Saving Dr Gregory

Polly smiled, and then her smile faded as she remembered Mrs Robinson. ‘Do you think he needs help too? Perhaps no one has given his feelings any consideration, or given him an opportunity to grieve. If they didn’t have any professional counselling during the time of her illness, then it’s not surprising that they can’t cope with it.’

‘I would have thought all that had been done at the time,’ Matt said, surprised, and shook his head. ‘We are much more aware now than we used to be about the emotional effects of radical surgery, I think. Polly, see if you can get them to go along for counselling. I’ve got the address somewhere of the Breast Care and Mastectomy Association—it’s a charity, but the work they do is excellent. The head office is in London, but I think there’s a branch in Cambridge. They’re very good with this sort of thing, and if the Robinsons’s marriage is salvageable, they’ll probably find a way.’

She nodded. ‘Are you going to come and have a chat to her?’

‘Yes. Would you mind making some coffee, and then come and join us? I think I’ll make more progress if you’re there, somehow.’

By the time Polly had made the coffee and gone back to her room, Matt was in there with Mrs Robinson, holding her hand and smoothing the skin on the back with an age-old gesture of sympathy.

‘But how would you feel if it were your wife?’ Mrs Robinson asked, pulling her hand away.

Matt straightened up. ‘I can’t tell you, Mrs Robinson, and that isn’t really the issue here. How your husband feels is what’s affecting you, and I think, and Polly agrees, that he’s probably very distressed and unable to cope with his feelings. I think counselling could help you, if you want help. You don’t both have to go, but of course it would help if you did.’

She lifted her head. ‘What about reconstructive surgery?’

‘Mammoplasty? It’s usually done sooner. What they would do in your case, I suspect, is make a small incision in the skin and insert a silicone implant to help to balance the other breast, and they can create a nipple if necessary using pigmented tissue from elsewhere. Results are variable; usually physically very successful, but it isn’t going to cure your marriage problems or make you the way you were before. It’s become quite common to do it at the time of the first operation, to reduce the kind of emotional stress that you’ve been through. In fact, I’m surprised you weren’t offered it at the time. Results after this length of time, though, may not be so successful.’

‘What do you think are the chances of it working?’

‘Depends on the level of residual scarring, shrinkage of the skin and so on due to radiotherapy, and how much was removed. Also the size of the other breast—it’s much harder to get a satisfactory result with women who are more well-endowed. I can’t really tell you much more without examining you.’

She seemed to shrink into herself, but Polly wasn’t about to allow it. Squatting down beside her, she took her other hand and squeezed it. ‘I’ll be here with you. If Dr Gregory thinks you would be a suitable candidate for surgery, then if you decide that’s what you want, he can refer you and get the process under way. Don’t give up now.’

There was a long, painful silence, and then she took a deep breath and nodded.

Matt let out his breath in a silent sigh of relief, and stood up.

‘Polly, perhaps you could help Mrs Robinson undress?’ he said, moving over to the sink to wash his hands under the hot tap.

Polly watched him out of the corner of her eye, and saw him pick up gloves, look at them and then replace them on the shelf.

‘OK, let’s have a look,’ he said, returning to the couch with a smile. Mrs Robinson turned her head to the side, but Matt ignored her indrawn breath as he folded down the blanket and laid his hands gently on her chest above the breast, working slowly and steadily across it with a gentle, even pressure. When he had finished, he pulled the blanket up over her and tucked it round her shoulders, to restore her dignity.

The skin seems fairly elastic, and because of the amount of tissue that’s been removed it’s obviously much smaller than the other one, but luckily your nipple wasn’t removed. I think you might get away with it, especially if the surgeon reduced the size of the other breast as well. It could be worth a try, if you want. OK, Polly, would you help Mrs Robinson dress?’

He turned away and busied himself with the notes, as much to give her privacy as anything, and Polly smiled reassuringly at the woman.

‘What would you do, Polly?’ she asked.

Polly shot Matt a quick look, and gave a small shrug. ‘I don’t know. Get counselling first, I think. You really don’t look that bad to me. There are plenty of women who are naturally that lop-sided without surgical intervention.’

‘But I’m mutilated——’

‘No!’ Polly and Matt both spoke at once, and Matt continued, ‘You are far from mutilated. There’s nothing off-putting about your appearance. Believe me, I’ve seen far, far worse. I don’t think you need reconstructive surgery, and if you were my wife I’d move heaven and earth to prevent you going through any more suffering. What you need is help to come to terms with who you are now, both inside and out. Surgery will change the outside, but the inside is far more badly hurt, Helen. You need to learn to love yourself again. Of course I’ll refer you if that’s what you want, but please try the counselling.’

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Polly laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

Matt continued, ‘I’d like to see your husband, as well, if you can talk him into coming to see me.’

‘He won’t come. He doesn’t care.’

Matt smiled at her, tenderly and with great sympathy. ‘Are you sure? Please ask him. If he really didn’t care about you, why is he still with you after seven years?’

Matt patted her hand and stood up. ‘Polly, have you done a smear?’

She shook her head. ‘Perhaps Mrs Robinson would like to come back later in the week and we’ll finish off the tests and things? I think you’ve probably had enough for now, haven’t you?’

She nodded. ‘I think I’d like to go home and have a bath and an early night. My husband’s away until tomorrow, so there’s no need for me to stay up. I’ve got a lot to think about.’

She took Polly’s hand. ‘Thank you for being so kind to me.’

‘Oh, Mrs Robinson,’ Polly said with a slight smile, ‘you’re welcome. I’m always here—come and have a chat if you need to. Don’t bottle things up—if you need an answer, come and ask one of us. That’s what we’re for.’

Polly showed her to the door, and turned to find Matt watching her from the doorway of her surgery.

‘Well done,’ he said quietly, and Polly burst into tears.

‘Oh, Matt,’ she whispered, ‘why are we so horrible to each other?’

He handed her a tissue and stood patiently beside her while she blew her nose and pulled herself together, then he waited while she found her bag and put on her coat, and locked the surgery behind them.

‘Supper,’ he said, and with a wink, he hobbled over to his car and climbed in. ‘Can you remember the way?’

Polly nodded. ‘I’ll see you back there.’

As she followed his Volvo estate out of the car park, she thought it was typical that he would have a car like that—big, solid, reliable, safe—just like him. Husband material, she thought again, with a heavy sigh. She wondered what his wife was like.

‘She’d better damn well deserve him,’ Polly thought with a protective urge, and then laughed, a little weakly. She realised that her laugh was just a short step from tears.

CHAPTER THREE

MATT’s cottage was set back from the lane by a wide garden, filled with shrubs and trees and colourful pansies overflowing on to the edge of the path. Polly pulled on to the drive behind him, and switched off the engine, sitting for a moment to gain her composure before getting out of the car. She wasn’t sure she wanted to meet his wife, but she didn’t have a choice—or did she?

Climbing out of her little Fiesta, she eyed the cottage. It was in total darkness, and Matt was rummaging through a bunch of keys to open the front door.

Was he alone tonight? Perhaps his wife was away—oh, lord, Polly thought, he hasn’t brought me back here for some kind of extra-curricular wrestling match, has he? She immediately squashed the idea, and chided herself for her unworthy thoughts.

He needed to rest his leg, that was all. They also had to discuss Mrs Robinson, although admittedly not necessarily tonight, but Polly was lonely, and the prospect of returning to her cold and empty cottage after the harrowing session with Mrs Robinson filled her with horror.

Matt had the door open now, and she ran quickly up the drive and in through the door, smiling up at him as she crossed the threshold. Then her eye was caught by the interior of the cottage, and she gasped.

Oh, Matt, it’s lovely!’

Soft pink brick, mellow pine furniture, heavy oak beams the colour of honey, and plants—plants everywhere, flowing down off the window-sills and up the walls, living and vibrant. And it was warm—a deep core of warmth that reached down into the lonely places in Polly and comforted her unexpectedly.

He smiled at her obvious pleasure. ‘I like it. It’s been jolly hard work, and I spend all my time on it, but I’m getting there. I’ve only really finished this room and the kitchen. The bathroom’s not finished, and the two bedrooms are still pretty grim, but at least the bathroom’s upstairs now. Here, let me take your coat.’

She gave herself up to the luxury of allowing him to stand behind her and ease the coat off her shoulders, and then watched in fascination as he shrugged off his jacket, throwing both coats over the banisters before turning back and placing his warm, firm hand in the small of her back. The heat seemed to spread out from his palm and warm her all over. Curiously, it made her want to shiver. ‘Come into the kitchen. I’ve put the supper in the Aga.’

As they went through the low doorway towards the source of the warmth, a black Labrador with a snow-white muzzle lifted its head from its paws and sniffed.

‘Hello, old girl,’ Matt said softly, and crouching beside her, he scratched the dog gently behind her ears with one hand while he loosened his tie and undid the top button with the other. ‘Did you miss me, Bella?’

The dog’s tail thumped weakly on the ground, and she seemed to smile.

Matt stood up and moved to the sink. ‘Poor old girl, she’s ancient, and she’s beginning to wear out. I know I ought to take her to the vet and have her put down, but somehow I can’t bring myself to do it. In her own way I think she’s happy. When I feel she isn’t…’ He shrugged, and dried his hands before turning back to Polly.

‘It’s a hard decision to make,’ she said understandingly.

He nodded. ‘Come on, there’s a chicken casserole in here that’s going to be past its best before long.’

He opened the Aga and pulled out a heavy cast iron pot, and when he lifted the lid Polly’s mouth watered.

‘Gosh, it smells delicious!’

He laughed. ‘You don’t have to sound so surprised! Here, lay the table, could you, Pollyanna? The stuff’s in the drawer behind you.’

Pollyanna again. How did he manage to make the hated nickname sound like a caress? She fumbled in the drawer to give her time to subdue her feelings—feelings that were quite unprofessional and inappropriate towards a colleague and a married man. Especially the latter. Polly sighed.

Matt, mistaking the reason for her sigh, dumped the steaming casserole on the table and hooked the chair up behind him. ‘Come and sit down and forget about work. Mrs Robinson is nearer to being happy than she was before she came in, and all thanks to you, so you can put your feet up and relax. Have a drink.’

He pushed a glass of red wine towards her.

‘I’m driving,’ she protested.

‘Not till later. One glass with a meal won’t hurt you, and it will probably do you good. Anyway, I can’t drink on my own, it’s rude, so if you’ve got any human feelings you’ll join me!’

Polly laughed.

‘That’s better,’ he said with a smile, and handed her a steaming plateful of the casserole.

‘Ready-cook sauce?’ Polly asked mischievously.

His mouth twitched. ‘Absolutely. I’d be lost without it. This one’s called sheep’s eyes in wine vinegar. Bread?’

Polly nearly choked.

After the meal, which was in fact a delicious combination of chicken breasts, chick peas, tomatoes, onions and garlic with fresh crusty bread, they made their way through to the sitting-room and Matt sprawled on the floor, his head propped up on the edge of the settee, legs stretched out towards the wood-burning stove. Polly sat on the chair beside him, with her legs curled up under her, nursing a cup of coffee and watching him as he told her about the renovation of his cottage.

She was amazed. It had obviously taken him almost all the year he had been with the practice, and he had achieved a tremendous amount in that time.

‘Did you want to do it all yourself? she asked, curious for more information about this man who was beginning to fascinate her more and more.

‘Needs must,’ he replied with a wry grin. ‘I’m not made of money, and I had to buy into the practice, find an affordable house and get a reliable car all at once. It wasn’t easy. It isn’t easy. Sometimes I can’t afford to eat.’

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