, but he flinched away. “Pete? Whatever’s the matter?” she asked him. “You look awful. And why were you hiding back here? Why didn’t you come and pay your respects with the rest of us?” Her mouth moved again to scold him, but something in his demeanour made her hesitate. She looked into his eyes and saw the turmoil inside him. The guy was in torment and her voice fell to a whisper. “What is it, Pete?”

A woman appeared across the far side of the churchyard, calling and beckoning to her. “Jenny, dear, there you are. I’m so sorry. We got to the end of the road before we remembered we were meant to be giving you a lift. Hurry along! I’ve left Harold in the car with the engine running.”

Jenny waved. “I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Pete and put her hand on his chest and felt his heart beating wildly beneath her fingers. His stare widened at the contact and, afraid, she let her hand drop away. She pulled out an old till receipt from her bag and quickly wrote her number on it. “Call me,” she said. “Please. I want to help. You can trust me.” And she stuffed it into his hand and hurried away to catch up with her lift.

Two things were troubling Jenny more than everything else that night, twisting and clambering at the corners of her mind. First, the disturbing sight of Pete, looking lost and alone in the empty graveyard, and second… the tiny coffin. So much was going on inside Jenny’s mind, that the desperate loss of her good friend was getting overshadowed. She needed order, so she pulled out her diary and tried to make sense of it all.

The day was as awful as I’d expected, she wrote. Three coffins and almost 100 people mourning. It was both beautiful and terrible in one fell swoop.

And the tiny coffin. It was so small and sad. How I made it through that without falling to pieces, I will never know. After all this time. I thought I had buried it so far down that it was like a dream, but it still tore at my heart to think of it… of her.

I saw him there too – after. He showed up. His eyes hollowed out and his face drawn and grey. How could I be angry at such a sorry sight? I’m afraid for him, though. I think he might be losing it. I don’t know what it is that’s haunting him, but it’s eating him up inside. Maybe all that flash exterior is just a mask for something far deeper going on. I hope he calls me. He has to. I won’t be able to rest until I know he’s okay. What a state he was in. If this turns out to be just a guilty conscience after sleeping in with a serious hangover, I’m going to kill him. Where has he been?

Oh, Kate, I need you. Pete needs you. Your mum and dad need you. You should have seen them today. I hope you did, them and everyone else, because then you would have seen how very much you were loved.

She couldn’t go on. Words were swimming around the page, so she set down her pen and curled up in a tight ball, and wept… for them all.

Far across town, on a coach heading west, Pete sat looking at his reflection in the window. Barely recognising his features or the thoughts that lay behind them, he settled back in his seat, let his mind drift and was soon swallowed up by the memories that claimed him.

The next day on the ward, a sober turn of mood replaced the saddened one of before. No one had seen anything of Pete, and Jenny was starting to worry.

By Friday, whispers were circulating that he was going to lose his position. And when there was still no sign the Monday of the following week, Jenny made up her mind that she was going to hunt him down. She had already asked around to see if anyone knew what was going on. Flis seemed less than interested, preparing to head off for a fortnight on holiday with her man; none of the staff at work had seen him at all and now the scandal was starting to take on new excitement. Only Jenny seemed to actually care.

She sought out Laura Engelmann, another anaesthetist, in her lunch break and heard from her how little anyone in the department knew about what was going on. Pete hadn’t been answering his mobile and there had been no sign of him at his flat. She asked about his friends and Laura pointed her towards Dave Matthews, a surgical registrar, who seemed to know him better than most. At the end of her shift, Jenny went in search of Mr Matthews, but he was in theatre and wouldn’t be free for hours, so she left him a note and her number and went back home to wait.

He called her that evening, just as Jenny was finishing her tea. She answered. “Hello.”

“Is that Jenny White?” the voice asked.

“Yes.”

“Dave Matthews. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s about Pete. Peter Florin.”

“Yes, I know. What did you want to know? Your note was very cryptic.”

“I’m just worried about him.”

“Well, we all are.”

“But is anybody actually trying to find him?”

“He’s a grown man. I’m sure he’s got his reasons for disappearing like this. He’ll probably be with his family if something’s wrong.”

“But how do you know he’s okay?”

“Pete can handle himself just fine, I assure you,” he said.

“Look, I saw him,” Jenny said abruptly, the frustration of beating her head against a brick wall finally getting to her.

“You did? When?”

“After the funeral. And he looked awful .”

There was a pause at the other end of the line.

“He has… issues; don’t ask me what they are, I’ve no idea, he doesn’t say, but he does this now and again. Admittedly not for this long normally.”

He paused again and Jenny could think of nothing else to say that might persuade him to help. She heaved a deep sigh.

“He has a brother who seems to look out for him,” he said. “I met him once. If you’re really concerned, I’m sure he’d be the best person to talk to.”