Second Chance with Her Guarded GP

by Kate Hardy

  Ollie wanted to. But he still couldn’t quite shake himself of the fear. Would he be enough for Gemma, the way he hadn’t been for Tabby? Or was he setting himself up for heartache again?

  * * *

  Two days later, Penny rang Gemma. ‘Gem, I’m so sorry to do this—Mum’s away or I’d call her. I don’t know what else to do. It’s Gran.’

  Gemma knew that Penny’s grandmother was staying for a few days while her bathroom was being refitted. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘She’s got a really high temperature.’ Penny dragged in a breath. ‘I don’t know if it’s flu, or something else.’

  The spectre of Covid, Gemma thought, which could be deadly in older patients.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I just don’t know what to do. I can’t leave James, and—’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ Gemma said. ‘I’m your friend. And friends help each other. See you in a minute.’

  She filled Oliver in.

  ‘The pizza’s not coming to any harm in the fridge,’ Oliver said. ‘I’ll turn the oven off now. Let’s go. We’ll take my bag with us. And my car,’ he added.

  Penny greeted them with relief at her front door.

  ‘Run us through your gran’s symptoms,’ Oliver said.

  ‘Her temperature’s thirty-nine, she’s got a headache, she’s been coughing and says it’s hard to breathe, and she’s tired and she doesn’t want to eat.’ Penny bit her lip.

  ‘There are plenty of viruses that do exactly the same thing, including summer flu,’ Oliver said. ‘Try not to worry.’

  ‘Has she mentioned any loss of smell or taste?’ Gemma asked.

  Penny shook her head.

  ‘That’s a good thing,’ Oliver said. ‘Let’s go and see her.’

  Penny introduced Oliver and Gemma to her grandmother, and Oliver listened to the elderly woman’s chest while Gemma checked her pulse. Mrs Bailey was coughing, and admitted that it hurt more when she breathed in.

  ‘Crackles,’ Oliver said to Gemma quietly. ‘How’s her pulse?’

  ‘Fast. I’m thinking pneumonia,’ Gemma said.

  ‘I agree,’ Oliver said. ‘Mrs Bailey, we think you have pneumonia. You need antibiotics, but the surgery isn’t open at this time of night so I can’t prescribe them. We need to get you to hospital.’

  ‘But how did Gran get pneumonia?’ Penny asked, looking distraught.

  ‘Lots of things cause pneumonia. Have you ever had chickenpox, Mrs Bailey?’ Oliver asked gently.

  ‘Not that I remember. Anyway, I don’t have any spots.’

  ‘Chickenpox doesn’t always cover you completely with spots; sometimes there might only be one or two little ones,’ Gemma said.

  ‘And James has chickenpox. I’ll drive you to hospital, Gran,’ Penny said.

  ‘You’re eight months pregnant and you’re worried sick. I’ll drive,’ Oliver said. ‘I’ll call the emergency department to let them know we’re coming.’

  Penny shook her head. ‘I can’t ask you to do that—and, if Gran’s got chickenpox, what if you get it from her?’

  ‘I won’t. My brother and I both had it when we were six,’ Oliver said. ‘And I remember because it was Christmas and it snowed, and we couldn’t go out to make a snowman.’

  ‘If you want to go with Oliver and your gran, Penny,’ Gemma said, ‘I’ll stay here and keep an eye on James.’

  Penny’s bottom lip wobbled. ‘Gem. I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘Hey. You were there for me when I needed a friend. James will be fine with me,’ Gemma said, giving her a hug.

  ‘He’s asleep right now,’ Penny said.

  ‘If he wakes up, I’ll give him a cuddle and read him a story until he goes back to sleep,’ Gemma promised.

  ‘You’re one of the best,’ Penny said. ‘Both of you are.’

  ‘Let’s get your gran comfortable in my car,’ Oliver said.

  * * *

  At the hospital, Florence Jacobs, the registrar on duty, examined Penny’s gran and admitted her to a ward. ‘It’s a precaution,’ she said to Penny. ‘Pneumonia can be a bit nasty. I’d rather have your gran here so we can monitor her for a couple of days and make sure the antibiotics are working. You can come back in and see her tomorrow, and bring anything you want to make her a bit more comfortable.’

  ‘But—what about her nightie, and her things?’

  ‘Call Gemma and ask her to pack a bag,’ Oliver said. ‘I’ll bring it back here when I drop you home.’

  ‘I can’t ask—’

  ‘You’re not asking. I’m offering,’ he said gently.

  ‘I’ve ruined your evening with Gemma.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said with a smile. ‘Everyone needs a friend to lean on from time to time. Call Gemma.’

  ‘You’re so lovely,’ she said.

  Oli-lovely-ver. He could hear Gemma’s voice in his head, and it made him smile. ‘My pleasure.’ It was good to feel part of a community. Part of Gemma’s community. And Oliver found himself wondering what the chances were of Aadya deciding to take a little more maternity leave so he could stay a bit longer. He liked working in Ashermouth Bay, and he liked being with Gemma. More than liked.

  And, even though Ollie still didn’t trust his own judgement, after Tabby, Rob liked her.

  Maybe he and Gemma could be good for each other.

  Maybe she was the one he ought to let close.

  And maybe, just maybe, he’d be the one that she finally let close, too...

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Yvonne was running a workshop and Gemma was helping out. But Ollie had managed to get tickets to see a band he really liked and had talked Gemma into going with him. They grabbed some burritos before the show, and were in the queue early enough to be at the front.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked. ‘What if someone knocks into you?’

  He could guess what she was worried about: his scar. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Really.’ He stole a kiss. ‘But I appreciate the concern.’

  During the show, he stood behind Gemma with his arms wrapped round her. It was good to hold her close. And on an evening like this: it was perfect, with the buzz of the crowd and the sheer joy of being there seeing a band he’d liked for years. Gemma knew some of their hits and sang along with everyone else, and Ollie didn’t care that neither of them was singing in tune. This was just great. Especially as she was leaning back against him to be even closer.

  ‘That was fantastic,’ she said, as they walked back to his car with their arms wrapped round each other.

  ‘It’s been a while since I’ve been to a show,’ he said.

  ‘I guess in London you have a lot more choice,’ she said.

  ‘There’s a lot of good music here, too,’ he said.

  When he’d driven her home, she asked him in for coffee.

  And he spent so long kissing her in her kitchen that they completely forgot about the kettle.

  ‘Um. Sorry,’ he said, when he finally broke the kiss.

  ‘I’m not.’ She stroked his face. ‘Stay tonight?’

  His heart skipped a beat. ‘Are you asking...?’

  She blushed, making her look even prettier. ‘Yes.’

  He stole another kiss. ‘Then yes. Please.’

  ‘Mind you, I’ve got to be up early to do the cycling training,’ she warned.

  ‘I would offer to do it with you,’ he said, ‘except I don’t have a bike and, even if I borrowed one, I’m not used to cycling long-distance so I’d hold you back.’

  ‘Fair comment,’ she said.

  ‘But is there something else I could do to support you?’

  ‘We could do with another race medic,’ she said. ‘But that’s a bit of an ask.’

  ‘The event’s important to you,’ he said, �
��so I’ll support you. Sign me up and let me know the details.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ He held her gaze. ‘And tomorrow maybe I could meet you at the end of your ride and take you for lunch.’

  ‘I’m going to be hideously sweaty,’ she said. ‘Not fit to go out.’

  ‘In that case, how about I cook you a late Sunday lunch here, with proper crispy roast potatoes?’ he suggested.

  ‘That,’ she said, ‘would be perfect.’ She kissed him. Then she took his hand. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve done this.’

  ‘Me, too,’ he said.

  ‘There’s a bit of me that’s...well, scared,’ she admitted.

  He stroked her face. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he promised. ‘We don’t have to do anything. I can just sleep with you in my arms, if you want. Or I can go home on my own, if you decide you’re not ready for this.’

  ‘Oli-lovely-ver,’ she said. ‘I trust you. And I—I want to make love with you.’

  ‘Good,’ he said.

  ‘Do you—’ she blushed even harder ‘—have any condoms?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Then come to bed with me, Oliver,’ she said.

  He kissed her, and let her lead him to her bedroom.

  * * *

  Gemma woke in the middle of the night, her head cradled on Oliver’s shoulder and her arm wrapped round his waist. Closing her eyes, she listened to his deep, regular breathing.

  Oliver had been a generous lover. Even though the first time they’d made love should’ve been awkward and a bit rubbish, it hadn’t been. It had felt like—like coming home, she thought. The first time it had ever felt this good, this right.

  Maybe this time she’d made the right choice. Maybe this time she’d found someone worth being close to.

  Finally, she drifted off to sleep.

  When her alarm shrilled the next morning, she leaned over to the bedside table to switch it off. Oliver nuzzled the back of her neck. ‘Good morning.’

  She turned back to face him and smiled. ‘Good morning.’ The morning after the night before, she’d half expected to feel shy with him; but instead she just felt happy. As if everything was in its right place.

  ‘I’ll get up and head for home so you can get ready for your training,’ he said. ‘See you for lunch.’

  ‘I look forward to it,’ she said. ‘What can I bring?’

  ‘Just yourself.’ He kissed her again. ‘Enjoy your training. Come over whenever you’re ready. I plan to do lunch for two o’clock, but let me know if you need it to be later.’

  ‘It sounds perfect. Thank you.’

  * * *

  Once he was back home, Ollie downed a protein shake, changed into his running gear, and went for a run along the sea.

  The sun was shining, the sky was the perfect shimmery blue of summer, and life felt good. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this happy; and he knew it was all because of Gemma.

  He’d finished setting the bistro table in the garden when his phone pinged.

  See you in ten minutes.

  She was as good as her word, too, not keeping him waiting; and when he opened the door she greeted him with a kiss and handed him a brown paper bag.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Host gift. I did consider flowers,’ she said, ‘but I don’t get gardener vibes from you. So I thought you might like these.’

  He looked in the bag to discover locally roasted coffee—beans, rather than ground, in deference to his coffee machine—and locally made chutney. ‘Thank you. That’s lovely. Lunch will be another twenty minutes, so shall I make us coffee and we can sit in the garden?’

  She kissed him again. ‘That’d be lovely. And something smells gorgeous.’

  Gemma, he thought, appreciated him. She paid attention and she’d noticed what he liked.

  So maybe this time he’d got it right. And it filled him with joy.

  * * *

  It was a busy week at the practice; Penny’s grandmother recovered from her pneumonia, quite a few more of the children in the village came down with chickenpox, and Ollie found himself treating sprains and strains from tourists who’d overdone sporting activities on holiday as well as gardeners who’d wanted to make the most of the good weather. Every day he felt that he was getting to know the people in the village a little more, and really making a difference at the practice. And every night, he and Gemma made love, and it made him feel as if the barriers he’d put round his heart were melting away.

  Until Thursday evening, when Gemma was doing something with Claire and he was catching up with some journals, and his phone rang.

  He glanced at the screen and felt a flush of guilt as he saw the name of one of his colleagues at the practice in London. ‘Hey, Mandy,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I’ve been a bit hopeless about staying in touch.’

  ‘It’s fine. We know you’ve had a lot on your plate, with Rob and the transplant.’

  ‘So what can I do for you? Did you and Tristan fancy coming up for a weekend? You’d love the beaches here. You can walk for miles.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ she said. She took a deep breath. ‘I just thought it might be better if you heard the news from someone you know, rather than come across it on social media and what have you.’

  Ollie had pretty much ignored social media since he’d been in Northumbria. ‘What news?’

  ‘Tabby. She’s, um, engaged.’

  Tabby. Engaged. To someone else.

  He blew out a breath. ‘Right.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ollie. I know you loved her.’

  But she hadn’t loved him. At least, not enough to marry him. And it had hurt so much when she’d told him. It had taken him months to get over the misery of knowing that he wasn’t what she wanted: that he’d got it so wrong. ‘I hope she’s found someone who can make her happy,’ he said, meaning it.

  ‘Are you OK, Ollie?’ Mandy asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he reassured her, even though he was still processing the news. ‘And Rob’s doing well. He’s got a part-time post in the Emergency Department at the hospital near here, to keep him out of mischief for a while.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  He managed to keep the conversation going for a bit, and extracted a promise that she and Tristan would try to find a spare weekend to come up and visit.

  But when he put the phone down, he had time to think about it. Time to brood.

  Tabby was engaged to someone else.

  It was a good thing that she’d moved on; but the news brought back all his insecurities. Engaged. To be engaged again this soon, Tabby must’ve started dating the guy within days of calling off the wedding. Which just went to prove that he really, really hadn’t been enough for her.

  So was he kidding himself that he was enough for Gemma?

  Yes, she’d let Ollie close to her; but was he setting himself up for another failure?

  The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that he was making a huge mistake. His job here was temporary and his contract ended in a couple of weeks’ time—as did his sabbatical from his practice in London. He was perfectly fit again after donating a kidney. Which meant that he really ought to think about going back to London.

  But that wasn’t fair to Gemma, either. He knew how much she loved it here. He couldn’t expect her to leave the place where she’d grown up and go back to London with him.

  So he was going to have to find a way of letting her down gently.

  The question was—how?

  * * *

  Something was wrong, Gemma was sure.

  Oliver had suddenly gone distant on her. Too busy for lunch on Friday, she could accept, because she knew how busy they were at work. Suggesting that she have a girly night with Claire and little Scarlett on Friday evening was Oliver being
nice. But when he was too busy to see her on Saturday, and went to see his family on Sunday—without asking her to join him and meet his parents as well as seeing his brother again—she started to wonder if she was missing something.

  Had Oliver changed his mind about being with her?

  His contract at the surgery was due to end in a couple of weeks, when Aadya was coming back from maternity leave. What then? Would he go back to London? Move elsewhere?

  She had no idea. But the one thing she was pretty sure about was that, whatever Oliver decided to do, he wouldn’t ask her to go with him.

  She texted him on Sunday evening.

  Everything OK?

  It took a while for him to text her back, but it was cool and polite and told her nothing.

  Yes, thanks.

  What now?

  She could be pathetic and wait for him to dump her, the way she’d been at seventeen.

  Or she could take control. Be the one who ended it.

  When Oliver made excuses not to see her on Monday, that decided her.

  She texted him.

  Can I call in for a quick word on the way back from the gym tomorrow?

  He took so long replying that she thought he was going to say no. But finally she got the answer she wanted.

  Sure.

  No suggestion of dinner or a drink.

  OK. She’d take the hint. And no way was she going to let him do the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line. She’d been there and done that way too often.

  She showered and changed at the gym after her class, then cycled over to Oliver’s cottage and rang the bell.

  When he opened the door, he didn’t smile or kiss her, the way he had last week.

  It was as if they’d stepped into some parallel universe. One where they’d never made love, never kissed, weren’t even friends.

  And this really felt like the rejections from her teens. The boys who’d ghosted her or who’d ignored her, once they’d got what they wanted.