Saving The Single Dad Doc

‘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.

CHAPTER THREE

CAMERON LEFT FOR home exhausted. He’d had no idea just how tiring it was to sit in a chair all day and do nothing except observe someone. And, because he knew how specifically aware he was to Bethan’s presence, he’d been determined not to observe her too closely. Noticing her beautiful eyes and her smile was not the kind of observation he wanted to make.

He was glad to make it to the end of the day and go and collect Rosie from her after-school club. His daughter brought joy into his heart every time he saw her, and renewed his strength and determination.

‘How was school?’

‘Great! I played with my new friend Grace today.’

Bethan’s daughter.

‘Really?’

‘And, look—I made a caterpillar!’

She ran to fetch her creation from the Art Corner. She had indeed made a caterpillar, from the remains of green cardboard egg cartons, stuck together in a line and painted garish colours.

‘Wow! That’s fabulous!’

‘We’re learning about bugs.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Not the bugs that you have to heal people from.’

He smiled. ‘Ah...’

They went home and he made her some dinner. And once she’d had a bath he settled into his favourite part of the day with his daughter. Storytime.

There was nothing he loved more than being able to sit and read with her, making up silly voices and discussing the characters and what they thought was going to happen. Rosie never ceased to amaze him with the insight she had for such a young girl. And his time with her was precious.

How many more stories would he get to read for her? Would they even finish this long book? What if the tumour damaged his optic nerve soon and he could no longer read? Would she sit upstairs alone? Trying to read by herself?

She’ll be alone someday.

That thought almost did him in daily. Rosie was so young. She’d already lost her mother, and now she was going to lose her father, too. Life wasn’t fair. But he knew he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the injustice of it all. That way madness lay. His time was short—he couldn’t waste it on self-pity. It wasn’t how he wanted his daughter to remember him.

He knew that at some point he would have to start letting her stay with his father a bit more, in preparation for when she’d have to live there permanently—after he was gone.

His dad was already trying to make up a room for her to stay in. His old bedroom was being converted from his father’s home office. The walls had recently been stripped of the old blue wallpaper and Rosie had picked out a pretty peaches-and-cream pattern she wanted.

He wasn’t sure that Rosie understood what was going to happen eventually. Talking to his child about his death was impossible. How much could she truly understand? And was it right to burden her in advance? Instead he’d pretended that he was going to ‘go away’. They were trying to make the transition as easy for her as they could, making her new room at his father’s a fun thing.

He pointed at the book they were reading. ‘You know how in the story Harry lives with his aunt and uncle?’

Rosie nodded.

‘Because his own parents aren’t around any more?’

Another nod. ‘They’re dead,’ said Rosie.

‘Well, you’ll be doing that one day. Living with Grandpa Doug?’

She seemed to think about it. ‘But I won’t be in the cupboard under the stairs, will I? I’m having my own room.’

‘That’s right.’ He smiled.

‘And Grandpa Doug is nice to me. Not like Harry’s family.’

‘Grandpa Doug is very nice. And he loves you loads.’

‘And you’ll be gone away?’

He swallowed hard. ‘That’s right. I won’t be able to come back, but you’ll be able to see me in here.’ He touched the side of her head. ‘And in here.’ He pointed at where her heart was.

Rosie seemed to think about this for a while. Then, ‘Who’ll read to me at night?’

‘Grandpa Doug will.’

‘But he doesn’t do the voices.’

Cameron kissed the top of her head and smiled to himself, loving it that her greatest concern was the right voices for her story. If that was her greatest worry, then it would be fine. He was happy with that. He could carry all the other worries by himself.

That was how it should be anyway. She was too young to be burdened by the world. And he didn’t want to tell his daughter he was going to die. How could he?

‘Right—hush, now. One more chapter and then it’s sleepy time, okay?’

‘Okay, Daddy.’

And she snuggled into his side and listened until she fell fast asleep.

* * *

It was raining, and the roads were slick with water and puddles. Beneath the endless grey sky Bethan parked her car, right outside the surgery door, ready to do a day of home visits after she’d collected the medical files and any equipment she might need.

She liked it that the practice had a whole day to do home visits. Not every practice offered this service any more, but she’d always enjoyed doing them. You didn’t always get to understand a person’s home-life and true situation from an eight-minute consultation in the surgery, so it was good to see people in their own environment. And there were quite a few people who couldn’t get to the surgery, so it was a worthwhile opportunity for them all.

She merrily chirped a hello to Janet on Reception.

‘Good morning, Dr Monroe! How are you today?’

‘Good, thank you. How are you?’

‘Bonny, Doctor, always bonny.’

She smiled and passed on through to the office to collect her schedule.

Cameron was already there, checking the files off against a list. He looked up when he saw her and she was struck by how pale he looked today. He was pale anyway—the standard complexion for someone with such beautiful red hair—but today that paleness had an ashen quality to it. And the shadows beneath his eyes looked darker than they had before.

Had he had a bad night’s sleep? Was he still recovering from that bout of flu?

‘Morning, Dr Brodie.’

‘Cam, please.’ He smiled. ‘We’ve got time for a brief cuppa before we head out. Can I make you one?’

‘Oh, thank you. That would be lovely.’

She’d managed to make a cup of tea first thing that morning, but she’d only had a couple of sips, in her rush to get Grace ready for school, and then her nanna had asked her to help bring down some wool skeins from the spare room she used as a dye room—she needed to get them off in the post. She’d spent so much time running around her tea had gone cold and there hadn’t been time to make a fresh one.

She sighed with delight as he passed her a hot, steaming mug. ‘Perfect.’

‘We’ve got twelve house calls to make today—which doesn’t sound much, but a lot of these patients can talk for ever, so we’ll need to keep an eye on the time.’

‘All right. Anything in particular I should know about?’

He raised an eyebrow and looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, one of the patients is my grandfather, Angus Brodie. He can be a bit of a...a curmudgeon.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.