Second Chance with Her Guarded GP

by Kate Hardy

  ‘Then you need to go either to the walk-in centre in the next town, or to the emergency department at the hospital,’ Gemma said. ‘Take a seal letter with you, and they’ll sort out some tetracycline to make sure an infection doesn’t start.’

  ‘Seal letter?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘Tetracycline’s the most effective antibiotic against the Mycoplasma organism in a seal’s mouth,’ Gemma explained. ‘It’s why we have a seal letter for people to take to whatever medical department they go to. If a seal bite isn’t treated properly, and the wrong antibiotic is given, the person could develop a complication called “seal finger”.’

  ‘Abracadabra!’ Jake shouted.

  ‘That’s the right magic word. And look what I’ve found behind your ear,’ Oliver said, plucking a coin from behind Jake’s ear.

  The little boy’s eyes were round with amazement. ‘That’s real magic!’

  ‘It certainly is,’ Oliver said with a smile.

  ‘Jake, I’m going to need to wash your hands with some very special soap and water.’

  Callum had got a bowl of warm water ready, along with antiseptic soap, and Gemma encouraged Jake to wash his hands.

  It obviously stung and the little boy pulled his hands out of the water and cried, but then Oliver stepped in again.

  ‘I’ll wash my hands with you,’ he said. ‘And we’ll sing a special washing hands song. Do you know “If You’re Happy and You Know it?”’

  Jake nodded.

  ‘We’re going to change the words a bit,’ Oliver said, taking his watch off and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans. ‘Instead of “clap your hands”, we’ll sing “wash your hands”. Ready? And we’ll get your mummy to sing it, too.’

  ‘Yay!’ Jake said, the stinging forgotten.

  Oliver got them to sing along. It didn’t matter that his voice was flat; he was so good with the little boy that it put a lump in her throat.

  When Jake’s hands were clean, Oliver gently helped dry them.

  The wound was still bleeding a little bit—to Gemma’s relief, because it meant she didn’t have to hurt Jake by squeezing the wound to make it bleed. She put a pad over it and a dressing.

  ‘Here’s the seal letter,’ Callum said, handing it to Jake’s mum. ‘And I’ve written the phone number and address of the walk-in centre and the hospital’s emergency department on the back for you.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll take him now,’ Jake’s mum said. ‘And thank you, both of you, for helping.’

  ‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Oliver said with a smile.

  Once Jake and his mum had left, Callum said, ‘Thanks for the back-up, guys. Really appreciated.’

  ‘No worries. Give my love to Sadie when you see her next,’ Gemma said, and shepherded Oliver out of the lifeguards’ hut. ‘Sadie’s his big sister. She was one of my sister’s best friends,’ she explained.

  ‘I’m guessing everyone knows everyone in Ashermouth Bay?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘Pretty much,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘I have to say, I’ve never heard of “seal finger” before,’ he said.

  ‘To be fair, it’s probably not that common in London,’ she said.

  ‘But it happens a lot here?’

  ‘There have been a few cases, over the years. I didn’t like to say, in front of Jake’s mum, but it involves inflammation and cellulitis, and it used to mean the finger would have to be amputated.’

  ‘That’s pretty major stuff. So how do you know all about seals?’

  ‘I was a seal warden, the summers when I was fifteen and sixteen. It meant I did a two-hour shift on the beach, most days, talking to visitors about the seals, answering their questions, advising them where to get the best views of the seals and also making sure they stayed well clear of the roped-off area where the seals were resting. If you get too close to the pups, you could scare the mum away and there’s a risk she’ll abandon the baby.’

  ‘A seal warden.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re full of surprises.’

  ‘I wanted to be a vet, when I was fifteen,’ she said. ‘Though, after Sarah died, I decided I wanted to help people rather than animals, so I trained to be a nurse instead.’

  ‘You’re good with people,’ he said. ‘So do you have pets?’

  ‘No. I work full-time, it’s just me at home and I live in a flat, so it wouldn’t be fair to have a dog. But I do walk a couple of dogs down my road, sometimes.’ She looked at him. ‘I assume you don’t have pets, either?’

  ‘No, and for the same reason. It really wouldn’t be fair in London.’

  Which reminded her. He was here temporarily. ‘Do you think you’ll go back to London?’

  ‘I’ll see how things go with Rob,’ he said. ‘Probably.’

  And it was ridiculous that her stomach swooped in disappointment.

  She kept the conversation light, telling him more about the seals and pointing out the shipwreck. They climbed up the path to the castle on the other side of the bay, then walked back along the cliffs and back down to the harbour. Every so often, his hand brushed against hers, and it felt like electricity zinging along her skin.

  What if his fingers caught hers?

  What if he held her hand?

  It made her feel like a teenager again, waiting for the boy she had a crush on to notice her.

  But Oliver had clearly had second thoughts since their kiss on the beach, and he was exquisitely polite with her. Gemma was cross with herself for being disappointed; hadn’t she learned the hard way not to rely on other people for her happiness? So she pasted a bright, sparkling smile on her face and pretended everything was just fine.

  * * *

  When they reached the harbour and stood in the queue for the fish and chips, Ollie said, ‘This is my shout, by the way.’

  ‘We’ll go halves,’ Gemma countered.

  He shook his head. ‘You were kind enough to show me round. It’s the least I can do.’

  She smiled. ‘All right. Thank you.’

  They sat on the harbour wall, eating their fish and chips from the recyclable boxes, watching the boats and the gentle swish of the sea. How much slower life was here than it was in London, Ollie thought. And he was really beginning to enjoy living by the sea.

  After they’d eaten, he walked her home. A couple of times, his hand brushed against hers, and he was so tempted to hold her hand. But that wasn’t the deal they’d agreed. They were friends; and he still didn’t trust his judgement. He didn’t want to rush this.

  They came to a halt outside a small block of flats.

  ‘Would you like to come in for coffee?’ she asked.

  Ollie knew he ought to make an excuse, but he was curious to know what Gemma’s inner sanctum was like. ‘That’d be nice,’ he said.

  ‘I’m on the ground floor,’ she said, and let them into the lobby before unlocking her front door. ‘The bathroom’s here on the left.’

  She said nothing about the closed door on the right, which he assumed was her bedroom.

  ‘Living room,’ she said as they walked into the next room. ‘And my kitchen-diner’s through there. You take your coffee without milk, don’t you?’

  ‘And no sugar. Yes, please,’ he said.

  ‘Take a seat, and I’ll bring the coffee through.’

  The whole room was neat and tidy. The walls were neutral, as were the comfortable sofa and armchair with a reading lamp, but there was a throw the colour of sunshine across the back of the sofa, and the material of the cushions was covered in sunflowers. On the mantelpiece there was a vase of sunflowers—clearly Gemma’s favourite flowers.

  There were framed photographs surrounding the vase; one was of Gemma herself, and a younger girl who looked so much like her that Ollie guessed it was Sarah. There was another of Gemma holding a baby, which he guessed would
be the goddaughter she’d mentioned earlier in the week, plus one of her with her fellow students at graduation. There was a photo of Gemma in a bridesmaid’s dress, laughing with the bride; he vaguely recognised the other woman, and guessed that was Claire.

  There were no photos, he noticed, of Gemma with her parents. Given how family-oriented Gemma seemed, that surprised him.

  On the wall was a framed pen-and-ink drawing of seals on the beach.

  ‘That’s an amazing picture,’ he said when she came back in, carrying two mugs of coffee.

  ‘Sarah drew me that for my sixteenth birthday. It still amazes me to think she was only twelve at the time.’

  ‘She was very talented,’ Ollie said, meaning it.

  Tears shimmered for a moment in Gemma’s dark eyes. ‘I loved her so much. But I know she’d be furious with me if I moped around—just as I would’ve been furious with her if I’d been the one who’d died and she’d been left behind to deal with it.’

  If Rob had died from that burst appendix, Ollie thought, he wasn’t sure he would’ve coped well with it. And he was thirty, not a teenager.

  ‘I think she’d be really proud of you,’ he said. ‘You don’t mope at all. Look at what you’ve achieved. You’re a nurse practitioner, and you make a difference to people’s lives every single working day. Plus you’ve raised a lot of money for the cardiac centre where she was treated.’

  * * *

  His kindness was nearly Gemma’s undoing. ‘I hope she’d be proud of me,’ she said.

  ‘What’s not to be proud of? If you were my sister, I’d be boasting about you,’ he said.

  Sisterly wasn’t quite the way she was feeling about him, but she damped that down. If he’d wanted to take things further between them, he would’ve taken her hand on the beach or said something.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said instead.

  ‘So you’re a reader?’ He gestured to her bookcase.

  ‘I love historicals,’ she said. ‘Yvonne—Claire’s mum—got me reading historical crime when I was in sixth form, to give me a break from studying. I loved The Cadfael Chronicles series. And then I discovered historical romance.’ She paused. ‘So are you a reader?’

  ‘Not as much as my mum would like,’ he said with a smile. ‘I tend to read non-fiction. Journals and the like. And I have a bad habit of watching documentaries.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ she said. ‘Though I love films. Musicals and comedies, mainly.’

  ‘With a bit of skydiving on the side.’ He smiled. ‘The sort of thing my twin would do.’

  ‘I’m really not that brave,’ she said. ‘The skydiving’s a one-off. Though I’m doing a sixty-mile cycle ride down the coast, next month.’ She gave him a sidelong look. ‘Are you a cyclist?’

  ‘No. But I’ll sponsor you,’ he said.

  ‘I wasn’t dropping a hint.’

  ‘I know, but it’s important to you. And I’m your friend, so I’ll support you.’

  Friend.

  Oliver had just made it very clear how he saw her.

  So she’d just have to stop secretly wishing for more.

  * * *

  It was another busy week; and Mrs Brown called Gemma on Tuesday. ‘I’ve been taking photographs of the rash, just so you can see how it’s changed.’

  Gemma looked at the photographs. ‘It’s definitely looking angrier. It’s spreading, and the spots are coalescing.’

  ‘And it’s so, so itchy. It’s keeping me awake at night.’

  ‘Can you email the pictures to me, please?’ She gave Mrs Brown the surgery’s email address. ‘I’m going to have a word with one of my colleagues,’ she said, ‘and I’ll call you back.’

  When the photographs arrived, she sent over a note through the practice messaging system.

  How are you with rashes? Could do with another pair of eyes.

  Oliver called her. ‘Is your patient with you right now?’

  ‘No. She’s just sent me some photographs. I’ve added them to her notes.’ She gave Oliver the details.

  ‘Let’s have a look.’ He paused, and she guessed he was checking the file on his screen. ‘Actually, you’ve treated it as I would’ve done. If it’s not responding to steroid cream, I’d say ask her to do a swab test, to see if there’s bacterial or viral involvement.’

  ‘And if it’s not that, then a referral to Dermatology?’

  ‘Good call,’ he said.

  Gemma rang Mrs Brown and asked her to drop into the surgery later that morning to do a swab test, then called her next patient.

  Eileen Townsend was eighty-one, diabetic, and her daughter had brought her in because she was having a lot of falls. Gemma knew that diabetes could cause elderly patients to have more falls than non-diabetics, because hypoglycaemia could cause light-headedness. She always worried about her elderly patients having a fall, with the extra risk of breaking bones; and reduced mobility often went hand in hand with foot care problems, which a diabetic might not notice.

  ‘I help Mum with her medication,’ Mrs Townsend’s daughter said, ‘and she had her six-monthly check with you three months ago.’

  Gemma nodded. ‘Nothing’s changed since then?’

  ‘Not really,’ Mrs Townsend said.

  Gemma double-checked her notes. There had been no hospital admissions and no suggestion that Mrs Townsend had had a stroke or developed Parkinson’s. Maybe postural hypotension? ‘Are you feeling light-headed at all before you fall, Mrs Townsend?’

  ‘No. It just happens,’ Mrs Townsend said.

  ‘Would you mind me assessing you physically?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Just tell me what I need to do.’

  ‘Can you stand up for me, please?’

  Mrs Townsend stood up, and Gemma was pleased to see that she didn’t sway, raise her arms or move her feet to balance.

  ‘Wonderful. Can you lift one foot off the floor, just a little bit?’

  She struggled to balance on her right foot, and Gemma made a note.

  ‘Lovely. Can you walk round the room for me?’ Gemma chatted to her as she walked, and was pleased to see that Mrs Townsend didn’t stop walking when she answered a question.

  ‘That’s great. And, lastly, I’d like to try one more thing. I’d like you to sit down, walk over to the window, turn round, walk back to the chair and sit down again.’

  Gemma timed her, and was pleased to note that it took less than twelve seconds.

  ‘That’s all really good,’ she said. ‘The only thing I think you’re struggling with is balance. There are some good strength and balance exercises you can do using a chair—I can print some off for you.’ She smiled at Mrs Townsend’s daughter. ‘And if you can help your mum do the exercises, that’d be brilliant. Though I’d like to try and set up some classes locally. I’ll run that one by the head of the practice, and if I can make it happen I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Of course I can help my mum,’ Mrs Townsend’s daughter said.

  ‘Brilliant. The other thing I’d like to do is send the occupational health team out to you for a hazards assessment of your home.’

  ‘I’ve already checked the hazards. There aren’t any trailing wires, I make Mum wear slippers with proper soles so she doesn’t slip on the floor, and there aren’t any rugs she can trip over,’ Mrs Townsend’s daughter said.

  ‘That’s excellent,’ Gemma said. ‘But it’s not just about hazards you can see—it’s looking at how you use the space and what they can do to help. So they might suggest putting risers on the bottom of an armchair to make it easier for your mum to stand up, or a grab rail next to a toilet or a bath. Plus they can set you up with an alarm you wear round your neck, Mrs Townsend, so you can get help really quickly if you do have a fall.’

  ‘I don’t want to wear something round my neck,’ Mrs Townsend said. ‘I’m old, not usel
ess.’

  ‘Of course you’re not useless,’ Gemma said. ‘But you’ve had a few falls, and your daughter’s worried about you—just as I’d be worried if my mum had a few falls. I’d be panicking that she’d fall at night and nobody would know—so she’d just have to lie there in the cold, unable to get up again until someone came in the next morning.’

  Mrs Townsend’s daughter nodded. ‘That’s my biggest fear. Mum, if you wore something round your neck so I knew you could get help when you needed it, that’d stop me panicking so much.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Mrs Townsend said with a sigh. ‘I don’t want to lose my independence.’

  ‘An alarm would actually give you a bit more independence because it’d stop your daughter worrying so much,’ Gemma said gently.

  ‘All right. I’ll do it,’ Mrs Townsend agreed.

  ‘I’ll sort out the referral,’ Gemma promised, ‘and they’ll call you in a few days to organise a visit.’ She printed off the exercises. ‘These will all help with your balance and core strength, which means you’re less likely to fall.’

  ‘Ballet’s meant to be good for that,’ her daughter said.

  ‘I’m too old to start being a ballerina,’ Mrs Townsend said. ‘I can’t do all that leaping about.’

  ‘Actually, there are special classes for older beginners,’ Gemma said. ‘My best friend’s mum does it. And not only is it good for her balance, it’s also meant she’s made new friends. She says it’s the best thing she’s ever done. I can get the details from her, if you like.’

  ‘That would be really good,’ her daughter said. She smiled. ‘Your social life will be better than mine, at this rate, Mum.’

  ‘All right. I’ll give it a go,’ Mrs Townsend said.

  Once her patient had gone, Gemma sent a note to Oliver over the practice internal email.

  Are you busy at lunch, or can I run something for work by you?

  The reply came swiftly.

  Of course. Let me know when you’ve seen your last patient this morning.

  Thank you, she typed back.