Читать книгу Saving The Single Dad Doc - Louisa Heaton - Страница 11
Оглавление‘YOU’VE GOT YOUR phone in case I need you?’
‘Yes, Nanna.’
‘Your purse?’
‘Of course.’
‘You’ll call me if anything goes wrong?’
Bethan laughed at her nanna’s fussing. ‘Why would anything go wrong?’
Nanna fiddled with the pendant at her neck. ‘I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling about this.’
Bethan held out her arms and scooped her grandmother into a hug. She needed one. She’d been nervous these last few days as her starting day had got closer. And Nanna was still utterly convinced it was all a great big trick to humiliate her further.
‘It’ll be okay. Dr Brodie is a very nice man.’
‘Impossible! Brodie men are the worst.’
‘Not this one. He’s different.’
Nanna pulled back to look at her. ‘You believe that?’
She smiled. ‘I do. What happened between you and old Angus Brodie is ancient news.’
‘Maybe to you.’
Bethan picked up her briefcase. ‘You’re all right getting Grace to school?’
Nanna smiled. ‘Of course.’
‘And picking her up at three?’
‘Aye. I’ve a few orders to dye up today, but I’ll remember. I’m not senile, you know.’
‘I’ve told the school you’ll be picking her up from now on.’
Nanna leaned against the kitchen sink. ‘You’re stalling.’
‘I’m nervous.’
‘You’ll be absolutely fine. You’re a wonderful doctor, lassie. The people here in Gilloch are lucky to have you.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box tied with ribbon. ‘I want you to have this.’
‘What is it?’
‘They were your mother’s.’
Bethan opened the lid of the box and found inside a small pair of diamond earrings, sitting on a bed of red velvet. ‘They’re beautiful!’
‘Your father gave them to your mother after she had you. I should have given them to you long ago, after you had Grace, but they’re yours now.’
Bethan was touched. Such a wonderful gesture! She put them in and went to look in the mirror. Perfect.
‘Thank you, Nanna.’
Mhairi smiled. ‘Now, you go and show that Brodie boy who’s boss!’
* * *
Bethan felt a little odd, knowing that she was in his seat and he was in a smaller chair right next to her as he showed her the ins and outs of the computer system.
She’d not said much to her nanna over the weekend, but Dr Brodie had been in her thoughts more than she’d let on.
Nanna was right. He was a handsome man, and when she’d first walked into that interview room she’d almost stalled, her mouth drying upon her first sight of him—this tall Scottish hunk, unfolding his long, rangy figure from behind the desk and stretching out a hand for her to shake. She’d felt sure he would notice the tremble that had begun in her body in response to him.
And now he kept reaching across the desk to point things out on the computer and he smelt so good! It had been a long time since she had felt aware of another man, and having one who smelt so great sitting right beside her was throwing her concentration slightly. Irritating her as she tried to fight it.
‘So, if you want to print off some information about a condition, click on this box here, next to the diagnosis, and it links to a medical database. You see?’
He brought up an information sheet on scoliosis as an example.
She snapped back into professional mode. ‘Perfect. And if I want to look up information on medication...?’
‘Well, we have books, but if you click on that question mark next to the prescription box you can usually find what you need regarding the pharmacology.’
‘That’s wonderful. Thank you. It’s pretty similar to the last system I used.’
‘Any telephone calls with patients, any advice or queries, you mark them down in the patient notes—no matter how trivial. See the notepad icon? It all has to be logged. I find that helps with any possible discrepancies down the line, if they query anything.’
‘Well, I hope there won’t be any discrepancies. Not from me.’
‘Excellent. Well, I think you’re ready! Feel like meeting your first patient?’
She turned to look into his face, at those warm crystal-blue eyes of his that twinkled in his pale face, and felt a rush of heat hit her in the solar plexus.
Oh, boy, I’m in trouble!
‘I am.’
‘Well, just push that button there to call her in. Her name will come up on the screen in the waiting room.’
Bethan smiled, nervousness suddenly flooding her system. She adjusted her chair and let out a breath. Then pushed the button.
* * *
Mrs Percy was a sweet old lady who used a walker that she’d jazzed up with some fake flowers and pretty ribbons. She shuffled her way into the room and sat down with a satisfied sigh and a smile as she took in the two doctors facing her.
‘Two for the price of one, eh? Lucky me.’
Bethan smiled. She liked her already. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Percy?’
She’d already checked her screen and observed that apart from some arthritis in her hips and knees, Mrs Percy didn’t have much wrong with her. Blood pressure had been good on her last check and her cholesterol levels were low.
‘I want to do the Edinburgh Half-Marathon,’ she said, giving one firm nod as she delivered her surprising statement.
‘You do?’ Nothing could have surprised Bethan more. She’d maybe expected My knees are giving me some gip or I’m not sleeping well at night. Anything but what she’d actually said.
‘Aye, I do. And they tell you, don’t they—on the television and whatnot—that if you’re about to embark on a new training regime or exercise you should consult your doctor? So that’s why I’m here. Thought you’d better check me out so I don’t drop dead halfway around.’
Cameron laughed beside her. ‘Mrs Percy is our resident adrenaline junkie.’
Mrs Percy winked at him. ‘Well, adrenaline keeps you going, doesn’t it? I’ve seen those medical shows on TV, when someone’s about to cork it and they give them a shot of adrenaline. Brenda, I tell myself, you need some of that every day.’
Bethan nodded. Fair enough! ‘Okay...well, I guess we need to check you over, then. We’ll need to take your blood pressure, listen to your heart, take your pulse. All right?’
‘Aye, dear. You go for it.’ Mrs Percy rolled up the sleeve of her vast knitted cardigan to reveal a scrawny arm. ‘But I want a good answer, mind. I’ve got lots more living in me, and I haven’t abseiled down a building yet—or swam with sharks.’
‘You want to swim with sharks?’
‘Great white sharks! The meanest buggers of them all! Oh, aye!’
Mrs Percy’s blood pressure was normal. Which was impressive, seeing as she was talking about one of the greatest predators of all time and being stuck in a tiny cage next to one.
‘Well, you’re braver than me, Mrs Percy. I’m quite happy to keep my feet on solid ground.’
‘Och, that’s no way to live, dear. You have to be scared every day. Keeps you fresh. Keeps the blood pumping! You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Dr Brodie? What with your little foray into illness?’
Cameron gave a polite smile and nodded.
‘Illness is a mean old beast—we all know that—but it’s also the biggest wake-up call.’
‘Well, your BP and heart-rate are good. I think as long as you train sensibly and take your time there’s no reason why you shouldn’t enter the half-marathon if it’s really what you want to do.’
‘Och, that’s brilliant, Doctor. Thank you very much. This your first day, is it?’
Bethan glanced at Cameron and smiled. ‘It is. And you’re my first patient.’
‘Och, really? Do I get a prize?’
‘Just the prize of continued good health, Mrs Percy.’
Mrs Percy nodded. ‘Aye. ’tis a gift not given to all, but I’m taking full advantage of mine whilst I’ve got it. How are you feeling now, Dr Brodie?’
Cameron’s face seemed to flush slightly before he answered, and he wasn’t even looking at Bethan. ‘Much better, thank you.’
Bethan wondered what Cameron had been ill with. Probably a cold, or something. Maybe the flu? If he was back after a brief illness that might explain the dark circles.
She got up to walk Mrs Percy to the door and held it open for her.
Mrs Percy thanked her. ‘Reckon I’ll get myself a gold medal one day. Beat the clock.’
‘You win if you cross the line at the end, Mrs Percy. That should be your goal. Don’t worry about the clock.’
‘But the clock’s the whole point, Doctor. Time’s always against us.’
Bethan closed the door and turned to look at Cameron.
He smiled at her casually, guilelessly, as if he had nothing to hide, and she shrugged her worries away.
It had probably just been man-flu.
Nothing to worry about at all.
* * *
How many of his patients might give the game away?
That had been a close-run thing with Mrs Percy. She liked to talk...liked to gossip. Oddly, the people who talked non-stop never seemed to come to his surgery with sore throats or laryngitis. But a lot of people in Gilloch knew he’d had a run-in with cancer. They didn’t know all the details—he’d only shared those with direct family—but gossip and rumour were rife in a small place such as this.
He’d told everyone else it was over. He’d beaten it. Why upset them? Why put himself in a position of having everyone look at him with sympathy and pity? A dead man walking. They’d be throwing flowers at him before he was six feet under, and who wanted that?
His father had not taken the news of his prognosis well. Why would he? No one wanted to hear things like that. No parent wanted to hear that they would outlive their child, and that was exactly what he’d had to tell his own father.
‘They estimate I maybe have a year left.’
He’d almost not told him. The very idea of sitting down in the living room and having to utter those words had made him feel physically sick. He didn’t ever want to remind himself of the look on his father’s face when he had, silently wiping away his tears, his mouth grim as he looked away and gave one solitary sniff.
‘I’m going to leave the practice. I’m going to spend my time with Rosie and you, as much as I can.’
He could appreciate Mrs Percy’s outlook on life. You did have to grab every second of it. You didn’t realise how precious it was until someone told you there wasn’t as much left as you thought there was.
Everyone has a limited time. It’s just that some have more sand in their hourglass than others.
Bethan sat beside him, typing in the notes about Mrs Percy’s consultation, oblivious to his torment and secrets. Her fine fingers were flitting across the keyboard, and he noticed the way she gently bit her lower lip as she concentrated.
She’s pretty.
There was no point in telling anyone else the bad news. Sitting down and telling his family had been bad enough—he didn’t want to have to keep on repeating it. Seeing people he cared about breaking down and crying and having to be the one to comfort them. He needed his strength for himself.
So he’d lied. Told them the chemo had worked. The tumour was gone. It was all over. Life could carry on. Except he’d quite like a year’s sabbatical. Just to spend some time with Rosie. It had been a hard few months for her, watching her dad lose his hair and his strength.
Everyone at the practice had understood. They thought it was a marvellous idea, though they’d be sad not to see him every day.
He cleared the dark thoughts from his head. He didn’t need to linger on the thought of everyone else’s pain. He had a new mantra—make it all about Rosie. He wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t being selfish. But he needed to create distance from people now. They were all too close, all too friendly. He knew what it felt like to lose someone close, and it was horrible. Best to make it easier for everyone by being a little standoffish.
He liked what he’d seen of Bethan so far and she’d been right. But she did exude warmth and an easy-going nature, and he had no doubt he would have a problem keeping her away if she knew the truth. Bethan’s ease at being able to chat with her patient as if she’d known her for a long time took skill. If she found out about his glioma he just knew she wouldn’t let it go.
And hadn’t she been through this before? With her husband? What kind of cruel person would put someone as nice as her through that again?
He hated lying, but he needed to. It was self-preservation.
Cameron thought of all those people in his waiting room—all those familiar faces, all those people he had come to care for. People who would still be here after his time had come and gone.
Part of him didn’t want to go. Part of him was still rebelling at his diagnosis—physician, heal thyself—and part of him just wanted to lie down and have it all be done with.
He knew that was the depressive side of things. He had tablets for that. For the depression. His consultant had said they would help him come to terms with it. Be less of a shock to the system.
He wasn’t sure they were working. He spent far more time than he should wallowing in dark thoughts.
But who wouldn’t with a terminal diagnosis?
And why put other people through it when they didn’t have to?
It was best to just go quietly.
Let them sort it out after he was gone.
* * *
Her first morning of seeing patients was the usual kind of mix. Some were simply curious. Some turned up to see her about some spurious sore throat or trifling cough, just so they could go home and tell everyone else that they’d met Mhairi’s prodigal granddaughter.
She treated housemaid’s knee, an actual chest infection that needed antibiotics, a suspected urine infection and a clear case of pompholyx—which was an itchy, painful rash that appeared on the hands and feet. She examined two men complaining of bad backs—one with a shoulder injury after a fall in the garden onto a wooden picnic bench—and diagnosed a case of cellulitis.
She was enjoying herself immensely. Back in the job she loved. Seeing new people—people who would come to mean a lot to her.
She felt Cam’s presence behind her like a guardian angel, and he was being as good as his word, letting her be autonomous and get on with everything herself, only butting in when he had to—when there was something she wasn’t sure of on the computer, or to tell her where various equipment was stored in the consulting room.
At lunchtime, they stopped for something to eat.
‘Well, I think that was a successful morning!’ she said, smiling, happy at what she’d achieved. Happy at having been able to help people.
It had been so long since she’d had the experience of feeling she was actually curing someone instead of just obscuring their pain. She felt as if she was exactly where she needed to be.
‘Aye. You did well,’ Cameron said, before gathering up his jacket and bits and pieces.
Bethan followed him through to the staffroom. It wasn’t overly large. They were, after all, a small community with a tiny doctor surgery, but it was enough for everyone there. Cosy, comfortable. Apart from Janet, there was an office manager and two nurses. It was enough.
Someone had made a cake—coffee and walnut—and they each took a small slice.
‘So, how are you finding it, Doctor?’ asked Sarah, the senior nurse.
‘It’s been good, thank you. Everyone’s been so nice. And it’s good to feel useful again. Like I’m actually doing something. It’s great being a mum and staying at home, but after years of watching children’s television I was really beginning to feel like my brain was turning into mush.’
There was an odd silence then, and she wasn’t sure why. The staff seemed to look at Cameron, then at each other, before looking away and suddenly finding their cake extremely interesting, or sipping from a mug of tea.
What had she said? Was it what she’d said about staying at home to be a parent? Did they think she was implying that it wouldn’t be good for Cameron to do it? That he’d somehow stagnate at being at home? Perhaps they didn’t agree with his choice to leave them?
Okay. Tough crowd. But loyal to their boss, which I guess is nice.
‘You’re from Cornwall—is that right?’ asked Sarah, changing the subject.
Bethan smiled, thankful to the nurse for breaking the weird, awkward silence. ‘Yes, but I was born here in Gilloch. We moved away when I was a child.’
‘What’s it like to return home?’
It was odd. Because she hadn’t been able to return with her parents. They’d passed away just before her husband had. Being dealt three deaths in quick succession had almost destroyed her. But she’d had to remain strong after her parents had died because Ashley had been sick and deteriorating fast. He’d needed her, needed her strength. She wasn’t sure she’d ever grieved properly for her mum and dad. And then there’d been Grace to look after, too.
She’d become a ‘coper’ because there’d been no other way to be. These last few years it had been like living on autopilot—locked into her routine with Grace each day, because routine was secure and familiar. It made her feel safe. But then, when her grandmother Mhairi had got in touch, she’d realised just how lonely her grandmother was. Nanna had lost her only son, and Bethan and Grace were all she had left.
That yearning for family had increased with every passing day, so Bethan had sold her home in St Austell and moved back to live in Gilloch just a few short months ago. She hadn’t resented doing so. Hadn’t resented being needed again. It had been so good to see Nanna and Grace’s relationship flourish. And she hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed having someone love her back. Someone watching out for her.
‘It’s good to be back with family. You never know how long you have left with someone, do you?’
‘No.’ Sarah smiled at her and bit into her cake.
Being reminded of family made her think of Nanna. She’d no doubt be busy dyeing her wool, but she would be worrying about Bethan’s first day at work and would probably appreciate an update.
‘Excuse me—I need to make a phone call.’ She put down her cake and grabbed her mobile from her handbag, then headed outside.
As she stood outside the surgery, shivering slightly in the cool breeze, she found a bright smile filling her face. She was pleased with how well everything was going. Cameron Brodie was not the tyrant her grandmother believed. In fact he was quite polite. Reserved... Kept his distance...
Smelt great...
‘Hey, it’s me.’
‘Hello, my lovely, how’s your first day going?’
Mhairi sounded genuinely interested. Also concerned and fretful. Here, at last, was someone who was worried about her feelings.
‘It’s good.’
‘Really? Och, I’m so pleased for you.’
‘How’s Ye Olde Dyeworks?’ That was the name of Nanna’s wool business.
‘I’m up to my armpits in aubergine and turquoise dye, but it’s coming out well. What about you? Had to lance any boils today?’
‘No, not yet. They’re probably saving that for procedure day. They don’t want to scare me off too soon.’
‘Well, of course they don’t. I was thinking of making your old favourite—custard tarts—for dessert tonight. Fancy that?’
Bethan smiled, remembering the small round tarts her nanna had made for her when she was a little girl. Sprinkled with nutmeg and melting in the mouth with soft, buttery pastry.
‘I haven’t had those since I was little. They sound great. Thank you.’
‘Anything for you, lassie.’
‘I’d do anything for you, too.’
* * *
Cameron helped clear up the lunch mess, put a cover over the rest of the cake and then headed back to his room to await afternoon surgery.
He was surprised to see Bethan already there. ‘I didn’t know you’d come back in. Have you had time to eat?’
‘I’m not that hungry. Running on adrenaline.’
He wanted to make a comment about her looking after herself better, but held it in. She wasn’t his concern. He had his own health to worry about. But he felt awkward enough to say something.
‘Everything all right?’
She smiled brightly. ‘Of course!’
‘Good. I’m glad to hear that.’
His mind raced to think about who she might have called. Mhairi? Her daughter’s school?
‘Gilloch Infants’ School is very good.’
She seemed puzzled by his comment, so he guessed she hadn’t called the school, after all.
‘Yes, it seemed to be when we did the tour.’
He nodded, studying her. Then he looked away. She was one of those beautiful women men couldn’t help but stare at. But she was so beautiful it was difficult to tear his eyes away. He could easily get lost in the soft curves of her face. Her lips, her cheekbones, the downward slope of her nose. The way her hair fell in waves.
Everything about her said soft.
His headache began to return—probably because he was allowing himself to become irritated by the track of his thought-processes.
She looks soft, but she had to be strong, right?
She’d nursed her husband through terminal cancer. This was a new start in her life. A new chapter. She looked capable, bright and optimistic. Where had she found that strength?
She told me in her interview that she gets attached quickly, that she gets emotional, but that to her it’s a strength, not a weakness.
Perhaps she turned all her supposed weaknesses into strengths? Put a positive spin on everything?
He knew it would be best if he just oversaw these next two weeks and then slipped away quietly to live the rest of his life with Rosie. That was what he wanted now. An uncomplicated life. Living with his daughter and bringing her joy whilst he still could. That was who should be his focus. Rosie. Not Bethan.
‘Ready for the afternoon?’ he asked.
She nodded, her eyes bright and gleaming. ‘I am!’
Her beauty struck him again. How noble-looking she was. Even though she’d been through some terrible times, had lost her parents and her husband, she still managed to emit kindness and positivity.
Cam looked out through the window, seeing the heather-covered hills behind the surgery, the dark mountains beyond those. In the slightly grey sky he saw birds circling, their wings buffeted by the wind. Life was beautiful. He should take a page out of Bethan’s book and remain optimistic. See the good stuff in life rather than focusing on the bad.
The headaches weren’t too bad right now—the painkillers controlled them—and he was able to sleep. The tumour hadn’t yet encroached into his optic nerve, so he still had time to see that beauty. To remember it for when the time came that his sight was taken from him towards the end.
He sat in his chair as the next patient came in. Caitriona MacDonald. She’d been born deaf and had learnt how to lip-read.
He sat back and observed Bethan checking out Caitriona. She did everything he would have done. She was thorough, and caring, and once again it made him see that even though she had been his only candidate for the post Bethan was absolutely the one he would have chosen even if there’d been a choice of hundreds.
She was a people person and, yes, everyone did matter to her. She wanted to do her very best for everyone she saw. Leaving no stone unturned, she checked everything she needed to. There was no slacking. No shortcuts. She did it all.
He felt a sudden need to tell her everything. To just blurt it all out.
To have her look at me like that—the way she’s looking and listening to Caitriona.
But then she’d treat him as a patient, wouldn’t she? And he didn’t want to be the weak one here.
He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.
He didn’t want her to care for him as he slowly deteriorated. He didn’t want her to feel that she was failing again—because doctors always hoped to cheat death if they could.
She’d had enough death in her short life, and she had real patients to care for. Patients who could be cured. Let her concentrate all her efforts on them. She could actually do something for them.
Bethan was concluding that Caitriona might have an inner ear infection, and she prescribed some antibiotics and got a promise that Caitriona would return in three weeks to let her know how she’d got on.
They waved their patient goodbye and he watched, fascinated, as Bethan inputted her notes and observations. Her head was bent over the keyboard, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips gently parted as she bit her bottom lip.
He smiled at the already familiar gesture and felt a pang. Of something. As he looked at her, studied her whilst he could, he realised something else that was disturbing.
I’m attracted to her.
The thought made him smile. He almost chuckled.
The human body was an amazing thing.
The laws of attraction never stopped working. Not until the heart itself ceased beating.
