Second Chance with Her Guarded GP

by Kate Hardy

  As usual, they bought lunch from Claire’s and headed up to the cliffs.

  ‘So what did you want to run by me?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘I had an elderly patient this morning—she’s diabetic, and she’s had a few falls. I’m sending the occupational health team out to her to see if they can tweak a few things and sort out an alarm she can wear round her neck, but I also checked her balance in the surgery, and I’ve been thinking for a while that maybe we could work with local instructors to set up some balance and light resistance training for our older patients. Say, a six-week course. That way, we’re doing some pre-emptive health work instead of waiting for one of them to have a fall and maybe break a hip.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. Some of my patients in London went on a course to teach them the basics,’ Oliver said, ‘and then they could carry on at home.’

  ‘I was thinking chair exercises,’ Gemma said. ‘A warm-up, some balance work and some resistance training. One of my friends manages the local gym, and she was saying their studio’s not used that much during the day—the gym’s classes are all just after the morning school run to grab the mums on the way home from school, lunchtime for the office workers, and in the evenings for everyone else. I was thinking, some of those spare spots could be used for a course. Maybe we could join forces with the gym, and between us we could split the cost.’

  ‘And a gym would have light weights and resistance bands available. That’s a good idea.’ He looked at her. ‘If I’m not interfering, would you like me to help you put a proposal together for Caroline, with a cost-benefit analysis?’

  ‘That’d be nice.’

  ‘OK. Are you free this evening?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry. It’s Tuesday, so it’s my dance aerobics class with Claire.’ She paused. ‘Though it’s actually my friend who manages the gym who instructs the class. I could sound her out after the class and see how practical it’d be.’

  ‘Great idea. Do that, and maybe come over to mine on Thursday evening if you’re free. I’ll cook,’ he offered.

  ‘You’ll cook?’

  ‘Don’t look so surprised. I’ve managed to survive my own cooking for the last decade or so,’ he said.

  ‘All right. You’re on.’ It was a combination of business and friendship, she reminded herself, not a date.

  ‘Is there anything you don’t eat?’

  ‘I’m not a huge fan of red meat, but other than that I don’t have any allergies or major dislikes.’

  ‘Just an addiction to cake,’ he teased. ‘OK. What time?’

  ‘Seven?’ she suggested.

  ‘Seven’s fine.’

  * * *

  ‘How did you get on with the swabs for Mrs Brown?’ Oliver asked when he saw Gemma in the staff room, the next day.

  ‘The bacterial one showed just the usual skin flora,’ she said, ‘but the viral test was positive for HSV1. My poor patient was horrified, even though I explained that it’s the Herpes simplex version that causes cold sores, not the sexually transmitted disease,’ Gemma said.

  ‘Two-thirds of the population has HSV1,’ Oliver said. ‘Most of the time it stays dormant, but she might get a flare-up if it’s really sunny, or if she’s got a cold, or if she’s stressed.’

  ‘I’ve prescribed her a course of antivirals,’ Gemma said.

  ‘It’s an interesting presentation,’ Oliver said. ‘You don’t often see it on the shins.’

  ‘But imagine how horrible it’s been for her—being so itchy in the sticky heat we’ve had,’ Gemma said. ‘I’ve told her to keep up the cold compresses, and I’ve referred her to Dermatology. How’s your morning been?’

  ‘Sprains, strains and hay fever,’ he said. ‘And an asthma case I want to keep an eye on.’

  * * *

  Gemma had swapped her usual Thursday off for Friday, that week, so she could do the skydive; she was too busy for a lunch break, but Oliver texted her in the afternoon to check their dinner meeting was still on.

  She played safe and took a bottle of white wine and a hunk of local cheese from the deli. ‘I thought you’d prefer this to chocolates,’ she said. ‘It’s a local artisan cheese.’

  ‘Perfect. I love cheese,’ Oliver said with a smile. ‘You didn’t have to bring anything, but I’m glad you did. Come through.’

  Even though she knew Oliver was only renting the place for a couple of months, his cottage still felt personal rather than being like temporary home; there were photographs on the mantelpiece and a couple of journals on the coffee table.

  ‘Can I be nosey?’ she asked, gesturing to the mantelpiece.

  ‘Sure. They’re very obviously my twin and my parents,’ he said.

  He hadn’t been kidding about Rob being his identical twin. The only way she could tell them apart in the photographs was that Rob had shorter hair, in an almost military cut. But, weirdly, it was only the photographs of Oliver that caused her heart to skip a beat.

  ‘So did you train together?’ she asked, looking at the two graduation photographs.

  ‘No. He went north-west, so he could take advantage of the climbing locally, and I went to London,’ Oliver said.

  ‘He looks nice.’

  ‘He is. He’s one of the good guys,’ Oliver said. ‘Anyway. I assume you walked here, as you haven’t asked me for a car permit, so can I get you a glass of wine?’

  ‘That’d be lovely, thank you.’ She took a last look at the photographs—and oh, how she envied him the graduation photographs with his parents and his brother. They all looked so close, so like the family she longed for. The family she’d once had.

  She followed him into the kitchen, where he’d set a little bistro table for two.

  ‘Something smells wonderful,’ she said. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Just sit down,’ he said with a smile, and took a casserole dish out of the oven. ‘It’s an oven-baked risotto. Chicken, aubergine and artichoke.’

  He’d paired it with a dish of baby plum tomatoes, a green salad and balsamic dressing.

  ‘This is really delicious,’ she said after her first taste. ‘I might have to beg the recipe.’

  ‘It’s a foolproof one from the internet. I’ll send you the link,’ he said with a smile. ‘So how did you get on at the gym?’

  ‘Pretty well. Melanie said that it’d be nice to give something back to the community, and she’s got a couple of mornings where we could have a slot for a class. She’s prepared to do some training to make sure she’s teaching the class properly. She suggested doing it with a nominal charge for the six-week course, and then a discounted rate for anyone who wants to do the follow-up classes.’

  ‘So if the practice paid for the six-week course, our patients would benefit and so would the community,’ Oliver said. ‘I’ve put together some figures from my old practice, showing how much strength and balance training reduces the risk of falls, so we can see the cost savings between paying for a course of preventative strength and balance training and treating patients after they’ve fallen.’

  ‘That,’ she said, ‘is brilliant. It’s Caroline’s first week back, this week, so I’ll leave it until next week before I talk to her about it—but then perhaps we could see her together and talk her through the project?’

  ‘That works for me,’ Oliver said. ‘So do you go to the gym a lot?’

  ‘Mainly my dance aerobics class. The rest of the time, I’m training for whatever fundraising I’m doing. The skydive is this month; I’m doing a sixty-mile cycle ride along the coast next month. And then I was thinking about doing a swimming thing. I’ll do it in the pool at the gym, but if you add all the lengths together it’ll be the equivalent of swimming the English Channel.’ She smiled. ‘Just without all the grease, choppy seas and having to wait a couple of years to book a slot to do it.’

  ‘And it’s a lot safer.�
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  ‘There is that.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have to admit, I’m a bit scared about tomorrow. I’ve never jumped from a plane before.’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, and his belief in her warmed her all the way through.

  CHAPTER SIX

  FRIDAY MORNING DAWNED bright and sunny. Gemma, who’d worried about the event being rained off, felt more relaxed; yet, at the same time, adrenalin fizzed through her.

  Today she was going to jump from a plane. She was going to jump two miles up from the ground. And, OK, it was a tandem jump and the experienced skydiver would be in control...but it was still a long, long way down.

  She showered, then dressed in loose, comfortable clothing and trainers, following the instructions that had come from the skydiving company. Her phone buzzed almost constantly with texts from people wishing her good luck, including one from Oliver. Though there was nothing, she noticed, from her parents. Not that they ever wished her luck when she was doing a fundraising event. Would they ever soften towards her and be close again? she wondered. If she was honest with herself, probably not. But she wouldn’t give up on them. She wouldn’t stop trying to get through to them. She owed it to Sarah to get their family back together.

  Even though her stomach felt twisted with nerves, she made herself eat a bowl of porridge, then headed out to her car.

  Except the car didn’t look right.

  A closer examination told her she had a flat tyre. Oh, no. It would take her ages to fix it. She didn’t have time; and it looked as if she was going to miss her slot. If she called a taxi, would she get to the airfield in time? She dragged a hand through her hair. Of all the days to get a flat tyre...

  ‘Is everything OK, Gemma?’

  She glanced up to see Oliver in his running gear. ‘Flat tyre,’ she said. ‘And I haven’t got time to fix it. I was just about to call a taxi and hope it would get me to the airfield in time for my slot.’

  ‘I’ll take you,’ he said.

  ‘But—’

  ‘It’s my day off,’ he cut in gently. ‘All I planned to do today was go for a run and clean the house. Both of them can wait. Besides, by the time a taxi gets here, we could be halfway to the airfield.’

  She knew that was true. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I really appreciate it.’

  ‘No problem. Come with me.’

  It wasn’t long until they were at his house. ‘Give me thirty seconds to change my shorts for jeans,’ he said. ‘Luckily I was still warming up when I got to yours, so I’m not disgustingly sweaty and in need of a shower.’ The cheeky grin he gave her made her heart feel as if it had done a somersault.

  He came downstairs a few moments later, having changed his clothes. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Can you put the airfield’s postcode into the satnav?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Her nerves must’ve shown in her voice because he asked gently, ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes. Well, no,’ she admitted. ‘I’m trying not to think about the stats of how many parachutes fail.’

  ‘Very few,’ he said. ‘According to my twin, fewer than one in three thousand people even sprain an ankle when they jump out of a plane.’

  ‘Does he do a lot of that sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes. He likes the adrenalin rush. You’ll be fine. Think of the money you’re raising.’

  Her palms were sweaty and the back of her neck itched. But she couldn’t back out now.

  * * *

  ‘I really appreciate you giving me a lift,’ Gemma said when they arrived at the airfield.

  ‘No problem.’ Ollie paused. ‘I’ve been thinking about you. I might as well wait for you. By the time I get back to Ashermouth, it’ll be time to turn round and come to collect you, so I might as well sit in the sun with a mug of tea and watch the planes.’

  ‘I can’t ask you to give up your day off like this.’

  ‘You’re not,’ he said. ‘And it’s fine. You’re the one actually doing the skydive. I’m surprised Claire didn’t come with you.’

  ‘She was going to, but the girl who was covering for her called in sick this morning, and Friday’s a busy day at the bakery.’ Gemma shrugged. ‘It’s fine. I’m a grown-up.’

  Gemma was a brave and capable woman, from what Ollie had seen of her so far; but for a moment vulnerability showed in her eyes. ‘Hey. You’re Gemma Baxter, village superstar, and you can do this. You can do anything,’ he said. Even though he knew physical contact with her wasn’t a sensible idea, he was pretty sure she needed a hug, so he wrapped his arms round her and held her close for a few moments. ‘Go and sign in and do your safety briefing,’ he said.

  * * *

  Gemma wasn’t sure whether the adrenalin bubbling through her was because of what she was about to do or because Oliver had hugged her, or a confused mixture of the two, but she duly went off for the safety briefing, training and fitting of protective equipment.

  Oliver was waiting with the supporters of her fellow skydivers, and gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Hey. I imagine Claire would’ve taken a photo of you in your gear, so give us a grin.’ He lifted his phone and took a snap. ‘Nope. That was more like a grimace. Let’s do it again.’

  ‘Say cheese?’ she asked wryly.

  ‘No. Say yoga and put both thumbs up.’

  ‘What?’ But she did it, and he grinned.

  ‘Perfect. Now go earn that sponsor money. I’ll be there to applaud as you land.’

  Gemma followed the instructor to board the aircraft. It looked impossibly tiny.

  ‘Let’s get you attached to me,’ her instructor said. Once he’d put the four clips in place, it felt almost as if she was wearing him like a backpack.

  During the fifteen minutes it took to get the plane up to ten thousand feet, the instructor did the equipment check and the final brief.

  ‘Here we go,’ he said, and the door opened.

  A rush of cold wind filled the plane, and Gemma felt goose-bumps prickle over her skin. She was going to be the fourth and final jumper from their batch, giving her nerves even more time to sizzle.

  Finally it was her turn. She sat on the edge of the doorway, ready to go. The fields below looked like a patchwork of gold and green; puffy bits of white clouds billowed here and there.

  ‘One, two, three—go!’ the instructor said.

  And then they tipped forward. They were head-down, plummeting down to the ground in free-fall.

  Even though Gemma knew they were falling at a hundred and twenty miles an hour, she felt weightless, as if they were floating on air. She’d expected it to feel a bit like a roller coaster, with all the swooping; but because there were no twists and turns or sudden changes of direction, it was fine.

  The instructor tapped her on the shoulder, and she uncrossed her arms, bringing them up in front of her as she’d been taught down on the ground.

  It was incredibly noisy.

  And incredibly exhilarating.

  And somehow it was peaceful, all at the same time; in her head, she could hear Tom Petty singing ‘Free Fallin’’.

  The cameraman she’d hired to take a video of the skydive reached out to give her a fist bump, and she grinned.

  She was really, really doing this.

  She brought her hands in momentarily to make a heart symbol, to remind everyone what she was fundraising for, and yelled, ‘Sarah, this is for you!’ Even if nobody could hear her on the video, they could at least lip read. Then the instructor opened the parachute. Instead of the jolt she’d expected when the canopy opened, it was a gentle, steady rise.

  It took them about five minutes to float all the way down. As she’d been told earlier, she lifted her knees and straightened her legs as she was sitting down. The ground rushed up to meet them; but the landing was smooth, the canopy came down behind them, and the ground crew were there to help them out of
the parachute and harness.

  All of them gave her a high five. ‘Well done! Do you know how much you’ve raised?’

  ‘Unless anyone’s donated since I got on the plane...’ She told them the amount, smiling broadly. Everyone had been so generous.

  Oliver met her with a broad smile. ‘How incredible were you?’

  ‘Thank you.’ She grinned. ‘Sorry, I’m all over the place right now. I’m still full of adrenalin from the skydive.’ Which was only half the reason; Oliver’s nearness was definitely making her feel all wobbly.

  ‘You were so brave.’

  ‘My palms were sweating, my heart was thumping and I thought I was going to pass out in the plane. Even though I knew it was safe, it was terrifying. The bit where you sit on the edge of the plane, just before you lean forward and fall out...’

  ‘It sounds horrendous. But you did it.’

  ‘All I did was jump out of a plane, strapped to someone else.’

  ‘You’re still amazing,’ he countered.

  She took off the kit, went to the debriefing, collected the website link for her video so she could share it with everyone who’d supported her, then sent a round-robin text to tell everyone she was down safely and she’d done it.

  ‘So what’s the plan now?’ he asked.

  ‘Home, please. I need to change that flat tyre.’

  ‘Tell you what. Make me a cheese toastie, and I’ll fix it for you.’

  ‘But you’ve already rescued me once today. It feels as if I’m taking advantage of you.’ Taking advantage of him. That could have another meaning. And the vision of Oliver all rumpled and lazy—smiling, after making love with her—made the blood rush straight to her face.

  ‘You’re not taking advantage of me,’ he said.

  Was it her imagination or was there extra colour in his cheeks, too? Was he remembering that kiss on the beach and wondering what it would be like if it happened again? For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

  ‘If anything,’ he said, ‘you’re doing me a favour because I can put off doing the chores.’