Neurosurgeon . . . and Mum!. Kate Hardy

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ out from her job. Cassie had looked worried, which implied that there was a problem with Amy’s job, but Tom hadn’t pressed for details; it wasn’t his place to ask.

      ‘Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way,’ she said, her face shuttering.

      And now he’d put her back up. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to suggest that you would. There’s plenty of room for all of us. I was just thinking, maybe we could all eat together. It seems a bit pointless, cooking separately. But that doesn’t mean I expect you to do all the cooking,’ he added hastily. ‘Maybe we can share the chores.’

      ‘Sure.’ She still looked slightly wary: a look he’d seen all too often on his daughter’s face. Meaning that she wanted space.

      ‘Look, I’ll go and wear Buster out a bit, then I’ve got a couple of house calls to make,’ he said.

      ‘You’re not stopping for lunch?’

      ‘I’ll get something later.’

      She bit her lip. ‘Look, I meant it about not getting in your way. And don’t feel you’re obliged to entertain me or anything.’

      ‘Ditto,’ he said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, we’re sharing the house and looking after the dog for Joe and Cassie. And we’re sharing chores because it makes sense. It’s more efficient.’

      She was silent for a moment, and then she nodded. ‘Agreed. Well, I ought to stop lazing around and unpack. I’ll catch you later.’

      ‘What about your sandwich?’ he asked. She’d eaten less than half of it, he noticed.

      ‘Did Cassie ask you to watch my eating?’ Amy asked.

      He felt himself flush. ‘No. Just that I didn’t want you to feel I was pushing you out of the kitchen before you’d finished.’ Was that what the problem was? Amy had some kind of eating disorder and it had caused her to have a breakdown at work? In which case she must have interpreted his suggestion of eating together as pushing her, too. This was going to be a minefield.

      To his surprise, she smiled. ‘Thank you. And, no, I don’t have any kind of eating disorder.’

      He groaned. ‘Did I say that out loud? I apologise.’

      ‘No, you just have an expressive face,’ Amy said dryly. ‘I admit, I haven’t been eating properly lately, because I’ve been busy at work and when you’re under pressure and rushed for time it’s easier to grab fast food. That, or wait until you get home and it’s so late that you’re too tired to bother with more than a bit of toast. But you don’t have to worry that you’ll starve when it’s my turn to make dinner. Cassie taught me to cook.’

      Why hadn’t Amy’s mother taught her? Tom wondered.

      Or maybe Amy’s mother was the kind of mother that his wife had been. Distant. Feeling trapped. Wanting to do her own thing and wishing that she’d never got married and had a child to hold her back.

      ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be prying,’ he said. And he certainly didn’t want to answer any questions about his own past. ‘How about I cook for us tonight?’

      ‘You’ve been at work.’

      He shrugged. ‘And you’ve had a long drive, which I’d say is more tiring—especially as I know there are roadworks on the motorway and you’ve probably been stuck in traffic for a while. It’s no problem. Really.’

      ‘Then I’ll wash up,’ she said.

      ‘Deal.’ Though he didn’t offer to shake on it. Because he had a feeling that once he touched Amy Rivers, he’d want more. A lot more. And it would get way, way too complicated.

      She’d vanished by the time he’d finished playing with Buster. He made himself a sandwich, checked the dog’s water bowl was full then headed out on his house calls.

      ‘I hear young Amy’s back,’ Mrs Poole, his first patient, said as he removed the dressing to check the ulcer just above her ankle.

      He looked up at her, surprised. ‘Wow. The grapevine’s fast around here.’ Amy couldn’t have arrived more than a couple of hours ago.

      ‘Well, a car with a registration plate saying “AMY” parked outside Marsh End House has to be hers, doesn’t it?’ She shrugged. ‘Not that she’s been down here for a while now. Funny that she decides to turn up this week, with Joe and Cassie just off to Australia.’

      Tom didn’t appreciate gossip about himself and he had a feeling that Amy would be the same. ‘She’s house- and dog-sitting for her aunt and uncle.’

      ‘I thought that was what you were supposed to be doing.’

      ‘You know what they say. Many hands make light work,’ Tom said with a smile, and concentrated on checking the ulcer for granulation.

      ‘Used to spend every summer here, she did. Too quiet by miles for the first week, but by the end of the summer she was getting as grubby as the boys and plotting all kinds of things with young Beth.’

      Too quiet. Just as his own daughter was. But Amy had had her cousins to help her out of her shell. Perdy had nobody except him, and so far he was a big fat failure.

      He changed the subject swiftly. ‘I’m really pleased with the way you’re healing. So you’ve been keeping your leg up, as I suggested?’

      ‘Yes. Though I hate sitting still.’ Mrs Poole tutted. ‘I’ve never been one to sit and do nothing.’

      ‘Gentle exercise is fine,’ Tom said. ‘But if you overdo it, the ulcer will take longer to heal. You don’t have to sit around all the time, just make sure you rest with your leg up for half an hour, three or four times a day, to take the pressure off your veins.’ He cleaned the ulcer gently then put a fresh dressing on, topping it with an elastic bandage. ‘Can you circle your ankle for me, Mrs Poole, so I can check that bandage isn’t too tight for you?’

      She did so, and he smiled. ‘That’s fine. I’ll come and see you tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, if it starts to hurt more or your foot feels hotter or colder, or you notice it’s changed colour, ring the surgery straight away—please don’t wait.’ In his experience, elderly people fell into two camps: the ones who were lonely, desperately wanted company and would ring up if they so much as cut their finger; and those who didn’t want to make a fuss and would leave it until their condition had really deteriorated before they admitted that they needed help. Mrs Poole was definitely one of the latter, or her ulcer wouldn’t have spread so badly.

      ‘I’ll be fine, Doctor,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

      He rather thought he did. ‘I want a promise from you,’ he said, giving her his most charming smile, ‘or I’ll have to go and chat to your neighbours and ask them to set up a roster to check on you every couple of hours between now and my next visit.’

      ‘You can’t bother them with that!’ She looked aghast.

      ‘Promise me, then.’ He squeezed her hand gently. ‘I appreciate you want to be independent, which is great, but there is such a thing as being too independent. If you catch a medical condition in the early stages, СКАЧАТЬ