Jenny said. Drinks were too risky when she was this nervous. She'd fumble it and make a mess on Debbie's gleaming floor. 'Is David around?'
'He's late back. It was a long list today. He's getting things clear for the weekend.'
'Are you doing something special?'
'It's my birthday. He's booked a couple of nights away. Don't ask me where, it's a surprise.'
'Great,' Jenny said, remembering several such trips, David booking the big suite and expecting non-stop sex while her idea had been to catch up on some sleep. She glanced at Debbie's pert little pregnancy bump. 'How are you feeling? It can't be long now.'
'You know, I hardly notice it, except when it kicks.' She patted her stomach. 'According to the scan it's going to be big, though. David says Ross was a big baby.'
'Yes,' Jenny said. 'But a word of advice - it's better to have the cut before it comes out than risk what happened to me.'
Debbie winced.
'Two hours stitching up. Probably why I didn't do it again.'
Ross's footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Jenny said, 'Good luck. I'm sure you'll be fine.'
The sinful pleasure of seeing Debbie's smile replaced by a look of horror stayed with her all the way to the restaurant. Hopefully it would put a damper on her weekend too.
Ross chose the little French bistro in Clifton they used to visit when David still indulged Jenny in her occasional attempts to reconnect with her brief bohemian youth. She was glad it had good associations for Ross and hadn't been tainted by his father's scathing remarks about the streaky cutlery and bad wine. She guessed he almost felt part of the university crowd that gathered here. She had to remind herself constantly that he was very nearly eighteen, a young adult, old enough to fight in a war. He had changed again in the month since they'd spent an evening together. The mid-teen gawkiness was almost gone, along with the semi-permanent sneer and ever-ready put-downs. She recognized aspects of his father in him: hints of fastidiousness in the careful way he held his cutlery, a sense that his intellect was asserting control over his emotions. And as the evening wore on, he started to ask her questions, which was another new departure. He enquired after her recent cases, whether she had plans for a holiday, and whether she seeing much of Steve. Jenny was touched.
'So you're not actually together, then?' Ross said.
'We're good friends—'
It could have been David looking sceptically back at her.
'What?' she asked.
'I thought you liked him. He likes you.'
'When did he say that?'
'He didn't have to. It's obvious.'
Jenny sensed she wasn't getting the whole truth. 'Have you been speaking to him?'
Ross shrugged. 'He's called me a couple of times, that's all, to see how you are.'
'What's wrong with calling me?'
'He says he's been trying to . . . He worries about you, you know.'
'Oh, does he?'
'In a good way. Why wouldn't he? We all do.' 'All?
'I didn't mean . . . sorry. That came out wrong.'
'Who exactly sits on this committee of the concerned?'
'It's only Dad. He thinks you're working too hard, that's all.'
'Really? When exactly has he been making these pronouncements - around the dinner table with Debbie there?'
Ross squirmed in his seat. 'Look, I didn't mean to start something.'
'No, I want to know,' Jenny insisted. 'I'm your mother. If you're worried about me, ask me. I might be able to reassure you.'
Ross looked at her guiltily. She hated herself for hurting him, but she couldn't bear not to know what David was saying about her.
'He thinks you seem a bit—'
'What?'
'Shaky. He thinks you could do with a rest.'
'From a man who works fourteen-hour days, that's a bit rich.'
There was a spark of anger in Ross's eyes. 'Just because you're divorced doesn't mean he's stopped caring about you. He's worried you're going to push yourself too hard and go under again.'
'If being appointed coroner is his idea of going under, I can't imagine what he thinks success would be. You know, Ross, perhaps your father is just a little bit jealous of me. I won't deny he's a great surgeon, well respected and all that, but it's uncanny how he always seems to notice when I've had my name in the paper.' She poured more mineral water into her glass, wishing it were wine. 'Shall we change the subject?'
'Is it something that happened to you?'
'What?'
'Dad says it sounds like post-traumatic stress disorder. Apparently sometimes it can be some tiny thing that sets up a reaction