Читать книгу Neurosurgeon . . . and Mum! - Kate Hardy - Страница 8

ON Thursday morning, just as the rush hour ended, Amy left London for Norfolk. By lunchtime, she’d reached the large seaside town where her uncle had lived ever since Amy was tiny. The place where she’d spent many happy summers. The place that might just help her to sort her head out.

She parked on the gravelled area in front of Marsh End House; there was no other car there, so she assumed that the locum was on duty at the surgery, unless maybe he didn’t have a car. She went to the fifth large cobble stone in the flower border to the right of the front door and lifted it; as she expected, the front door key sat underneath it. She let herself in and heard a volley of excited barks from the kitchen; as soon as she opened the door, Buster nearly knocked her flying.

She knelt down on the floor and made a fuss of him. ‘You’re meant to be a staid old dog, not a bouncy pup,’ she admonished him with a smile. ‘Look at all the grey in your face. And you’re still just like you were twelve years ago.’

Buster responded by resting his front paws on her shoulders and licking her face enthusiastically.

‘You big old softie,’ she said. ‘OK, let me bring my stuff in and have a cup of tea and then I’ll take you for a run.’

His tail thumped madly, and she grinned. ‘It’s so good to be home.’ Funny, Cassie and Joe’s place had always been home to her—more so than her parents’ house in London or her own flat, even. Marsh End House was a Victorian Gothic masterpiece, built of red brick with arched windows, lots of pointed gables and an elaborate turret that had been the centre of the games she’d played with Beth and her two younger brothers in those long, hot summers. Games of wizards and princesses and magic castle—followed by sandcastle competitions on the beach, games of cricket and football and exploring the rockpools at low tide. Here was where she’d always been happiest.

And best of all was the kitchen, right in the heart of the house. Where scraped knees had been washed, kissed better and covered with a dressing; the cake tin had always been full; and, as they had grown older, the kettle had always been hot and Cassie always there to listen and not judge.

So many wonderful memories.

Would they be enough to heal her now?

There was an envelope with her name on it propped against the biscuit tin in the middle of the kitchen table. Recognising her aunt’s handwriting, Amy opened it.

Have made a bed for you in your old room.

In the turret. Fabulous. She’d be overlooking the marshes towards the sea, her favourite view in the world, and the sun would wake her every morning. And maybe here she wouldn’t have the nightmares.

Tom will introduce himself and Perdy to you at some point.

So the locum was married? Well, that wasn’t a problem; the house was big enough for them not to get in each other’s way.

Make sure you eat properly.

She couldn’t help smiling. The first thing Cassie did to everyone was to feed them. Though Amy knew her aunt had a point; she hadn’t been able to summon up the energy to make a proper meal for months. She’d been living on sandwiches and canteen food, and picking even at those. Maybe the sea air would help to bring back her appetite.

There was a postscript in Joe’s atrocious handwriting: if she found herself at a loose end, there was a box in his study with some of Joseph Rivers’s casebooks. She might want to take a look through them and put them in some sort of order. There were more in a box in the attic, if she wanted to bring them down.

Joseph had been the first surgeon in the family, back in the late 1820s; for years both Joe and her father had talked of sorting out his papers and doing something with the casebooks. But her father had been offered a professorship in cardiac surgery in the States and Joe had been busy with his GP practice, so it had never happened. Once or twice Carrie had suggested that maybe the next generation would like to do it but, the last time the subject had been raised, Beth had been busy carving out a career in computing, Joey and Martin had been studying for their finals and Amy had just switched specialties to neurosurgery, which had absorbed every second of her time. And so nothing had ever happened with Joseph’s papers.

Maybe looking through his papers might help her remember why she’d become a doctor in the first place, Amy thought. Or give her a clue as to where her path led now. Because, right now, she had no idea what was going to happen with the rest of her life. It was like staring into a tunnel without even a pinprick of light at the end. Even thinking about it made her feel as if she were suffocating in blackness. And she felt so very, very alone.

She lugged her suitcase upstairs to her room and left it at the end of the bed before heading back to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She was halfway through a cup of tea, a sandwich and the cryptic crossword in the newspaper she’d bought on impulse that morning when the front door opened.

Buster gave a sharp bark to warn her that someone was there, and then a warmer, more welcoming woof, and skidded up the hallway to greet the person who’d just walked in.

‘Hey, Buster. Go find your Frisbee and we’ll have ten minutes in the garden.’

This must be Tom, the locum, Amy thought. He had a nice voice, deep and calm with the slightest trace of a London accent.

Just as she registered it, he walked into the kitchen. ‘Hello. You must be Amy. I’m Tom Ashby.’

He was in his early thirties, she’d guess, around her own age; he had a shock of dark wavy hair that he’d brushed back from his forehead, very fair skin, and hazel eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses. His smile was polite enough, but there was a seriousness to him and an intensity that made her wonder what he’d look like if he let himself relax and laughed. Whether his mouth would soften into a sexy grin and his eyes would crinkle at the corners.

Not that it was any of her business. She already knew that Tom was unavailable; in any case, relationships weren’t her thing. Since the wreckage of her engagement to Colin, ten years before, she’d kept all dates light and very, very casual; she was just fine and dandy on her own.

‘Hello.’ Amy shook Tom’s proffered hand. ‘Cassie left me a note. She said you’d introduce yourself and Perdy at some point.’

‘Perdy’s at school.’

So Tom’s wife was a teacher. ‘I see,’ Amy said, giving him a polite smile and hoping that by the time Perdy came home she’d have managed to find a stock of small talk.

Amy Rivers was nothing like Tom had imagined. For a start, she was gorgeous. Too thin, and there was a pallor in her face to go with the bagginess in her clothes that told him she hadn’t been looking after herself properly, but she was still beautiful. Her sea-green eyes reminded him of Joe’s; her dark hair was cut very short and yet managed to be feminine rather than making her look aggressive or butch. Her mouth was a perfect rosebud; it made him want to reach out and trace her lower lip with the tip of his finger.

Not that he was going to give in to the impulse.

Apart from the fact that Amy Rivers could already be involved with someone and wouldn’t welcome his advances, there was Perdy to consider. She’d had enough upheaval in her life, and the last year had been seriously rough. She really didn’t need her father forgetting himself and behaving like a teenager. So Tom knew he had to treat Amy just as if she were another colleague, even though they didn’t actually work together. Polite enough to avoid any friction, but distant enough not to get involved. Keep everything to small talk.

‘How was your journey?’ he asked politely.

‘Fine, thanks. I got stuck behind a tractor three miles out of town, but that’s par for the course around here at this time of year.’ She indicated her mug. ‘The kettle’s hot. Can I get you a coffee or something?’

‘That’d be nice. Thanks.’

‘How do you like it?’

‘Just milk, no sugar, please.’

She switched the kettle on and shook instant coffee into a mug. ‘So Buster’s suckered you into playing Frisbee with him. Have you taught him to drop it yet?’

‘I wish. He normally leaves it under the trees at the bottom of the garden and waits for me to fetch it.’

‘You’d never believe his pedigree’s full of field trial champions, would you?’ Amy finished making the coffee and handed the mug to Tom.

His fingers brushed against hers and desire zinged down his spine.

Not good. It was the first time he’d felt that pull of attraction since Eloise. Given how badly that had ended, he wasn’t prepared to take a second risk—even if Amy Rivers turned out to be single.

‘Cassie says you’re staying for a while,’ he said, deliberately putting the whole length of the table between them. Not that it stopped him noticing her face was heart shaped. Or how fine her fingers were, wrapped around her mug of tea. No ring on her left hand: not that that meant anything nowadays. You didn’t have to be married to be committed. But she had beautiful hands. Delicate hands. An artist’s hands, maybe? Neither Cassie nor Joe had told him much about Amy. Just that she was their niece, she lived in London, and she was taking some time out from her job. Cassie had looked worried, which implied that there was a problem with Amy’s job, but Tom hadn’t pressed for details; it wasn’t his place to ask.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way,’ she said, her face shuttering.

And now he’d put her back up. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to suggest that you would. There’s plenty of room for all of us. I was just thinking, maybe we could all eat together. It seems a bit pointless, cooking separately. But that doesn’t mean I expect you to do all the cooking,’ he added hastily. ‘Maybe we can share the chores.’

‘Sure.’ She still looked slightly wary: a look he’d seen all too often on his daughter’s face. Meaning that she wanted space.

‘Look, I’ll go and wear Buster out a bit, then I’ve got a couple of house calls to make,’ he said.

‘You’re not stopping for lunch?’

‘I’ll get something later.’

She bit her lip. ‘Look, I meant it about not getting in your way. And don’t feel you’re obliged to entertain me or anything.’

‘Ditto,’ he said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, we’re sharing the house and looking after the dog for Joe and Cassie. And we’re sharing chores because it makes sense. It’s more efficient.’

She was silent for a moment, and then she nodded. ‘Agreed. Well, I ought to stop lazing around and unpack. I’ll catch you later.’

‘What about your sandwich?’ he asked. She’d eaten less than half of it, he noticed.

‘Did Cassie ask you to watch my eating?’ Amy asked.

He felt himself flush. ‘No. Just that I didn’t want you to feel I was pushing you out of the kitchen before you’d finished.’ Was that what the problem was? Amy had some kind of eating disorder and it had caused her to have a breakdown at work? In which case she must have interpreted his suggestion of eating together as pushing her, too. This was going to be a minefield.

To his surprise, she smiled. ‘Thank you. And, no, I don’t have any kind of eating disorder.’

He groaned. ‘Did I say that out loud? I apologise.’

‘No, you just have an expressive face,’ Amy said dryly. ‘I admit, I haven’t been eating properly lately, because I’ve been busy at work and when you’re under pressure and rushed for time it’s easier to grab fast food. That, or wait until you get home and it’s so late that you’re too tired to bother with more than a bit of toast. But you don’t have to worry that you’ll starve when it’s my turn to make dinner. Cassie taught me to cook.’

Why hadn’t Amy’s mother taught her? Tom wondered.

Or maybe Amy’s mother was the kind of mother that his wife had been. Distant. Feeling trapped. Wanting to do her own thing and wishing that she’d never got married and had a child to hold her back.

‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be prying,’ he said. And he certainly didn’t want to answer any questions about his own past. ‘How about I cook for us tonight?’

‘You’ve been at work.’

He shrugged. ‘And you’ve had a long drive, which I’d say is more tiring—especially as I know there are roadworks on the motorway and you’ve probably been stuck in traffic for a while. It’s no problem. Really.’

‘Then I’ll wash up,’ she said.

‘Deal.’ Though he didn’t offer to shake on it. Because he had a feeling that once he touched Amy Rivers, he’d want more. A lot more. And it would get way, way too complicated.

She’d vanished by the time he’d finished playing with Buster. He made himself a sandwich, checked the dog’s water bowl was full then headed out on his house calls.

‘I hear young Amy’s back,’ Mrs Poole, his first patient, said as he removed the dressing to check the ulcer just above her ankle.

He looked up at her, surprised. ‘Wow. The grapevine’s fast around here.’ Amy couldn’t have arrived more than a couple of hours ago.

‘Well, a car with a registration plate saying “AMY” parked outside Marsh End House has to be hers, doesn’t it?’ She shrugged. ‘Not that she’s been down here for a while now. Funny that she decides to turn up this week, with Joe and Cassie just off to Australia.’

Tom didn’t appreciate gossip about himself and he had a feeling that Amy would be the same. ‘She’s house- and dog-sitting for her aunt and uncle.’

‘I thought that was what you were supposed to be doing.’

‘You know what they say. Many hands make light work,’ Tom said with a smile, and concentrated on checking the ulcer for granulation.

‘Used to spend every summer here, she did. Too quiet by miles for the first week, but by the end of the summer she was getting as grubby as the boys and plotting all kinds of things with young Beth.’

Too quiet. Just as his own daughter was. But Amy had had her cousins to help her out of her shell. Perdy had nobody except him, and so far he was a big fat failure.

He changed the subject swiftly. ‘I’m really pleased with the way you’re healing. So you’ve been keeping your leg up, as I suggested?’

‘Yes. Though I hate sitting still.’ Mrs Poole tutted. ‘I’ve never been one to sit and do nothing.’

‘Gentle exercise is fine,’ Tom said. ‘But if you overdo it, the ulcer will take longer to heal. You don’t have to sit around all the time, just make sure you rest with your leg up for half an hour, three or four times a day, to take the pressure off your veins.’ He cleaned the ulcer gently then put a fresh dressing on, topping it with an elastic bandage. ‘Can you circle your ankle for me, Mrs Poole, so I can check that bandage isn’t too tight for you?’

She did so, and he smiled. ‘That’s fine. I’ll come and see you tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, if it starts to hurt more or your foot feels hotter or colder, or you notice it’s changed colour, ring the surgery straight away—please don’t wait.’ In his experience, elderly people fell into two camps: the ones who were lonely, desperately wanted company and would ring up if they so much as cut their finger; and those who didn’t want to make a fuss and would leave it until their condition had really deteriorated before they admitted that they needed help. Mrs Poole was definitely one of the latter, or her ulcer wouldn’t have spread so badly.

‘I’ll be fine, Doctor,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

He rather thought he did. ‘I want a promise from you,’ he said, giving her his most charming smile, ‘or I’ll have to go and chat to your neighbours and ask them to set up a roster to check on you every couple of hours between now and my next visit.’

‘You can’t bother them with that!’ She looked aghast.

‘Promise me, then.’ He squeezed her hand gently. ‘I appreciate you want to be independent, which is great, but there is such a thing as being too independent. If you catch a medical condition in the early stages, it’s usually easier and quicker to treat it—and it won’t hurt you as much.’

‘I’m not like that Betty Jacklin—straight on the phone to the surgery, convinced she’s got a brain tumour, every time she has a headache.’ Mrs Poole rolled her eyes.

Tom hid a smile. He’d already been warned about Betty Jacklin, but hadn’t come across her yet. ‘I can’t possibly comment on other patients. I know you wouldn’t call me for something little. But I also know you’re the sort who’s too stubborn to ring when she really ought to.’ He squeezed her hand gently again. ‘And guess which kind of patient I lose more sleep over?’

Mrs Poole sighed. ‘All right. I promise I’ll call you.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Do you want me to make you a cup of tea before I go?’

She shook her head. ‘You don’t have time for that, Doctor.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Actually, I do.’ It would only take a couple of minutes. And if it meant getting her to drink a bit more, he was all for it. Too many of his elderly patients didn’t drink enough and ended up with bladder in-fections—which, if not treated fast enough, led to fever and confusion and being cared for in hospital until the antibiotics did their job, not to mention a huge worry for their families. He believed in pre-empting things where he could. ‘So, if I remember rightly, that’s a dash of milk and half a teaspoon of sugar?’

‘You’re a good lad, Dr Ashby,’ Mrs Poole said. ‘And, with your looks, you must have the women lining up for you.’

Tom just smiled. He hadn’t noticed any line of women—and even if there was one, he wasn’t interested. His daughter came first. And he’d never put himself in the position where his heart could be broken again.

At half past three, Amy was sitting at Joe’s desk, starting to look through the box of Joseph’s papers, when Buster left his position at her feet and bounded through the door, tail wagging.

Clearly Tom was home.

She could hear a child talking. Odd: Tom hadn’t mentioned anything about a child. Unless maybe his wife was doing some extra tuition and one of her pupils had come back with her?

Better get the introductions over with, she thought, and headed out of the office. She followed the sound of voices to the kitchen, noting the child’s rucksack hanging up in the hallway. And she blinked in surprise when she walked into the kitchen. There was a little girl sitting at the table—around eight years old, Amy judged—with a glass of milk and a book in front of her. She had Tom’s colouring and that same shy, slightly hesitant smile.

Buster pattered across the tiles to her, alerting Tom to the fact that he and the little girl were no longer alone. He turned round and smiled at Amy. ‘Hello, Amy. Let me introduce you. This is Perdita—everyone calls her Perdy.’

Perdy was clearly Tom’s daughter, then, not his wife.

Carrie hadn’t mentioned anyone else. So where was the child’s mother? Was Tom divorced? But Amy knew it wasn’t that common for fathers to be given custody of the children, which meant that the break-up must’ve been messy with a capital M.

No wonder Perdy looked quiet and withdrawn.

Amy remembered another little girl being like that, too. A little girl whose father had been awarded custody. A little girl she’d grown to love so much, as if Millie were her own daughter rather than her intended stepchild-to-be.

But then Colin had suggested that they move to the States, to let Millie see more of her mother. And while Amy had been tying up loose ends in England, thinking that she was going to start a new life with the man and child she loved, Colin had changed his mind. He’d called Amy with the news that he and his ex had decided to give their marriage another go, for their daughter’s sake. That had been hard enough to take; but then he’d added that he thought that a clean break would be the best thing for Millie.

Amy knew it had been the right thing to do, for the little girl’s sake. But it had ripped her world apart, and she’d retreated into work afterwards, concentrating on her career rather than her private life.

Which had worked just fine—until her career had gone so badly wrong, too.

OK, so this wasn’t quite the same. She wasn’t in any kind of relationship with Tom Ashby. But, right now, she was bone tired and she just didn’t have the strength to help anyone else.

Be polite, smile, but keep your distance, Amy told herself. It isn’t your job to fix this. ‘Hello, Perdy,’ she said, staying exactly where she was.

‘Perdy, this is Miss Rivers.’

Miss rather than Doctor. Did he know that she was a qualified surgeon? Or hadn’t Joe and Carrie told him that she was a medic of any kind? Not that it made much difference. She wasn’t a neurosurgeon any more.

‘Hello, Miss Rivers,’ Perdy said dutifully.

That sounded so stuffy and formal. Completely not how Amy was. For a moment, she was tempted to offer her own first name; then her common sense kicked in. Keep your distance. Formality would help her to do that. She gave the little girl a polite smile. ‘Hello.’

‘Joe and Carrie are Miss Rivers’s aunt and uncle. She’s staying here for a while,’ Tom explained.

Perdy looked worried for a moment, and then carefully made her face blank. ‘Does that mean we have to go and find somewhere else to live?’

It sounded as though they’d moved around a bit, and Amy could remember being much happier here as a child because she was settled for the summer instead of dragging round after her parents with nobody to play with. Guilt flooded through her. What was the old saying? What goes around comes around. Joe and Cassie had been kind to her. She really ought to offer the same kindness to Perdy. It wasn’t the little girl’s fault that her presence brought back memories of Millie and a sense of loss that Amy would prefer to suppress.

‘No, darling, it just means we’re sharing the house,’ Tom said, ruffling her hair.

‘So I can still play with Buster?’ Perdy asked.

‘Absolutely,’ Tom reassured her.

Amy should’ve guessed that Perdy would respond to the dog in the same way that Amy herself had responded to Joe and Cassie’s dogs as a child. Guilt twisted in her stomach again. But this wasn’t her problem and she had enough to deal with. She had nothing to offer a lonely little girl. Right now, she had nothing to offer anyone.

‘Are you here on a summer holiday, Miss Rivers?’ Perdy asked.

‘Sort of.’

‘Perdy, you’re asking too many questions,’ Tom said quietly.

The little girl flushed, and shut up.

Amy raised her eyebrows at Tom. OK, so she didn’t particularly want to talk about why she was here, but he could have just distracted his daughter instead of putting her down like that.

He looked right back at her, and Amy found herself flushing as deeply as Perdy when she read the message in his eyes. Just who did Amy Rivers think she was, to judge him?

He had a point. She hadn’t exactly helped matters, had she? And he was clearly trying to do his best with his little girl.

‘I’ll, um, let you get on,’Amy said. ‘I just wanted to introduce myself, that was all. See you later.’ She fled for the sanctuary of Joe’s office.

Though not before she heard Perdy ask Tom, ‘Did she go because of me?’ And she could almost see the wobble in the little girl’s lower lip, the distress on her face.

‘No, honey, of course not. She’s just got things to do,’ Tom said.

Which made Amy feel even more horrible inside. She’d have to find some middle ground. Surely she could be kind to the little girl, without taking down the barriers round her heart?

She’d make the effort, later.

Just not right now, when all the memories had come back to shred her heart all over again.