The GP's Marriage Wish. Judy Campbell

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      ‘Oh, no, I’ve had it before. I suppose it’s worry… Anyway, you’ll see that Dr Sorensen always gave me something for it. Just give me the same things, please.’

      The woman’s tone was peremptory, trying to hurry the consultation along. Victoria peered at the patient’s notes on the computer and saw that her mother had indeed prescribed sleeping tablets in the past, but she was damned if she was going to just hand them out like sweets on demand.

      ‘Do you work as well as look after your father?’ she asked.

      ‘I have a part-time job at the dress shop in the village. It saves my sanity. The rest of my time is spent running after an old man who needs professional help.’

      ‘I take it he lives with you?’

      ‘Yes…has done for the last five years. He needs to go in a home, though, but that’s absolutely out as far as he’s concerned.’

      Victoria leant forward and looked at the woman sympathetically. ‘It can’t be an easy situation for you…’

      ‘Of course it’s not!’ snapped Janet. For a second her mouth trembled, revealing very briefly the strain she was under. ‘That’s why I need these pills—I’ve got to get some rest.’

      ‘Have you spoken to Social Services about getting help?’

      Janet gave a humourless laugh. ‘Oh, they’ve sent people in to give him baths, tidy him up a bit, but he’s just sent them packing—he can be very rude when he wants to. Refuses to have anything to do with them. Do you wonder that I can’t sleep?’

      ‘Mrs Loxton,’ said Victoria gently, ‘you can’t keep on these tablets for ever, and anyway the effect begins to wear off when you have them continually. You can develop a tolerance for them and need a higher dose to have the same effect.’

      The patient leant forward and said intensely, ‘I know all the pitfalls—you don’t have to tell me. Your mother gave them to me, and I don’t see why you just can’t give me some without all these questions.’

      ‘I can’t just hand out prescriptions because my mother gave them to you,’ said Victoria firmly. ‘Your circumstances and health may have changed since you last saw her. However, I will give you a low dose of Triazolone—a ten-day course to try and get you back on an organised sleep pattern. But sleep disorders can be caused by a number of factors and I want you to try what we call sleep hygiene.’

      Janet looked puzzled and Victoria smiled. ‘Nothing to do with being clean! It’s a kind of routine—wind down at the end of the day, don’t stimulate your brain with television or exciting reading, and obviously cut out caffeine, and have a warm drink before you go to bed.’

      ‘Yes, yes, I’ll do all that,’ said the woman impatiently.

      Victoria looked at her patient reflectively. ‘You know, what you could do with is some respite care for your father. Perhaps he’d be amenable to going into a home for a few days. It would give you a break.’

      ‘I doubt he would—he’s as stubborn as a mule. He’s ninety-six and has always been like that, so I don’t think he’ll change now.’

      ‘Why don’t I come and see him and give him a general check-up? I could broach the subject to him then.’

      Victoria printed off the prescription from the computer and gave it to Mrs Loxton, who put it in her handbag and rose from her chair.

      ‘I don’t think he’d want to see you—he doesn’t hold with doctors and I don’t want him upset because I have to deal with the consequences,’ she said abruptly. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with him as far as I can see, except arthritis, poor eyesight and a beastly temper. Thank you for the prescription anyway.’

      She disappeared and Victoria frowned as she updated the woman’s notes. She wished she knew more of the background to Mrs Loxton’s domestic affairs—was she married, and did she get any help for her father from her family? This was where her mother’s knowledge would have been invaluable. She tapped her teeth with her pen thoughtfully, then pressed the intercom to the office.

      ‘Maggie, could you spare a second?’

      ‘Sure—I’ll be with you in one second. I’m just sorting out some appointments.’

      ‘I just need a bit of background information…I won’t keep you.’

      Maggie’s face, surrounded by her wild hairstyle, peered round the door. ‘How can I help?’

      ‘I’ve just seen a patient called Janet Loxton—can you tell me her father’s name?’

      ‘Of course. He’s Bernard Lamont. You may have heard of him.’

      ‘The name sounds familiar—isn’t he an artist?’

      Maggie nodded. ‘Oh, yes—he’s one of Braithwaite’s celebrities. He exhibits at the Royal Academy, I believe.’

      ‘Ah, I knew you’d know about all the patients,’ said Victoria. ‘Can you tell me anything else about him?’

      Maggie smiled—she looked quite pleased to be asked. ‘He’s a right curmudgeon, though of course he’s very old now. I believe he can’t paint any more, so that’s hard for him. He and his daughter don’t get on.’

      ‘He lives with his daughter?’

      Maggie nodded. ‘Well, she moved into his house when her marriage collapsed—that was a few years ago when Bernard Lamont was OK. Now she’s got a new boyfriend and it can’t be easy to carry on a romance with a demanding parent in the background.’

      ‘Has she any family or siblings?’

      ‘Not that I know of. She used to work in London when she was married.’

      ‘Right. Thanks, Maggie, that’s very helpful. It’s good to get the background on patients’ lives—gives me a fuller picture. I’ll make a note to visit Mr Lamont.’

      Maggie laughed. ‘You’ll be lucky—he won’t see anyone.’ She turned to go. ‘I’ll get back, then. Can’t leave the desk too long at this time of day—it’s like a jungle out there sometimes!’

      They smiled at each other and Victoria pressed the intercom to summon the next patient with a sudden upsurge of spirits. She could see that Maggie had a sense of humour—someone she hoped she could have some fun with. Getting to know the patients and the day-to-day doctoring was part of being a GP, and if Maggie could help her fill in the backgrounds of these people, so much the better.

      The morning spun by with a succession of patients with fairly mundane complaints from sore throats to bad backs, and by the time the last patient came in it was nearly eleven o’clock and Victoria could smell an enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifting across from the little kitchen. She glanced at the clock—hopefully she’d be able to grab a cup in about five minutes.

      A large, ruddy-faced man entered the room, leaning heavily on a stick, followed by an anxious-looking woman.

      ‘Please, sit down, both of you.’ Victoria smiled.

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