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‘You don’t need to feed the animals before we go?’
‘Already done.’
‘Any closer to picking up Anubis?’ He meant the tarantula.
‘No. But I gave him a damned good look this morning, and I got within two feet of the tank without shaking.’
‘Progress!’
‘Exactly!’
‘Do you want to sit in with me this morning? We could do the clinic together and it would give me the opportunity to fill you in on some of our frequent flyers.’
He meant the regulars who always turned up to the surgery, no matter what the state of their health. Every surgery had them. They were the people you could depend upon to turn up, who had nothing wrong with them but had got themselves appointments because they were lonely, or they wanted to chat about their problems in life in general.
Then there were the hypochondriacs, who turned up over every little niggle—real or imagined. But you had to take them seriously each time, and check them out no matter what, or you’d get The Boy Who Cried Wolf syndrome. If one day you decided to ignore their call for help it would be the one time that they were actually ill and really needed you.
‘Sure. I think that would be a good idea.’
‘And if I introduce you they won’t think that you’re some sort of fairy.’
She was closing her front door and locking it. ‘You think I look like a fairy?’ She tried to sound offended, even though she wasn’t.
‘It was my first thought.’
Her head cocked to one side. ‘And you, Dr James, look like a blond Clark Kent. Do I need to warn everyone that you don’t actually wear your underpants over your trousers?’
Olly seemed to take the hint. And the reprimand. ‘I’m sorry.’
She perked up and smiled. ‘You’re so serious! I was joking! I quite like the fact you think I look like a fairy. I’d hate to look boring and normal.’
‘What’s wrong with boring and normal?’
‘It’s boring. And normal. Be different. Stand out from the crowd. Have a list!’ She laughed and he almost looked dismayed at her enjoyment.
‘You think I’m wrong to have a list?’
‘Not wrong, per se. Everyone has certain requirements for a partner.’
‘Exactly.’
‘They just don’t usually write them down.’
He stopped her from trudging through the snow by grabbing hold of her arm. ‘How do you know they’re written down?’
She stopped to look at his hand, trying hard not to think of how close it was to her smouldering skin. She met his gaze instead. ‘Your father told me.’
‘Dad did?’
She nodded and he let go.
They were crunching through the snow now, past Betsy and Olly’s car and towards the surgery. It was picture-postcard perfect, with everything blanketed in white.
Lula turned to him. ‘You know, Olly, a man like you shouldn’t need a list.’
‘A man like me? What does that mean?’
‘A young man. Educated. Good-looking. An eligible bachelor. Though you could do with a different look.’
‘What’s wrong with my look?’
‘Oh, come on, Olly. You think I don’t already know that you’re considered to be the “hottie” of the village? All the ladies last night at the belly dancing think you’re a babe.’
He preened a little. ‘Really?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And you?’
‘And me what?’
‘Do you think I’m a babe?’
‘Well, as gorgeous as you are, I can tell your look hasn’t changed for decades. Side parting … bit conservative. It would surprise me if you didn’t have a pair of brown corduroy trousers in your wardrobe. You need to spice yourself up a bit.’
She stopped to look at him, at his dark hair, his bright blue eyes and solid jaw. He was narrow at the waist and broad at the shoulders. He might have been a male model. Olly was the epitome of male good looks, handsome and attractive, and if she was in the market for a man then he’d be the type that she would go for.
But I’m not. And I won’t.
‘You’re okay, though.’
He laughed out loud, plumes of his warm breath freezing in the cold winter air. As she watched him chuckling to himself beside her, she felt a little twinge of regret that she’d sworn off men for good.
Olly wasn’t sure what to make of Lula’s assessment of his character. He was amused and offended at the same time. What was wrong with having a pair of brown corduroys? They were comfortable and warm and … Oh. Sensible.
Was he very sensible? Yes, he was, but he’d always thought of that as a strength. He was a loyal, dependable guy who enjoyed living a quiet life. Better than having to live in a big, noisy city, where no one talked to each other or looked out for their neighbours. Where there was no community spirit.
Lula seemed to think that his life was a little too staid. A little too quiet. Genteel. But when you enjoyed living in a small community it was what you got used to. Lula’s arrival in the village, with her rainbow-splashed hair and joyful approach to life, was like dropping a lit firework into a dormant barrel of gunpowder.
She would set off sparks and there would be implications.
Some people might enjoy it. Some people might be glad of it—the village being woken up from its dreamy slumber.
Will I like it?
He liked her. He knew that already. She was bright and funny and clever, and he loved her attitude to life. But he couldn’t help but wonder if she would leave him feeling a bit … beige. He was so used to a quiet life—answering to no one but himself, really—and he’d resigned himself to the fact that the right woman hadn’t come along … He’d always figured he’d end up running the practice when his dad retired. The business would be his. Everyone would expect him to carry on and he’d do it—easily, without complaint …
But what if he couldn’t? What if Lula was exactly the sort of person he needed in his life before he lived the entire thing having never done anything challenging or exciting?
He didn’t like to think she would make him feel his life was lacking in flavour.
He didn’t like to think that she would disapprove of his life.
He wanted to prove her wrong.
It was nice and warm in the surgery. The receptionist made them cups of tea and Olly gave Lula a quick tour. He showed her where her consulting room was, and then they went to his and he instructed her in how to log on to the computer system.
Even though there’d been that morning’s drama and they were a little behind, and the waiting room was full, Lula needed to see how to use the practice’s system. It wasn’t one of the newer ones she was familiar with, but it was quite an easy system.
The home screen for each patient gave a basic rundown of their personal details—name, address, date of birth, current age—and also their current medication, if any, details of their last few appointments and what they’d been diagnosed with. She could take a quick glance at the screen and get a pretty general idea about a patient before they came into the room to tell her their new problem.
Lula sat to one side of Olly and observed as he began to see patients.
First a mother brought her eight-year-old son in. He’d got a tummy ache, and his mother reported that he always got them before school. They had a little chat with the boy who told them that he didn’t like school, or the other boys there, and so it was put down to stress and anxiety rather than any sort of bug or infection—or something more dramatic like appendicitis.
Next they saw another mother, much younger this time, with three-month-old twin girls. Basically, she wasn’t coping. The twins fed erratically, she’d had to give up on breastfeeding and she felt a failure. They kept crying, and they wouldn’t sleep, so neither could she. It was all getting a bit too much.
Olly gave her some information about a twins group over at South Wold, and a short prescription for antidepressants at a low dosage to see how she got on. He also told her that he would contact her local health visitor and ask her to call in and give her some advice on coping with the babies. She seemed happy with that and off she went, pushing her buggy with the two screaming babies in it. The surgery was much quieter after she left.
Then they saw a woman in her fifties called Eleanor Lomax. Lula sat up straighter when this woman came in, and studied her hard.
Eleanor was fifty-six. On her fiftieth birthday she had found a lump in her breast which had turned out to be cancer. She’d fought the disease and beaten it, but now she was having issues over her health again.
‘Every night, Doctor, I lie in my bed and feel a twinge here or there, or a niggle somewhere else, and I keep thinking, Is this it? Is it back? I can’t sleep for the worry that the cancer will return.’
Eleanor was sitting in her chair very upright, straight-backed and erect. Her hair was already silver, but beautifully cut and styled. She had large brown eyes, shaped like almonds, and a long, thin, aquiline nose in her perfectly made-up face. Her clothes were expensive and she looked like a woman who had refined tastes. Lula could only look at her and wonder …
Olly, meanwhile, was unaware of Lula’s assessment and was doing his best to reassure his patient. ‘It’s perfectly natural to feel this way, Eleanor, after what you’ve been through. Have you tried talking to your cancer nurse about it?’
‘She’s so busy. I don’t like to bother her.’
‘You’re not bothering her. It’s what she’s there for. Have you been to counselling since your recovery? A support group?’
She shook her head. ‘That’s not my thing.’
‘What is your thing?’ asked Lula.
Olly glanced at her sideways, surprised by her interruption.
Miss Lomax turned to Lula and shrugged. ‘I’ve always taken care of things myself. Supported myself. I don’t like to lean on others.’
Lula said nothing more as Olly put Miss Lomax in touch with a support group and gave her a few leaflets about counselling and cognitive behaviour therapy before she went on her way.
When Eleanor had left Olly turned in his chair. ‘You okay?’
She nodded. ‘Fine.’ She didn’t want to tell him that she was wondering if Eleanor Lomax was her mother. The mystery ‘EL’ she’d been searching for lately.
They saw an old man suffering with diarrhoea, a young man with a sore knee who’d played football with his work colleagues the day before, a baby with a cold, and a woman who’d come in to talk about her daughter.
‘She’s been very withdrawn lately.’
‘And she’s how old?’
‘Thirteen. It could be puberty starting—I don’t know. They get flooded with hormones at this age, don’t they? But she’s not herself and she hides away in her room all the time and doesn’t eat.’
Olly was reluctant to diagnose anyone without actually seeing her. ‘Perhaps you could get Ruby to come in? Do you think you could get her here? Then we could weigh her and allay any fears you may have about her eating.’
‘I could try, but she’s not very cooperative at the moment. Always arguing with us when we do see her.’
‘Well, I can’t do anything unless I examine her.’
‘Could you come out to us?’ she asked.
‘I only really do home visits if it’s impossible for my patients to get to me.’
Lula was surprised by this. She thought that it might be better if Olly did try to go and see Ruby at home and she suggested it. Especially after what had happened that morning with the baby. They were looking for a teenage girl. But Olly wasn’t too happy about having his methods contradicted, although he tried his best not to show it.
For the rest of the day they saw a standard mix of patients—a lady who wanted a repeat prescription, another lady who had a chest infection and a man who’d come in to discuss his blood test results and was quite anaemic.
A typical day for a GP. Lula even saw some patients of her own.
When the clinic was over, and with only two house visits left to do, they stopped for a cup of tea and a bite to eat.
‘Mary might have brought in one of her delicious cakes for us to eat,’ Olly said, and smiled.
Mary was the receptionist, and she had indeed brought in a coffee liqueur cake that was rich and moist and devilishly moreish.
‘Mary, you must give me the recipe!’ Lula said.
‘I can’t do that—it’s a family secret! ’
‘What if I promise not to tell anyone?’
‘We’ll see, Dr Chance. Perhaps if you stay on then I might give it to you.’
Lula agreed that it was a deal, knowing she would never get the recipe. She had no plans to stay here in Atlee Wold. She was here to do two things. One was to work as a doctor, and the second … Well, Olly was about to find that out.
He sat down in the chair next to hers in the staff lounge. ‘Well, how did you enjoy your first clinic here?’
‘It was good. Interesting. There’s a real community feel to a small village practice that you just don’t get in a large city.’
‘That’s the truth. You can build relationships with people here that go on for years. Not that you can’t do that in the city or in towns, but when you live amongst the people you treat, shop in their store, post your mail in their post office, you develop friendships, too.’
‘Don’t you find it sometimes restricts the amount of privacy you have?’ Lula asked.
‘Not at all. I don’t mind that everyone knows I’m a doctor, and that my father was before me, and that I got the big scar on my leg from falling out of a tree in Mrs Macabee’s orchard.’
‘Ooh, let’s see!’
