Their Christmas Dream Come True. Kate Hardy

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       CHAPTER TWO

      NATALIE managed to avoid Kit for most of the morning, and at lunchtime she had the unimpeachable excuse of needing to get her shoes reheeled during her lunch-break. But in the afternoon they were both rostered to the outpatient clinic. Thrown together. No respite.

      Well, she could deal with this. Kit was just another doctor. A colleague. She’d keep him neatly pigeonholed there.

      ‘So, would this be your first clinic since you qualified?’ Kit asked as they headed to the outpatients area.

      ‘Yes,’ she admitted.

      ‘OK. You lead. I’ll be here for back-up, if you need me.’

      Being supportive? Kit? Well. Maybe he’d grown up in the last six years. He was thirty now, after all. And he was the more experienced doctor out of the two of them. Several rungs higher than she was. He was just doing what she’d do if the positions were reversed. Giving a junior doctor a chance to gain experience, with a safety net if it was needed.

      But this was her first proper clinic. And he wanted her to lead. Take responsibility. ‘What if I miss something?’ she asked.

      He shrugged. ‘Then I’ll bring it up in conversation with the parents. But I won’t tear you off a strip in front of them or make you look incompetent, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

      She felt her skin heat. ‘I wasn’t sniping at you. What I meant was, I might get something wrong, put a patient at risk.’ She was worried that she wasn’t totally ready for this, that maybe in her first clinic she should take a supportive role rather than a lead. ‘Are you going to take everything I say personally, for goodness’ sake?’

      He raked a hand through his hair. ‘No. Sorry.’

      It had probably been gut reaction. She supposed it must be just as difficult for him, having to work with her and ignore their history. And there had been plenty of sniping in their last few months together. Mainly by her—because Kit hadn’t been there often enough and the frustration and misery had made her temper short.

      ‘You’ll be fine in clinic. You’re qualified, so you obviously know your stuff. If it’s something with a tricky diagnosis, something that could easily be mistaken for a different condition, I’ll be here to take a look. I’ll give a second opinion when you ask for it, and I’ll back you up,’ Kit said.

      Just what she needed to hear. And if only he’d been that supportive all those years ago, when she’d really needed him. Someone she could have leaned on when her strength had deserted her.

      But you couldn’t change the past. Mentally, Natalie slammed the door on it and locked the key.

      The first parent on their list was Ella Byford. She was reading a story to two rather grubby children who seemed to be squabbling about who was going to get the best place on her lap, while rubbing her back in the way that most heavily pregnant women did.

      Something Natalie had once—

      No. She clenched her teeth hard, just once, to relieve the tension, then reminded herself to keep her personal life out of this. She was a doctor. A paediatrician in training. This was her job. And she was going to do it well. She pinned a smile on her face. ‘Hello, Mrs Byford. I’m Natalie Wilkins and this is Kit Rodgers. We’re holding the paediatric clinic today. What can we do for you?’

      ‘It’s Charlene. Jayden’s all right, he’s doing fine.’ Ella waved a dismissive hand towards her son. ‘But Charlene’s so skinny. She’s not doing as well as she should. She’s always been small for dates, but she’s getting worse.’ Ella bit her lip. ‘I went to see my GP about her, and he sent me here.’

      ‘Let’s have a look at her,’ Natalie said. She knelt on the floor so she was nearer to the little girl’s height. ‘Hello, Charlene.’

      ‘’Lo.’ The little girl looked at her and scowled.

      OK, she could do this. Thin, small for dates. The little girl was quite pale—perhaps she just didn’t get to play outside very much, or her mum was rigorous with a high protection factor suncream. Or maybe it was anaemic pallor. Natalie needed to check for icterus—or a yellowish colour—too. Starting with the child’s fingernails, palms, mucous membranes of the mouth and the conjunctiva. The conjunctiva would be the tricky part—children hated having their eyes fussed with.

      ‘Can you open your mouth for me and say “a-ah”?’ she asked.

      A-ah.’ It lasted all of half a second, but it was enough to show Natalie that there was slight pallor in Charlene’s mouth but no icterus. It didn’t look as if there were any ulcers, but if Natalie saw any other sinister signs in the rest of the examination she’d try for a second look.

      ‘And can I look at your hands now?’

      Charlene scowled at her and tried to climb back on her mother’s lap.