Just a Family Doctor

‘I had spots and puppy fat,’ she said bluntly.

He chuckled. ‘Rubbish. You were lovely. You were just young, and I was a guest in your parents’ house.’

‘And now?’ she asked without pausing to think of the consequences.

His smile softened. ‘Now I think we’re on the same playing field. We’re both adults, we’re both available—why not just see what happens?’

Excitement tingled along her veins, and her legs threatened to give way. Astonishingly, she was speechless.

He bent his head and kissed her again, just lightly, and then winked. ‘Go on, go inside before I change my mind and forget I’m supposed to be a gentleman.’

She was almost tempted, but a belated sense of propriety prevailed and she slipped her key in the lock, twisted it and opened the door.

‘Goodnight, Mark—and thank you for a lovely evening.’

‘My pleasure. Happy birthday.’

And, blowing her a kiss, he turned on his heel and strode up the path and across the street towards the hospital.

When he was out of sight she closed the door, sagged back against it and sighed luxuriously.

‘That was a tender farewell,’ Lucy said, whipping open the sitting room door just next to her.

She felt colour scorch her cheeks. ‘Are you spying on me?’ she demanded laughingly.

‘No—should I have been? What did I miss?’

‘A real treat,’ Beth said, following Lucy out into the hall. ‘I just watched him walk down the road—wow. Where on earth did he come from?’

Allie gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I’ve known him for years. He did some work experience with my father five years ago.’

‘He was a well-kept secret,’ Lucy grumbled, trailing into the kitchen.

‘He wasn’t a secret—I haven’t seen him since, until today. He just turned up on the ward.’

‘And romance blossomed! How wonderful!’

‘Beth, you have a vivid imagination.’

‘Is that why you’ve got whisker burn on your top lip?’ she said mildly.

Allie’s hand flew up to investigate, and they laughed at her, the teasing, kindly laughter of good friends. ‘Go for it, kid,’ Lucy said sagely. ‘It’s about time.’

It probably was, she acknowledged as she went up to bed, a steaming mug of tea in hand. She was twenty-three, a professional woman on the threshold of her career, and untouched by human hand. It hadn’t really been deliberate, except that she was naturally fastidious and had heard such awful stories from her friends that she’d never felt inclined to dabble or experiment, and nobody had come along who’d pushed her buttons.

Nobody except Mark, that is, but he’d been out of reach and a hero figure at a most impressionable time. The trouble was, the impression had been lasting, and despite a few relationships with young men during her training, the affection she’d felt for them had never been enough for her to take that next and most intimate step.

The memory of his farewell kiss as he was leaving all those years ago had haunted her, and nothing else had measured up. Nobody else. As an adolescent she’d wanted the touch of Mark’s hand, the feel of his lips, the warmth of his body. Apparently she still did.

She felt the soft, bruised skin of her lips and remembered the kiss they’d just shared, and a deep yearning ache flared to life within her. She’d been subconsciously waiting for him so long—would it be worth waiting for? Was it possible she’d find the love she needed in her life with Mark, or was it just wishful thinking?

She seen her friends flit from one man to another, unfulfilled and often desperately unhappy, and she didn’t want that for herself. When she gave herself, it would be for ever. Did Mark feel the same? They might be on the same playing field now in terms of age, but was it a level playing field in terms of expectations, or was she going to open herself up to heartbreak if she allowed them to see what happened, as he suggested?

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she grumbled, putting her tea down and pulling off her clothes. ‘You went out for a cheap meal to a basic little Italian. You’re making much too much of it, building too much on such a slight acquaintance. You don’t even know the man.’

But she wanted to, and that was scary. She hadn’t felt like this before, not since—well, not since they’d first met and they’d sat for hours talking, night after night. They’d talked about everything—religion, politics, music, medical ethics, the fact that her father wanted her to be a doctor and she wanted to be a nurse.

He’d supported her, talking through it with her, giving her a very sane piece of advice.

‘Be true to yourself,’ he’d said. ‘You have to do that. If you aren’t true to yourself, you can’t be true to anyone else, because everything else is built on a lie.’

It had given her the courage to talk to her father, to explain that being clever enough to be a doctor didn’t mean it was the career she wanted. Her mother had understood, but then her mother had been a nurse. And gradually, over the next few weeks, her father had come to understand—all thanks to Mark.

She owed him so much for that. She’d never thought she’d see him again, but now he was back in her life, and she realised she wanted to know much more about him—his likes and dislikes, his taste in music, his preferences in literature—all the things she hadn’t had time to find out before. Suddenly it seemed very important. She had felt happier tonight in his company than she’d felt in five years.

Please God, let him feel the same, she thought as she curled up in bed with her tea. Don’t let it be one-sided. Give us a chance. Let it be for real …

CHAPTER TWO

THE ward was busy the next morning when she arrived for work at seven. She’d thought she wouldn’t sleep, but in fact had gone out like a light when her head hit the pillow. That’s what happiness does for you, she’d told herself as she scrabbled around getting ready in a hurry. Or, more likely, half a bottle of red wine, a brandy and that sinfully laced chocolate dessert!

She had arrived in the nick of time, and found the night staff getting the children ready for their breakfast. There was always a flurry of visits to the loo and a rush round with bedpans to the immobile patients at that time of the morning, and Allie was as busy as any of them.

Anna was there, taking report from the Night Sister, and the moment it was done she joined Allie in the little single room where she was replacing Darren’s colostomy pouch.

The twelve-year-old had come in with a rectal abscess, with fever and severe pain, following chronic constipation and an appalling diet, and after investigation they had decided to operate. The surgeons had cut through his bowel above the abscess and brought the cut end out through the wall of his abdomen in a temporary colostomy, to rest the affected area and allow it to heal, and for the next few weeks at least he would have to tolerate the indignity of a bag stuck on the front of his tummy.

Still, at least it wasn’t permanent, Allie thought, carefully peeling the old bag away and sealing it and throwing Anna a smile at the same time.

‘Morning.’

‘Morning. Hi, Darren, how’re you doing?’ Anna asked, and chatted for a moment to him, then perched on the end of the bed and watched Allie work. ‘A little bird tells me you went out for dinner with Mark last night, you sly old fox,’ she murmured.

Allie felt a rush of guilt, then stifled it. I got there first, she told herself—five years ago! ‘Not really dinner,’ she denied, still not sure exactly what had happened. ‘We went to the bistro—it was my birthday. Can you hold your T-shirt up higher for me, Darren? That’s lovely. Thanks.’

‘And did you bring cream cakes in?’ Anna prodded, clearly feeling no malice towards Allie for having stolen the brightest prospect on the ward for years. ‘No, you didn’t. I hope you’ve brought them today.’

Allie smiled ruefully. ‘Sorry. I haven’t had time to get to the bakery—anyway, cream cakes are fattening, isn’t that right, Darren?’

‘Yeah—and I can’t have one, so you can’t either.’

‘No, you can’t, but we could always save you one for later—we need any excuse we can get for a cream cake at coffee time!’ She propped herself on the edge of the treatment couch and grinned at the patient. ‘We all need treats, don’t we, Darren?’

Darren nodded. ‘I fancy a cream cake. I’m bored with eating nothing decent. Can’t you sneak off to the bakery now?’

‘No—and anyway, you know you can’t have a cream cake,’ Allie told him with mock sternness. ‘You need to rest your stomach for a few more days, not overload it with junk food, and besides, it’s not my birthday any more.’

‘We could pretend.’

‘No, we couldn’t. It’s too soon after your operation.’

He poked his tongue out, and Allie chuckled and pressed the new pouch firmly in place. ‘We’ll pretend when you’re better. There. That’s you sorted. I’ll come and see you in a while—unless you want to go into the playroom and watch telly with the others?’

He shook his head. ‘Not yet. Perhaps tomorrow.’

‘OK.’ She smiled and gave him a quick hug, then pushed the trolley back to the treatment room and cleared up the equipment. ‘He hates it,’ she murmured to Anna as she worked.

‘I know. It must be hell on a kid to have a colostomy, even if it’s only temporary. Let’s just hope the abscess clears up quickly.’

‘Absolutely—but at least he’s not in so much pain now. He just needs to heal and learn to eat the right foods—and definitely no cream cakes, no matter how bored he is.’

‘Which gets us back to your birthday and the rather gorgeous Mark Jarvis.’

Allie laughed and popped the bag of waste into the bin. ‘It was just a quick meal,’ she lied. ‘Nothing special.’

‘What was nothing special?’

Her heart sank. Of all the times for him to walk in—

‘Nothing.’

‘Excuse me,’ Anna said, and slid out, winking at Allie as she went.

‘What was nothing special?’ Mark said again, and Allie, sighing, turned to face him.

‘Our meal last night. She was being curious—I was just saying that to get her off my back.’

He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Were you? Or did you mean it?’

She thought of lying, of covering her own emotions to protect herself, and then she looked into his eyes and knew she couldn’t lie. ‘No. I didn’t mean it.’

‘That’s all right, then.’ He smiled, his mouth kicking up at the corners and creasing his eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

She washed her hands and scrubbed them on a paper towel. ‘Just redone Darren Forsey’s colostomy pouch.’

‘Oh, joy. Bet you enjoyed it. I’ve come in to have a look at him, amongst others. How is he?’

‘Fed up. He’s better than he was, but he’s still got to deal with the colostomy for a few weeks and endless suppositories, and I think he’s going to die of embarrassment. Your little girl with appendicitis is bright and lively today, though.’

He chuckled. ‘Bounced back, has she? Kids are amazing.’ His smile faded as he looked at her, and he glanced down at his hands, then back to her, his eyes seeming to see right through her. ‘If dinner really wasn’t nothing special, how about tonight?’

She sorted out all the negatives. ‘Tonight?’ she repeated, her heart jiggling in her chest and a smile fighting its way onto her lips. ‘What about tonight?’

‘I wondered if you fancied a drink. We could grab a bar snack or something, too. There’s a pub I’ve been told about in a village a few miles out, and it’s supposed to have a really nice atmosphere. The food’s supposed to be good, too.’

Should she play it cool and stall him for a week?

No. Subterfuge wasn’t her thing, never had been, never would be. She let the smile escape. ‘Sounds great. What time?’

‘Seven again? I could pick you up, now I know where you live.’

‘Anna will be unbearably curious.’

‘Anna needs a lover,’ he said firmly.

‘Mmm. I think she fancied you for the job.’

His neck went an interesting shade of brick. ‘Tough,’ he murmured. ‘Right, must get on. Where’s Darren? In his room?’

‘Yes—just opposite the nursing station, in the single room. Can you manage?’

‘You keep asking me that. No faith,’ he said drily, and she watched him go, stifling a sigh of sheer enjoyment. It wasn’t just adolescent fantasy, he was good-looking. Very decorative. She eyed the soft, thick hair on his head. It was the colour of a gold nugget, not bright, just warm and interesting and tinged with fair bits where the sun had bleached it. It looked infinitely touchable—

And she was in danger of losing her job and her marbles if she didn’t pull herself together!

She cleared away the last of her bits and pieces, washed her hands again and went out into the ward. There was a baby crying, little Amy Fulcher, who was in under observation after severe abdominal pain with no obvious cause.

Her mother had gone outside for a short walk in the fresh air, and Allie scooped up the eighteen-month-old and cuddled her, walking her up and down and crooning to her until she settled again. Poor little scamp was exhausted, because she’d been crying off and on all night. It seemed likely that the surgeon in charge of her case would decide to operate today to investigate, but the baby seemed reasonably well apart from the pain.

Mark came over to her as she was settling the baby down against her shoulder, and brushed his hand lightly over her head. ‘Poor little scrap. They’re going to X-ray her again,’ he told her. ‘Apparently they think she might have bands or adhesions around the intestines.’

‘Mmm. She’s a bit old for bands to suddenly be a problem at eighteen months, and she hasn’t had any previous surgery to give her adhesions, but it could be, I suppose. The symptoms fit. It’s obviously not that bad because she’s not shocky or vomiting—’

Flying in the face of God, she thought a second later, as Amy retched and covered her uniform in green bile.

‘OK, I take that back. Thank you, darling. How lovely. Shh, sweetheart, it’s all right now,’ Allie said under her breath, soothing the baby automatically. She went quiet, and Allie laid her down in the cot and looked at her shoulder and chest in despair. She’d deal with it later. Just now she had to wipe the baby’s mouth and make sure she was all right.

Certainly the crying had stopped. Mark looked over her shoulder.

‘Well, it seems to have done the trick—she’s more comfortable now,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘Jolly good. I’m so glad one of us is.’

He chuckled, and patted her other shoulder. ‘You smell gorgeous.’

Thank you so much,’ she said with a huge false smile. ‘I can’t tell you what it’s like from this side.’

‘Did someone chuck on you, Nurse?’ one of the boys asked, cruising past on crutches and regarding her uniform with undisguised mirth.

‘Just a bit. How’s your leg?’

‘Excellent. I can go home today, maybe, if the X-ray’s all right.’

‘Good. That’s great.’ It was. Healthy young boys with damaged limbs were a nightmare to entertain and keep quiet, but fortunately for the most part they healed at a huge rate of knots and thus weren’t such a drastic problem.

‘You just want to get rid of me,’ he said mournfully, and Allie laughed.

‘You guessed, Tim.’

Tim flashed her a grin and set off again. He was getting too darned good on those crutches—

‘Can I make a suggestion?’

Allie glanced up at Mark, glowering at his twinkling eyes and twitching mouth.

‘Change my clothes, perhaps?’

‘You guessed.’ He smiled. ‘Great minds, eh?’

She sniffed, curled up her nose expressively and headed for the sluice.

‘I’ll just strip this tabard off and find a clean shirt, then I’ll be back to write that lot up. I don’t suppose you’d like to report it to the surgical team? Oh, and find someone to sort Amy out?’

‘Sure.’ Mark grinned, waggled his fingers and went into the office to use the phone, and Allie dealt with the little crisis to her person, washed her hands for the thousandth time that day and pulled on a clean shirt from the stores.

‘Hi-ho,’ she mumbled, tugging the clean tabard straight and heading back to the ward.

Mark sniffed and smiled. ‘Better.’

‘All part of the job,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’ll go and check on Amy. I just dropped her, poor little kid. Did you find anyone to sort her out?’

‘Anna’s gone to do it.’

‘Thanks.’ She flashed him a grateful smile and went to see how Amy was now. Anna was still with her, changing her and settling her on a clean draw-sheet.

‘OK?’

Allie smiled. ‘Yes, thanks. I always get in the way.’

‘Don’t we all? Her mother’s on the way back—I rang the coffee shop and asked them to tell her. She’d just nipped in for breakfast. The surgical reg is on his way down—I think they may operate this morning now.’

Allie nodded. ‘I wondered. Still, she’s on nil by mouth already, so there’s no delay.’

Mrs Fulcher arrived back then, and Allie left Anna talking to her and went to see what else she could find. As sure as eggs, there’d be plenty.

It was after four before she got away, not the three o’clock her shift should have ended, but they’d had a flood of post-ops back from General Surgery and Orthopaedics, and she’d had to say goodbye to Tim, and what with one thing and another the time had just slipped by.

She went home and threw her washing together and walked to the laundrette round the corner, read an out-of-date magazine while the clothes sloshed round in the machine and then read another one while the tumble dryer finished the job. She didn’t get home until half past six, and then had to plead with Lucy for the bathroom.

Consequently she was late—which was a nuisance because it meant Lucy got to answer the door and let Mark in, and Allie was like a cat on hot bricks while she finished getting ready, wondering what she was saying.

She needn’t have worried. Lucy, predictably, was talking about herself, and Mark was looking polite. Funny how she could read him already—or did she mean still?

She flashed him a smile. ‘Hi. Sorry I’m late—I had to go to the laundrette and do the dreaded washing.’

‘That’s OK.’ He stood up and smiled at her flatmate. ‘Nice to meet you, Lucy,’ he murmured, and taking Allie’s arm, he ushered her out of the door.

His car was outside—a very normal, ordinary car, nothing too big, just a sensible car for the town. She was surprised. She would have expected him to have a—well, a sexier car, somehow, but what? A Ferrari, for heaven’s sake? A Mercedes?

He was only an SHO.

And that was another thing that was puzzling her. Surely by now he should have been a registrar? Unless he’d taken time out for something else … She’d have to ask.

He opened the passenger door for her, went round and slid behind the wheel. Suddenly the car seemed much smaller, and astonishingly intimate.

‘All set?’ he asked, throwing her a grin, and she nodded.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Pulham St Peter. It’s just north of here, and the pub’s very good, so I’m told.’

Pulham wasn’t far. She settled back against the actually very comfortable seat and watched him out of the corner of her eye. Within seconds she was totally relaxed. He was a good driver, quiet, competent and not hasty, but he didn’t hang about, either.

She realised she felt safe, and it was a strange feeling. She was normally edgy with other people driving her. She didn’t have long to worry about it, though, because they were pulling up in the pub car park in no time, and he was ushering her into the busy, crowded bar.

It was noisy and full, but by a miracle another couple vacated a table in the corner just as they had got their drinks and they were able to sit down out of the way and study the menu.

‘Shall we eat in here, or in the restaurant?’ he asked her.

Conscious of the price and the fact that tonight she was definitely going halves, she said, ‘In here, I think.’

He nodded, scanned the menu again and looked at her. ‘Decided yet?’

‘Scampi and chips—and I’m paying for mine.’

He chuckled. ‘How did I know that?’

He went to the bar armed with her money and placed the order and paid, and then came back and handed her her change. ‘There you are, you stubborn, independent young woman.’

She smiled and pocketed the money. She felt better now. She didn’t want to feel she owed him anything. Not that he would take advantage, but there had been the odd occasion in her past where a man had felt he had a right to her body because she’d accepted a meal from him. It hadn’t taken her long to dissuade her erstwhile suitors, but it had left a nasty taste in the mouth, and she didn’t want to mess up their budding relationship—

‘Penny for them.’

She laughed. ‘Not a chance. What are you having?’

‘Same as you.’

Their eyes clashed, and she looked away, her heart hammering. Oh, Lord. It would be so easy to fall for him. She cast around for a neutral topic of conversation, and remembered her thoughts about his career progression.

‘Tell me about your work,’ she said, sipping her drink. ‘How come you’re still an SHO? I would have thought you’d be a registrar by now.’

He grinned wryly. ‘I would have been, but I changed horses in the middle of the race. Well, actually, I changed races. You know I wanted to do general surgery, like my father?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I remember. You were keen.’

‘I was—until I started doing it. Then I felt curiously detached from it all. The patients come in with a problem that someone else has detected, you fix it, and they go away. You never see them again, never know how they are unless there’s a problem.’

‘But that’s good. If you don’t see them again, you’ve done your job.’

He shook his head. ‘Maybe—but it’s not the job I want to be doing. I want to find the problem, send them to get it sorted and follow it up afterwards at home.’

‘But that’s general practice,’ she said, a little bemused.

‘Exactly.’

She stared at him in astonishment. ‘But you’re going to be a surgeon.’

He shook his head. ‘No. Not any more. That’s why I’m doing paeds, why I’ve done obs and gynae, and A&E, and general medicine, and geriatrics—’

‘You want to be a GP?’ she said slowly, the penny finally dropping.

He smiled. ‘Yes—why not?’

Why not? She thought of the stress her father was under, of his partner who had found the strain all too much and taken the easy way out, leaving his wife and two young children to cope alone without him—

‘Why not?’ she said incredulously. ‘Because it’s an awful life, that’s why not. It’s dreadful. That’s why they can’t recruit GPs for love nor money. It’s stressful, it’s bogged down with paperwork, the hours are horrendous, it’s a thankless task—’

‘No. It’s not a thankless task. It might be all the other things, but it’s not a thankless task, and the hours are much better now. Nearly all GPs are in cooperatives, so their time on call is much better organised and less stressful.’

She snorted. ‘Talk to my father about it.’

‘I have—I did. He agrees.’

‘No, he doesn’t. Well, he might have done five years ago, but he doesn’t now. Why do you think he’s taking early retirement?’

Mark shrugged. ‘To enjoy the rest of his life while he still can?’

She snorted again. ‘Not my father. He’s a workaholic. No, it’s stress, I know it is.’

‘Well, whatever, it’s what I want to do, Allie,’ he said quietly, straightening the edge of his beermat with a strong, blunt fingertip. ‘I’m not cut out for hospital medicine, I know that now.’

She was stunned. Shocked, confused, utterly baffled by his announcement. He was going to be a surgeon. She’d always known that. It was who he was—wasn’t it?

She sipped her drink again absently, and then the barmaid called out a number and Mark stood up, coming back moments later with two fragrant, steaming baskets of scampi and chips nestled on absorbent paper napkins, two wooden forks and a selection of condiments in another basket.