CHAPTER FIVE: Christine
Manson wrote several letters, but he tore them all up again. He felt angry with himself because he had lost his temper. He decided not to report the schoolteacher. He tried to forget the matter, but he could not dismiss Christine Barlow from his mind.
Two weeks later, when he was walking down the street, Mrs Bramwell called out to him: ‘Oh, Dr Manson! I want to see you. Will you come to dinner tonight? I’ve invited three other very nice people – Mr and Mrs Watkins from the mine, and the schoolteacher, Christine Badow.’
Manson s face lit up with pleasure. ‘Well – of course I’ll come, Mrs Bramwell. Thank you for asking me.’
For the rest of the day, he could think of nothing but the fact that he was going to meet Christine Barlow again. After the evening surgery, he hurried round to the Bramwells’ house. He felt very awkward. He did not dare even to look at Christine during dinner, and he did not address a single remark to her after the meal. He wanted to speak to her, but he did not have the courage to do so. But when the dinner party ended, he spoke to her as she was leaving the house.
‘Miss Barlow, may I take you home?’ he asked.
‘Thank you, but Mr and Mrs Watkins have already offered to take me,’ she told him.
Andrew felt very disappointed. ‘I want to say that I’m sorry!’ he said suddenly. ‘I behaved very badly. Your decision about that boy was right. I admire you for it. Good night!’
He did not wait for her answer. He turned round and walked down the road. For the first time for many days, he felt happy.
Andrew had never been in love before. He was afraid to fall in love – afraid that it might get in the way of his work. But he could not control his feelings for Christine. He wanted with all his heart to see her again.
Then, one day in May, he received a note from her inviting him to supper.
On the following evening, he almost ran to the house where Christine lived. He arrived early – before the Watkins, who had also been invited.
Christine gave him a warm welcome. He was so pleased that he could hardly speak.
‘It’s been a lovely day, hasn’t it?’ he said, as he followed her into the living room.
‘Lovely,’ she agreed. ‘I went for such a nice walk this afternoon.’
She sat down. How nice it was to be here with her! Her room, full of her own possessions, was pleasant and comfortable. He felt relaxed, and began to ask her questions about herself.
She answered him simply. Her mother had died when she was fifteen; and, four years later, her father and brother had been killed in an accident in their coal mine. Now she had no relatives. ‘People were kind to me,’ she said. ‘Mr and Mrs Watkins were especially kind. I came to work at the school here.’ She paused. ‘But I’m like you – I still feel strange, a little lonely, here.’
He looked at her. ‘It’s easy to feel lonely here. I often wish that I had somebody to talk to.’
She smiled. ‘What do you want to talk about?’
He turned red. ‘Oh, my work, I suppose. I seem to have so many problems,’ he explained.
‘Do you mean that you have difficult cases?’
‘No – not really.’ He paused. ‘When I came to Drineffy, I imagined that a doctor’s life would be very pleasant; but now I am discovering that it is far from that. The system is all wrong. For example, a patient comes to the surgery for a bottle of medicine and is given coloured water! It isn’t right! Doctors don’t take enough trouble to find out what is wrong with a patient before treating him. They are always in such a hurry!’
Christine was about to answer when the doorbell rang. She rose, saying: ‘I hope that you will tell me more about this another time.’
Mr Watkins and his wife came in, and almost at once they sat down to supper. It was a good meal, and nicely served. After supper Mr Watkins told stories which made them all laugh. The evening passed quickly. When Andrew looked at his watch he saw, to his surprise, that it was nearly 11 o’clock.
Sadly, he rose to leave. He thanked Christine, who went with him to the door. ‘Please can I see you again?’ He paused. ‘Will you – Christine, will you Come out with me one evening?’
She smiled. ‘Well – I might!’
He wanted to kiss her. He held her hand for a moment, turned, and ran down the path on his way home. Oh! She was a lovely girl! And he had called her Christine!