by Sarah Morgan
Carol glanced between them, her expression guilty. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘You have no reason to be sorry,’ Marco said swiftly. ‘In this practice each patient gets the attention they need when they most need it. The patients will not mind because they know that next time it could be them.’
Judging from the expression on Kate’s face she wasn’t convinced and Marco thought for a moment, aware that he was leaving her and the receptionists to cope alone with the flak from the patients. His gaze settled on Amy, who stood in the corner of his consulting room, looking awkward and out of place. ‘Amy can take the rest of my surgery. That will save Nick and Dragan having to see extra patients.’
Judging from her shocked expression he might as well have suggested that she run naked along the harbour wall. ‘I— Me?’
‘Yes, you. You’re a qualified GP.’ He added a few more bits to his bag. ‘You happen to have arrived when we’re in crisis. I’m sure you won’t mind helping out.’
‘But—’
‘What a brilliant idea! That would be fantastic,’ Kate enthused, her relief evident as she ushered Carol towards the door, catching the pink blanket before it slid to the floor. ‘I’ll help Carol and Michelle into the ambulance while you pack what you need, Marco. Join us when you’re ready. Then I’ll come back and brief you, Amy. You can use Lucy’s consulting room.’
Amy’s expression was close to panic. ‘But I’m not staying—’ The door closed behind Kate and Amy flinched and turned to Marco, her hands spread in a silent plea. ‘Marco, this is ridiculous. I just need to talk to you for five minutes, that’s all.’
‘As you can clearly see, I don’t have five minutes. I don’t have one minute. I can’t talk to you until the patients have been seen.’ Strengthened by the prospect of a brief respite before the inevitable confrontation, Marco snapped his bag shut with a force that threatened the lock. ‘If you want to talk to me, help with surgery. Then perhaps I’ll find time to talk to you.’
‘But—’
He lifted the bag. ‘That’s my price for a conversation.’
‘We have to talk, you know we do.’ She wrapped her arms around her waist and then let them drop to her sides and gave a sigh. ‘You don’t leave me with much choice.’
‘About as much choice as you gave me when you walked away from our relationship.’ He glanced out of the window, remembered the snow and reached for his coat. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to put distance between them. He was angry with her. And angry with himself for still caring so much after two years. He needed space. Needed perspective. He needed to work out what he was going to do. ‘It’s non-negotiable, Amy. If you want to talk to me, stay and do the surgery. When the patients have been seen, I might find time to listen to you.’
‘If you can’t find anything, just let me know.’ Kate threw open a few more cupboards and waved a hand vaguely. ‘Everything you’re likely to need should be here. And if you need any inside information on the patients, Nick should be able to help. Press 2 on your phone and you’re straight through to him.’
Nick Tremayne, the senior partner. Although he was a good friend of Marco’s, Amy had always found him more than a little intimidating.
What would he think of her being there? Just after she’d left Marco, Nick himself had suffered tragedy when his wife, Annabel, had died suddenly.
‘How is Nick? I was so shocked when I received your letter telling me the news.’
‘Yes.’ Kate slipped a pile of blank prescriptions into the printer, her face expressionless. ‘We were all shocked. I thought you ought to know, although finding an address for you was a nightmare. Even the medical charity you were working for didn’t seem able to guarantee that they could get it to you.’
‘I was moving around. It took about six months to catch up with me.’ Amy sank into the chair, remembering how awful she’d felt when she’d read the news. ‘I wrote to him. Just a card. Is he—is he doing all right?’
Kate reached for a pen from the holder on the desk. ‘I suppose so. He just carries on. Doesn’t give much away. Lucy’s baby will help, I suppose. They’ve called her Annabel.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ Amy said softly. ‘I bumped into Tony earlier. He said the baby was premature?’
‘Yes, she was born a few weeks early but she’s doing fine by all accounts. Still in Special Care but once they’re happy with her feeding, she should be home.’
‘And Nick—has he met anyone else?’
The pen that Kate was holding slipped to the floor. ‘He dates plenty of people.’ She stooped and picked up the pen, her voice slightly muffled. ‘But I don’t think any of them are serious. Are you ready? I’ll send in your first patient.’
Amy slid a hand over the desk and looked at the computer, feeling as though she was on a runaway train. She’d come to talk to Marco and here she was sitting in a consulting room, preparing to take a surgery. What had happened to her ability to say no? ‘How many patients?’
‘You don’t want to know but let’s just say that Marco is a very, very popular doctor around here. If Dragan Lovak gets any cancellations, I’ll send a few his way.’ Kate smiled. ‘This is so kind of you, Amy. We really appreciate it. I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to find locum cover for the past few weeks but no one wants to spend Christmas and New Year in freezing Cornwall at short notice. You’re a lifesaver.’
A lifesaver? Amy bit back a hysterical laugh. She didn’t feel like a lifesaver. She felt like the one who was drowning. ‘I’m not sure how much use I’ll be. I won’t know any of the patients.’ She felt a brief flutter of anxiety. During her time in Africa, her focus had been on tropical diseases. Was she capable of running a busy surgery?
‘You’re a qualified doctor. That makes you of use.’ Kate leaned across and flicked on the computer on her desk. ‘Hit this key to get everything up on the computer. You’ll be fine. You’ve been working in deepest Africa for the past two years so the problems of a little Cornish town should seem like a walk in the park by comparison.’
Suddenly she craved Africa. Craved distance from Marco. Amy closed her eyes briefly and tried not to think about what was going to happen when he returned. It was clear that there was no way the conversation was going to be easy. ‘Kate, how do I call the patients?’
‘There’s a buzzer right there.’ Kate moved a pile of papers. ‘List of hospital consultants in your top drawer, just in case you need to refer anyone.’
Amy watched her go and then reached out and pressed the buzzer before she could change her mind. She squashed down a flicker of anxiety and smiled as her first patient was walking into the room.
‘Hello, Mrs…’ Amy checked the screen quickly ‘…Duncan. Dr Avanti has had an emergency trip to the hospital with a child so I’m covering his surgery. How can I help you?’
‘I’ve been feeling rotten for a couple of days. Since Christmas Day, I suppose.’ Paula Duncan sank onto the chair and let her handbag slip to the floor. ‘I assumed it was the flu or something—there’s so much of it around. I wasn’t even going to bother making an appointment but this morning my head started hurting and I’ve had this numbness and tingling around my right eye.’
Amy stood up, her attention caught. ‘How long have you had that rash on your nose?’
‘I woke up with it. Lovely, isn’t it?’ Mrs Duncan lifted a hand to her face and gave a weary laugh. ‘On top of everything else, I have to look like a clown. I can throw away the dress I bought for the New Year’s Eve party, that’s for sure. Unless the Penhally Arms decide to turn it into a masked ball.’
Amy examined the rash carefully and remembered seeing a patient with a similar rash in one of her clinics in Africa. ‘It started this morning?’
‘Yes. Just when you think life can’t get any worse, it gets worse.’
Thinking of her own situation, Amy gave a faint smile. ‘I know what you mean.’
‘If I wasn’t in so much pain I’d be really embarrassed to be seen out but I do
n’t even care any more. I just hope there’s something you can do. I have no idea where the rash has come from. I spent Christmas on my own so I can’t imagine that I’ve caught anything.’
Amy washed her hands and sat back down at her desk. ‘The rash suggests to me that you have ophthalmic shingles, Mrs Duncan. I’m going to send you up to the hospital to see the ophthalmologist—an eye doctor.’
‘Shingles?’ The woman stared at her. ‘That’s like chickenpox, isn’t it? And in my eye? Surely that isn’t possible.’
‘I’m afraid it’s entirely possible.’ Amy opened the drawer and pulled out the list of consultants that Kate had mentioned. She’d had no idea that she’d be using it so soon. ‘It’s caused by the same virus.’
‘So I must have been in contact with someone with chickenpox? But who? I don’t even know any small children!’
Amy shook her head. ‘It doesn’t work like that. There’s no evidence that you can catch shingles from chickenpox, although it can occasionally happen the other way round if a person isn’t immune. But once you’ve had chickenpox, the virus lies dormant and then flares up again at some point.’
‘Can we let it go on its own? Why do I need to see an eye doctor?’
‘The rash on your nose means that it’s likely that your eye is affected. The ophthalmologist will give you a full examination and follow-up. But I’m going to give you a prescription that I want you to take.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Yes. Aciclovir.’ Amy selected the drug she wanted on the computer screen and the printer next to her purred softly. ‘I don’t always prescribe it, but if it’s within seventy-two hours of the symptoms starting then there’s a good chance that it can lower the risk of you developing post-herpatic pain. Hopefully, in your case, it will help. Take it with you to the consultant in case he wants to give you something different.’
Mrs Duncan tucked the prescription into her bag. ‘So I have to go there now?’
‘Go straight to the eye ward. I’ll call them so that they’re expecting you.’
Mrs Duncan rose to her feet. ‘Thank you.’ She looked stunned. ‘I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t that.’
‘If you have any questions you can always come back and talk to me.’
And then Amy realised that she wasn’t going to be here. In a few hours she’d be gone. She glanced at her watch and wondered how long Marco was going to be. Was Michelle all right? It felt strange to be back in England, taking a surgery.
She saw a seemingly endless stream of patients and then Nick Tremayne walked into the room.
‘Nick.’ Flustered, Amy rose to her feet. ‘I— It’s good to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you, too.’ His gaze was quizzical. ‘And surprising.’
‘Yes. I— Marco and I had things to talk about and then things became very busy and so I said I’d help out.’ She sank back into her chair and he gave a faint smile.
‘We’re glad you’re helping out. How are you?’
‘Good,’ she lied. ‘And you? I hear that Lucy’s made you a grandfather! Congratulations. Although I must say you look far too young to be anyone’s grandfather.’
‘That’s what happens when you have your own children young,’ Nick said drily. ‘So how was Africa?’
‘Interesting.’ Miserable. She hesitated, unsure what to say but knowing that she had to say something about the sudden death of his wife. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Annabel, Nick.’
‘I was grateful for your card.’ He was cool and matter-of-fact, revealing nothing of his emotions. ‘So what are your plans, Amy?’
Divorce. ‘I’m not sure, yet. Marco and I need to talk.’
Nick nodded. ‘Well, if you have any problems with the rest of his surgery, just call through to me or Dragan.’
‘Thanks.’ Amy watched him leave and moments later Kate appeared with a cup of coffee. ‘Is that for me?’
‘You’ve earned it. I can see the floor in the waiting room now, so that’s a good sign.’
‘Is Marco back?’
‘Yes, but he had to go straight out again. Man from the brewery developed chest pains while he was making a delivery at the Penhally Arms. Probably the weight of the alcohol we’re all going to drink on New Year’s Eve.’ Kate put the coffee on the desk. ‘Black, no sugar. Is that right?’
Amy glanced at her in surprise. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Tip from Marco. He said that you’re useless in the morning unless you’ve had your coffee.’
Memories of long, lazy mornings lounging in bed with Marco filled her brain and Amy felt the colour flood into her cheeks. She reached out a hand and buzzed for the next patient. ‘Right, well, thanks, Kate. I suppose I’d better get on. Is it always like this?’
Kate laughed. ‘No, some times it’s busy.’
Thinking of the number of patients she’d seen so far, Amy suddenly realised that Marco probably hadn’t been playing games when he’d said he didn’t have time for conversation.
‘Dr Avanti?’ A man hesitated in the doorway and Amy smiled, recognising him absolutely. A face from her childhood.
‘Rob! How are you?’ She blushed and waved an apologetic hand. ‘Sorry. Obviously you’re not that great or you wouldn’t be spending your morning in the doctor’s surgery. How can I help you?’ It felt weird, sitting here, talking to someone that she’d known as a child. Rob, a trawlerman, was part of her child hood. How many hours had she spent watching him bring in the boat and haul in the catch?
And how did he see her? As someone who was still a child?
Or as someone who was capable of handling his medical problems?
‘My hand is agony.’ Without hesitation, he sat down and took off his coat. ‘Been like this for a few days. I thought it might settle but it’s getting worse and the rash is going up my arm.’
Amy leaned forward and took a closer look at his hand, noticing the inflammation and the discolouration spreading up his arm. Her mind went blank and she knew a moment of panic. What was it? ‘Have you been bitten? Scratched?’ She lifted his hand, noticing that Rob flinched at her touch. ‘That’s tender?’
‘Very.’ He frowned thoughtfully down at his hand. ‘I don’t think I’ve scratched myself but you know what it’s like, handling fish. It’s pretty easy to get a cut from a fish spine or the bones. Then there’s the broken ends of warps—to be honest, we’re too busy to be checking for minor injuries all the time. Aches and pains and cuts are all just part of the job.’
Fish. Of course. Amy studied his hand again, noticing the raised purple margin around the reddened area and the pus. Erysipeloid. For a moment she forgot Marco and the real reason that she was sitting in the surgery. She forgot all her own problems in her fascination of practising medicine. ‘I think that’s probably what has happened, Rob. You must have scratched yourself without knowing and that’s allowed an infection to get hold. Bacteria are easily carried into the wound from fish slime and guts.’ She ran her fingers gently over his arm, taking a closer look. ‘I’ll give you some antibiotics. Are you allergic to penicillin?’
‘Not to my knowledge. So you’ve seen this before, then?’
‘Actually, no, but I’ve read about it.’ Amy turned back to the computer, hit a few keys and then scrolled down to find the drug she wanted. ‘Fishermen are particularly prone to infections of the hands and fingers because of the work they do. This particular infection is called erysipeloid. I’ll give you an antibiotic and that should do the trick, but prevention is better than cure, Rob. You should be spraying disinfectant over the surfaces where you work and using a hand wash after handling fish. Something like chlorhexidine gluconate would do the trick.’
Rob pulled down his sleeve. ‘It’s there, but we don’t always use it. When you’re hauling in nets and fighting the wind and the waves, it doesn’t seem like a high priority.’
Amy signed the prescription. ‘Take these, but if it gets worse, come back.’
Rob stood up, his eye
s curious. ‘Little Amy. I remember you when you were knee high.’ His voice gruff, he slipped the prescription into his pocket. ‘Every summer you visited your grandmother and stayed in that tiny cottage by the shore. Always on your own, you were. You never joined in with any of the local kids. You used to stand on the harbour wall and watch us bring in the catch. You were all solemn-eyed and serious, as if you were wondering whether to run away to sea.’
Amy stared at him, unable to breathe.
She had been wondering whether to run away to sea. Every morning she’d scurried down to the harbour and watched the boats sail away, all the time wishing that she could go with the tide and find an entirely new life. A better life.
Happiness doesn’t just land in your lap, Amy, you have to chase it.
Rob frowned. ‘You all right? You’re a bit white.’
Tripped up by the memories of her grandmother, Amy somehow managed to smile. ‘That’s right. I loved staying here.’
‘She was a good woman, your grandmother. And she was so proud of you.’
Feeling her poise and professional ism unravel like a ball of wool in the paws of a kitten, Amy swallowed. ‘She always wanted me to be a doctor.’
‘And didn’t we know it.’ Rob grinned. ‘Couldn’t walk past her in the village without hearing the latest story about her clever granddaughter.’ His smile became nostalgic. ‘She’s missed is Eleanor. But that young couple you sold the cottage to are very happy. The Dodds. They’ve got two children now.’
‘Good.’ Desperate to end the conversation, Amy rose to her feet and walked towards the door. ‘Come back to one of the doctors if you have problems with your hand, Rob.’
He didn’t move, as if he sensed some of the turmoil inside her. ‘She wanted to see you married with children—would have loved to see you together, you and Dr Avanti. It’s good that you’re back. And it’s great for the practice. I know how much they’re struggling with Lucy going into labour so suddenly.’
Back? ‘I’m not exactly— I mean, that isn’t why—’ She broke off and gave a weak smile. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Rob.’ There was no point in explaining that she wasn’t staying—that she should already have been back at the train station. They’d find out soon enough that her visit had been fleeting and she wouldn’t need to give explanations because she wouldn’t be here.