by Kate Hardy
Ollie really liked the fact that the whole village seemed to be so supportive of Gemma’s efforts. It felt good to be part of a community like this. In London, he’d found that people kept themselves to themselves a lot more.
They stayed on for another drink after the quiz was over, and then the others all had to be back for their babysitters. Ollie looked at Gemma. ‘Do you need to be anywhere right now?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I was going for a walk on the beach, to see the first stars coming out—something I couldn’t really do in London. Do you want to join me?’
‘That’d be nice,’ she said.
They walked down to the beach together. The sea looked almost navy in the late summer evening light, and the first stars were peeking through. The moon was low and shone a silvery path across the sea. The waves were swishing gently across the shore, the rhythm soft and almost hypnotic, and Ollie felt the day’s tensions starting to melt.
‘That’s the thing about living by the sea. If the day’s been tough you can go for a walk and let the swoosh of the water wash the misery away,’ she said.
‘There were good bits to the day, too,’ he said. ‘But, yeah, losing a patient in my first week here is a bit of a shaky start.’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said. ‘If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine, but you argued me out of that earlier. We did our best, and that’s all anyone can ask.’
‘I guess.’
She stopped. ‘Oliver.’
He stopped, too, and turned to face her. ‘What?’
‘Right now,’ she said, ‘I think you need a hug.’ To his surprise, she took a step towards him and wrapped her arms round him.
Being this close to her meant he could smell the floral scent of her perfume. Light, sweet and summery, it made him think of sunshine. Being hugged by her was like being bathed in sunshine, too, and he couldn’t resist wrapping his arms round her.
The waves swished onto the shore, and all Ollie was aware of was the beating of her heart, in the same strong, fierce rhythm as his own. The connection was irresistible, and he found his face pressed against hers. And then it was, oh, so easy to tilt his face just a fraction more, so the corner of his mouth was brushing against hers. His mouth tingled, and he couldn’t help holding her closer, moving his face just a fraction further so he was really kissing her, and she was kissing him back.
His head was spinning and it felt as if fireworks were going off overhead, bright starbursts. Even though he knew he shouldn’t be doing this—it was too soon after Tabby, and Gemma was his new colleague and he didn’t want to complicate things—he couldn’t help himself. This felt so right. Kissing Gemma, the sea singing a lullaby in the background, her arms wrapped as tightly round him as his were round her...
The moment seemed to last for ever, a moment of sweetness that was like balm to his aching heart.
And then it ended, and he found himself taking a step back and staring at Gemma.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That wasn’t meant to happen.’ A momentary—and major—lapse of reason.
‘I think we’ve both had a tough day and we got caught up in the moonlight,’ Gemma said. ‘Let’s pretend it didn’t happen.’
The problem was, Ollie knew he’d rather like it to happen again. But she clearly didn’t, so he’d have to ignore his feelings. ‘OK. Can I at least walk you home? I know you’re local and you’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself, but it’s dark and...well, it’s the way I was brought up.’
‘Gallant. I like that.’
And there was no edge to her tone, no mockery; Ollie had the strongest feeling that Gemma understood him and appreciated him.
They walked back to her flat in a companionable silence. At the entrance to the flats, she said, ‘Would you like to come in for coffee?’
Part of him did; yet, at the same time, he knew it wasn’t a good idea. He could still remember the touch of her mouth against his and the scent of her hair; it would be more sensible to put a little distance between them so he could get his common sense back. ‘Maybe another time?’
She nodded. ‘Sure. Goodnight, Oliver.’
‘Goodnight, Gemma. See you at work on Monday.’
* * *
Ollie spent Sunday with his family, as planned; and the influx of summer visitors and extra people needing medical help meant that he didn’t actually have a proper lunch break until Wednesday. He’d just stepped into the bakery when he realised that Gemma was there.
‘Great minds think alike,’ he said with a smile. ‘Are you heading up to the cliffs?’
‘I certainly am,’ she said. ‘You’re welcome to join me.’
‘Thanks. I’d like that.’
Once they were settled on her picnic blanket, he said, ‘So do you have much planned for the week?’
‘I’m babysitting my goddaughter Scarlett—Claire’s three-year-old—on Friday night, so she and Andy can have a proper date night. Which means I get Claire’s amazing macaroni cheese for dinner; then Scarlett and I will sing our way through all the songs from The Little Mermaid during her bath; and then I get cuddles and tell her stories until she falls asleep.’
She grinned. ‘And then I have a hot date with a classic rom-com, a mug of tea, and some of Claire’s ginger cake. Friday night doesn’t get better than this.’
His idea of a perfect Friday night sounded a lot like Gemma’s. Cuddling up on the sofa with a good film, winding down after a busy week...
‘How about you?’ she asked.
‘Nothing in particular,’ he said. ‘I might go for a walk on the beach on Saturday. Didn’t you say something about a shipwreck being visible?’
‘There is, at low tide.’ She took her phone from her bag and looked something up. ‘Low tide is at four o’clock on Saturday afternoon. If you don’t mind a friend tagging along, maybe I could join you for that walk and tell you all the touristy stuff about the wreck.’
‘I’d like that,’ he said. ‘And maybe we can grab fish and chips afterwards, and eat it sitting on the harbour wall.’
‘Great idea,’ she said with a smile. ‘I haven’t had fish and chips for ages. Which is a terrible admission, given that we live in a seaside village.’
Funny how her smile made him feel so warm inside. ‘Fish and chips is mandatory,’ he said, smiling back. ‘I like mine with lots of salt and vinegar, but shhh, don’t tell our patients that because I nag everyone about their salt intake...’
She laughed. ‘Me, too. For both!’
* * *
Gemma spent most of Thursday cleaning her flat and baking for her charity cake stall; on Friday, she didn’t see Oliver more than once in passing, though he did text her at lunchtime to check that she was still available for their walk on Saturday afternoon.
On Friday afternoon, Mrs Brown, the history teacher she remembered from school, came in. ‘I’m so sorry, wasting your time coming in with something as minor as a rash,’ she said. ‘I did go to the pharmacy on Monday, but the hydrocortisone cream they gave me hasn’t helped. The rash is spreading.’ She grimaced. ‘The itchiness is unbelievable. And it’s keeping me awake at night.’
‘Let me have a look, Mrs Brown,’ Gemma said.
Mrs Brown rolled up her cotton trousers to her knees, and Gemma examined the rash. There were pinpricks of deep red on the edges, and the middle sections were raised with a flat surface.
‘It looks like an allergic reaction, so we’ll start with the obvious stuff. Have you made any changes to your detergents or toiletries over the last couple of weeks?’
‘No, and it’s not a change in formulation because they’re the same batch I’ve used for a couple of weeks. I’m paranoid about ticks since Harvey—my spaniel—got one last year, so I always wear long trousers on dog-walks, and I haven’t brushed against any plants or knelt on anything with bare legs.’ Mrs Brown shoo
k her head, seeming puzzled. ‘I haven’t eaten anything out of the usual, and my blood-pressure tablets are the same ones I’ve been on for years and years.’
‘So that rules out all the usual suspects,’ Gemma said.
Mrs Brown grimaced. ‘I did wonder if it was shingles—I’ve heard that’s horribly itchy.’
‘Usually a shingles rash is only on one side of the body and doesn’t cross the midline. This is on both shins, so I’m pretty sure it’s not that,’ Gemma said. ‘Have you ever had eczema or psoriasis?’
‘No, and the only things I’m allergic to are penicillin and fabric plasters—neither of which I’ve been in contact with for years.’
‘OK. It’s possible to develop allergies at any time of life,’ Gemma said, ‘so what I’m going to prescribe is something generic that should help. Colloidal oats to wash with, an emollient to keep your legs moisturised, a slightly stronger steroid cream to use twice a day to try and calm the rash down, and an antihistamine which should stop the itching. Until that kicks in, cold compresses are your best friend. And obviously you’re sensible enough to know not to scratch.’
‘So you’ve no idea what’s causing it?’
‘There are about three thousand different rashes,’ Gemma said with a smile, ‘so, at the moment, all I can say is it’s a red, itchy rash and we don’t currently know the cause. Or, if you want it in medical-speak, it’s erythematous idiopathic pruritic macules.’
‘Which sounds a bit more impressive,’ Mrs Brown said with a wry smile.
‘If it doesn’t improve in the next three or four days, come back and I’ll do a swab test and refer you to the dermatologist.’ Gemma printed out the prescriptions and handed them over. ‘Cold compresses will definitely help to stop the itching.’
* * *
She changed at work and went straight to Claire’s, where she enjoyed a catch-up with her best friend before Claire and Andy went out for the evening.
Spending time with Scarlett was always fun. They drew pictures and played games until dinner, and then it was bath time.
‘Just one more, Aunty Gemma!’ Scarlett pleaded.
‘Nope. We’ve done all the songs,’ Gemma said, and lifted her goddaughter from the bath to wrap her in a towel. ‘Time to dry off before you get all wrinkly. And then it’s a glass of milk, brush your teeth, and a story.’
‘Two stories? Please, please, please?’ Scarlett wheedled.
Gemma laughed. ‘All right. Two stories. Let’s get you dry and put your PJs on.’
Given the disaster of her love life—since she’d graduated, all her relationships had ended really quickly—Gemma thought that her goddaughter was probably the nearest she’d ever get to having a little one of her own. And she knew she was lucky. Some people didn’t even have that.
After she’d settled Scarlett to sleep, she made herself a mug of tea and switched on the film. It was one of her favourites, and she must have seen it a dozen times over the years, but it still made her smile.
Apart from one thing.
The main actor’s colouring was exactly the same as Oliver’s. And Oliver’s smile—rare, but genuine—made her heart beat just as fast as the actor’s did.
She really was going to have to be sensible tomorrow. Even though there was something about him that made her want to forget all about caution. Or maybe especially because he tempted her to stop being careful and take a risk, she corrected herself. He was only here temporarily. The most they could offer each other was a summer of fun. Which might be a good thing: but Gemma was scared that if she let him close then she’d start to want more. And what if he didn’t want the same? What if he left after three months and didn’t ask her to go with him?
So it would be better to stick to being friends. Forget that kiss and the way his had made her blood feel as if it was fizzing through her veins.
Oliver Langley was her colleague.
Full stop.
CHAPTER FIVE
SATURDAY WAS BRIGHT and sunny, and Gemma met Oliver at the harbour.
‘Time for your touristy trip,’ she said. ‘We’ll start with the spooky local legend, see the seals, then see the shipwreck,’ she said with a smile.
‘Bring it on,’ Oliver said, smiling back. ‘What’s the spooky bit? A grey lady or something?’
‘No, it’s a barghest.’
‘I’ve never heard of that,’ he said.
‘It’s a huge black dog with massive teeth and claws and fiery eyes, which only comes out at night. Apparently if you see him, it’s a portent of doom. It’s left up to your imagination what that doom might be.’ She laughed. ‘It’s very similar to the “black dog” story told all over the country, though. My theory is that the legend was started by smugglers, who hung lanterns with red covers round their ponies’ necks to make it look like fiery eyes. If people were scared of the legend of the giant black dog, it meant they’d stay away from the cliffs—and that would mean they were less likely to discover the smugglers’ tunnels and any contraband.’
‘So there were smugglers at Ashermouth Bay?’ he asked.
‘There were in most places along the coast in the eighteenth century,’ she said. ‘There are tunnels in the cliff which lead to the Manor House and the rectory. They used to smuggle brandy, gin and tea. I remember doing the Watch the Wall, My Darling at school, and our teacher told us all about the tunnels. Most of the older houses in the village have little hiding places.’
‘That’s fascinating,’ he said. ‘Can you actually go down the tunnels now?’
‘Strictly guided tours only, and it depends on the tide,’ she said. ‘The teacher who told us about the tunnels also said that she went in them when she was our age, with some friends; they had to be rescued by the lifeboat team, and one of her friends nearly drowned. And then she casually mentioned that there are rats everywhere, and huge spiders.’
‘Enough to put you all off the idea of being brave and exploring by yourself?’
‘Indeed.’
Gemma enjoyed walking with Oliver along the damp sand. A couple of times, his hand accidentally brushed hers and sent a zing of awareness through her skin; yet again, she remembered the way he’d kissed her on the beach a week ago, and it made her knees weak. Not wanting to be needy, she took refuge in the guided tour she was supposed to be giving him. ‘Next, we have the seals,’ she said. ‘There’s a big colony of grey seals, a bit further up the coast, but these ones are common seals. Their pups are born in June and July, and everyone comes to see them in the bay.’
Oliver looked entranced by the seals, the babies with their white fur and their parents undulating their way slowly along the sand, while others ducked and dived in the water.
‘That’s lovely. I can see why people come here,’ he said.
They’d just reached the roped-off area when they saw a small boy running on the sand. A woman ducked under the rope—his mother, Gemma guessed—but before she could reach him he fell over, next to one of the seal pups. An older seal lunged at him, and he screamed.
‘Jake!’ the woman called, and sped over to grab him.
‘Hopefully the seal just scared him, rather than bit him,’ Gemma said.
But the little boy appeared to be clutching at his hand and crying.
‘Can we help?’ Oliver asked as the woman, carrying the child, ducked back under the rope next to them. ‘I’m a doctor—my name’s Oliver—and Gemma here’s a nurse practitioner.’
‘The seal bit him,’ the woman said. ‘I told Jake not to go near them. I told him we had to look at them from afar, but he ran off and went into the roped-off area before I could stop him.’
‘We saw him fall,’ Gemma said.
‘I know seals are protective of their pups at this time of year—that’s why the ropes are there—but I...’ She shook her head, looking anguished.
‘Let’s get you over
to the lifeguards’ hut. They’ll have a first-aid kit,’ Oliver said.
Between them, they ushered Jake and his mother to the lifeguards’ hut.
‘Hey, Gem. What’s happened?’ the lifeguard asked.
‘Hi, Callum.’ Gemma explained swiftly and introduced Oliver.
‘Could we have some hot water, some antiseptic and a dressing?’ Oliver asked.
‘Sure. I’ll fetch them,’ Callum said.
Gemma crouched down by the little boy, who was still crying. ‘Jake, will you let me look at your hand?’
He shook his head, guarding his hand, and her heart sank.
‘Jake, do you want to see a magic trick?’ Oliver asked.
It was the last thing she’d expected but, to her relief, the distraction worked, and the little boy nodded.
‘See how my hands are open?’ Oliver asked, waggling his fingers. ‘I need you to put your hands exactly like that, making a star shape with your fingers—but I want you to hold them really still—and then I want you to guess the magic word.’
Genius, Gemma thought as the little boy opened both his hands, the shock and pain of the bite forgotten.
‘Please!’ Jake said.
She couldn’t help smiling. ‘That’s a good magic word.’
‘But not the one I’m looking for,’ Oliver said. ‘Try again.’
Gemma examined Jake’s hand while Oliver encouraged the little boy to guess more magic words.
To her relief, the bite was shallow, more of a graze than anything else; but she also knew that a seal’s mouth could contain bacteria that could cause a very nasty complication, and the little boy would need a course of antibiotics.
‘It’s going to sting a bit,’ Gemma warned when Callum brought the hot water and antiseptic over. ‘Unfortunately our surgery’s closed until Monday morning or I’d say call in and we’d prescribe antibiotics.’
‘Antibiotics?’ Jake’s mum looked shocked.
‘Are you local or on holiday?’ Gemma asked.
‘On holiday from Birmingham—this is our first day.’