The Family Practitioner
Author
Leah Martyn
Reads
19.3K
Chapters
11
CHAPTER ONE
‘A NUDE calendar!’ Joanna felt her jaw drop.
Flushing slightly, Jason dipped his head, slotting the last of his textbooks into his back pack. ‘It’ll be cool.’
Joanna’s mouth tilted wryly. ‘Well, it would be, if you’ve nothing on.’
‘Come on, Mum,’ Jason wheedled. ‘It’s the only way to raise big bucks fast. The club needs a canteen and Matt says all the abseiling gear’s stuffed as well.’
Matt says, Matt says. Frustratedly, Joanna speared both hands through her thick dark hair, sending the stylishly cut bob into disarray. The words had begun to sound like a mantra, repeated with monotonous regularity by Jason for the past couple of months.
In fact, ever since Dr Matthew McKellar had arrived in Glenfield and taken over the old gym with the intention of revamping it into a sporting centre-cum-sports-medicine clinic.
And, of course, if it had anything to do with sports, Jason wanted to be involved, she thought.
‘Well, is it OK?’ Hefting his bag over one shoulder, Jason’s look was hopeful. ‘The rest of the guys are cool about it.’
Joanna sighed. Why was nothing ever simple? ‘You’re sixteen, Jase. I need to know more about it.’
‘Matt says it’ll be tasteful—’
Joanna rolled her eyes. ‘Let me think about it.’
‘I have to know by the weekend—’
‘And I have to think about it.’ Joanna was firm. Getting up from the kitchen table, she wound a hug around his shoulders. ‘Now go,’ she added gently, ‘or you’ll miss your bus. And it’s my late evening at the surgery,’ she reminded him.
‘No worries. I’ll heat up the last of the lasagne.’ He grinned winningly, as if he already knew he had her onside. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Dropping a brief kiss on the top of her head, he shot out the door.
‘And make a salad!’ she called after him. Without turning, he lifted a hand in acknowledgement and Joanna shook her head. He was maturing so fast, miles taller than her now, and showing every sign of turning into a fine adult.
And that was all she’d ever wanted for him. Watching him jog down the path and vault the low front fence, her dark eyes were wistful.
Then she turned abruptly, as if coming to a decision. Her first appointment wasn’t until ten this morning and she had no house calls listed. Quickly putting the kitchen to rights, she went through to her bedroom.
Nude calendars indeed! It was time she found out just where this Dr Matthew McKellar was coming from.
Annoyance was still simmering as she pulled on the rust-flecked trousers and camel shirt she normally wore to the surgery. Closing the zip at the waistband of her trousers, she brought her head up, almost startling herself with her own reflection in the full-length mirror.
Joanna’a spirits sagged. She looked so…ordinary.
Her hairstyle and make-up were, of necessity, simple and took no more than a cursory five or six minutes in front of the mirror each morning. And so what? she rationalised. Even if she had time, she had no wish to start preening. A month ago she’d turned thirty-five, for heaven’s sake!
Suddenly, her expression firmed. Like it or not, if she was going to tackle Matthew McKellar about the ethics of what he was proposing, she needed power-dressing.
‘I don’t believe I’m doing this!’ she muttered, and began hastily to divest herself of the clothes she’d just put on.
She slid back the door on the fitted wardrobe, taking only seconds to select the outfit that had been her present to herself on her recent birthday. Carefully, she laid the purple tweed trousers and matching pure wool sweater across the bed.
She took her time dressing and then looked in the mirror, pleased with what she saw. She loved winter. The coolness of the season allowed one to dress with much more elegance, she decided, slipping her feet into neat little ankle boots.
And now for the pièce de résistance. Her heart skipped. The softly fitting jacket had been a sheer extravagance but worth every cent. Her fingers stroked lovingly along the lapels of the lushly toned aubergine leather. Heavens, she felt almost sexy…
Disbelieving of her wayward thoughts—thoughts she hadn’t had in years—she quickly deepened her shade of lipstick and slid an oval silver bangle over her left wrist.
She allowed herself a final look in the mirror, disconcerted to see someone she didn’t quite know…
In the kitchen, she slipped back into her parenting role, scribbling a note for Jason to put out the garbage bin for collection. The salutary reminder of her real world curved a wry smile around her mouth. Then, hefting her medical bag, she collected her keys from the hall table and made her way outside to the carport.
Joanna drove her sporty little sedan through the leafy suburb towards Glenville’s central business district, not for the first time thanking providence for directing her to this pleasant regional city in Queensland.
She’d arrived here two years ago with a moody teenager in tow, hoping she’d done the right thing in coming north from Canberra for this job in the Strachan Clinic where she now worked as a family practitioner.
And it had worked out well, she considered. Set free from two sets of over-indulgent grandparents, Jason had become self-reliant, even holding down a Saturday job at the local supermarket and scholastically doing well at the boys’ college where he was enrolled.
And yet…A tiny frown etched itself between her brows. Just lately she’d noticed subtle changes in him. Were they tied in with his involvement at the sports centre? She shook her head. This wasn’t the time to begin making snap judgements but, quite obviously, it was time she met Dr Matthew McKellar.
Almost as if she expected a clash of temperaments, her stomach muscles tightened as she turned into the rear car park of the white stuccoed building from where Dr McKellar conducted his business.
Her medical case would be safe enough in her boot, she decided, hitching up her plain leather shoulder bag and dropping her keys into the side pocket. Turning from closing the door of the car, she took a moment to look around her.
Although it was still reasonably early, there were already a number of cars in the parking area. She felt undecided, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. Perhaps she should have done him the professional courtesy of making an appointment…
Her shoulders lifted in a deep, controlling breath, sudden nerves sitting heavily on her butterflies as she moved across the car park towards the covered walkway that ran down the side of the building.
Joanna had no idea what to expect. Would there be bodies pumping iron all over the place? An atmosphere of male exclusivity? It had been years since she’d been near a gymnasium. These days her only concession towards fitness was the occasional weekend game of tennis with her colleagues from the practice.
Well, here goes, she thought, releasing the single button on her leather jacket before pushing open the heavy plate-glass front door.
She’d unconsciously braced herself for nothing like the reality, she thought, turning in a space that was light, warm and welcoming. She felt the calming atmosphere immediately and realised it was being enhanced by the unmistakable, uplifting sound of a Vivaldi string ensemble that was being piped throughout the building.
Cautiously, Joanna raised her head, her gaze suddenly uncertain as it travelled along the curved staircase leading up to a gallery floor. She swallowed unevenly. She’d guess that’s where he had his office—
‘Hi! Can I help? You look a bit lost.’
Joanna spun round and looked straight into a pair of the most startling blue eyes she had ever seen. She blinked, feeling a jolt of something that rocked her to the core, and stammered, ‘Um, I—I’m looking f-for Dr McKellar.’
‘You’ve found him.’ The man held out his hand and she took it, feeling her own engulfed by the masculine firmness. He raised a darkish brow. ‘And you are?’
‘Oh!’ Joanna was completely off balance, flushing under his warm regard. ‘Joanna Winters. I don’t have an appointment,’ she added jerkily. ‘I, uh, just wondered if I could have a word about my son, Jason.’
Matthew McKellar was taken aback. The lady looked hardly more than a teenager herself. And she was lovely…He felt the oddest twist in the pit of his stomach. Almost defensively, he lifted a hand, thrusting his fingers through the short strands of his dark hair. ‘Better come on up, then.’ He thumbed across at the staircase and promptly led the way.
He took the stairs with a swift athleticism and Joanna followed, her gaze absorbing the six-foot length of him. He was clad in track pants and a white T-shirt delineating a sleek grouping of muscles underneath and bearing a logo that exhorted, MAKE ANOTHER HEART THROB. GIVE BLOOD.
Innovative, she approved. And heaven knew, there was always an urgent need for blood donors.
A bit warily, she stepped over the threshold of his office and looked around. It was upmarket but unpretentious, with linen pull-down blinds at the windows and unobtrusive pearl-grey paintwork on the walls. She made a thoughtful little moue with her bottom lip, intrigued to see there was no desk as such. Instead, a round table and chairs were grouped in a conversational-type setting near the window.
‘Have a seat.’ McKellar pulled out one of the softly upholstered chairs. ‘Would you like juice, coffee?’ He smiled then, the action softening his slightly hawk-like features.
Joanna’s return smile faltered. ‘Coffee might be nice, thanks.’ And at least it would give her something to do with her hands, she reflected ruefully, watching him take down two plain white mugs from a shelf and fill them from a vacuum jug on the counter top.
He opened a bar fridge, taking out a carton of milk and placing it on the table in front of her. ‘Sugar?’
Joanna shook her head. ‘No, thanks—this smells wonderful.’ She poured a dollop of milk into her coffee. McKellar, she noticed, took his black with no sugar.
‘So—how can I help you, Mrs Winters? Or do you prefer Ms?’ His eyes widened in polite query.
Joanna’s mouth twitched. ‘Actually, it’s Doctor. But I’d much prefer Joanna.’
His expression gave nothing away. ‘Joanna it is, then. And I prefer Matt. If I hear Matthew, I’m inclined to think my mother’s on my case.’
Joanna gave a spontaneous chuckle. She had no wish to mother him. Far from it. And that wayward thought sent a flush to her cheeks. She hastily dragged her mind back to her surroundings and the reasons why she was here. ‘About this calendar…’
‘Is there a problem?’ McKellar took a mouthful of his coffee.
Make it a thousand. Joanna’s fingers curled around the handle of her mug like a lifeline. ‘For starters, Jason is under age.’
The silence was deafening, and something about its quality made her bring her gaze up and look searchingly at the man opposite.
‘He didn’t tell me.’ McKellar’s voice was flat. ‘On the other hand, I didn’t ask.’ He lifted a shoulder expressively. ‘A stupid mistake on my part. I just assumed he was older. He’s a big lad.’
‘He’s like his father.’ Joanna’s eyes softened. ‘Damon played rugby for the state. He died before Jason was born—non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He was twenty-one…’
There was an echo of deep silence, until Matt broke it very quietly. ‘Life really chucks it at us sometimes, doesn’t it?’
She nodded, embarrassed. It was the first time in a long time she’d felt the overwhelming need to mention those very early days. And why on earth now? she fretted. With this man? He’d begin to think she was some kind of nut case. To cover her confusion, she lifted her mug and took a gulp of coffee.
‘I take you don’t want Jason involved in the making of the calendar, then?’ Matt gave her a sliding, sidelong glance, before swinging up out of his chair and going to the window, looking out. He half turned his head. ‘It will be tastefully done with a professional photographer.’
‘I’m sure…’ Joanna bit the inside of her cheek. Was she being old-fashioned, over-protective, out of touch with present-day mores?
While she hesitated, Matt turned to face her, parking himself against the window-ledge, as if preparing to do battle. ‘These days, there’s nothing shocking about clubs of all descriptions opting to raise funds this way, you know. In fact, didn’t I read the other day that a group of rural women in their quite senior years did a light-hearted shoot to raise money for a new stage curtain in their farmers’ hall?’
‘Well, you may have done.’ Joanna lifted a shoulder. ‘And I’m not shocked,’ she added. ‘I’m a doctor, for heaven’s sake! But I would rather my son waits until he’s a bit more emotionally mature before opting to take off his clothes for a calendar shoot.’
‘Fair enough.’ Matt reached for his coffee and drained it, clattering his mug back onto the bench top. ‘And don’t worry.’ He met her eyes and she could see the faintest hint of amusement in their depths. ‘Jason needn’t know you’ve been here. I’ll let him down lightly. He’s a good kid.’
‘Thanks.’ Joanna got awkwardly to her feet. ‘That’s really all I came for and I’m probably keeping you from your work…’
‘You’re not,’ he dismissed. In an abrupt movement, he moved towards the door, astounded by his train of thought. He didn’t want her to leave. And how crazy was that? ‘Would you like to see over the place?’ Oh, hell! He winced silently. He must appear like an overeager puppy trying to impress. He saw her glance at her watch and cringed even further. ‘Another time, perhaps. You probably need to get to your own work.’
‘No…’ She shook back her silky dark hair, a tentative smile edging her mouth. ‘I have a few minutes and I’d like to see where Jason’s been spending his leisure time.’
Matt gave her the grand tour, his manner suddenly upbeat, his expression mobile, as he gestured with well-shaped, long-fingered hands.
And Joanna was impressed, particularly with the thought that had been given to access for the disabled.
‘We like to term it “differently abled”,’ Matt said.
How enlightened. ‘Do you get many?’
‘Only one or two yet. But I’m liasing with the hospital all the time, getting the news out there. We’re happy to see anyone whose capability has been lost for any reason—not specifically sporting. Often we can get folk on an exercise programme to give them a much better quality of life.’ He gave a controlled smile. ‘And if we can save them sitting for hours in a rehab centre somewhere, waiting for their turn, so much the better.’
Joanna nodded. She was impressed beyond words. There was so much good work going to be happening here, much more than she’d imagined. ‘Oh, you have indoor courts as well!’
Matt had wound back a set of folding doors to reveal not only the usual gym equipment but courts for both basketball and soccer, plus male and female changing rooms.
‘At the moment we’re concentrating on basketball. Jason’s in the junior team. Did he tell you?’
‘Not specifically,’ Joanna said honestly. ‘He told me he’s involved in lots of things here. Should he be paying a fee…?’ The thought had just occurred to her. Obviously the place didn’t run itself. ‘He hasn’t asked for extra money…’
Matt registered her look of vulnerability and hastened to reassure her. ‘If they can afford it, the lads kick in a few dollars for the use of the place, maintenance and so on. That side of things is my baby.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I grew up in a country town where there was never enough happening for young people. And while Glenville isn’t a country town, it’s a smallish regional city for all that, with not a lot being offered towards teenage recreation.’
He was right, Joanna realised. Apart from what was organised for them at school, the kids had nothing much beside the movies and a ten-pin bowling alley to keep them off the streets. She supposed she should be grateful Matt McKellar had taken up the challenge and done something about it. She smiled a bit uncertainly. ‘But the sports medicine side of things is your real business, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely.’ He jammed his hands into his back pockets as they continued to make their way through the precincts. ‘My background is in orthopaedics but I’m happy to speak to anyone who has concerns about their level of fitness.
‘Whether it’s losing weight or putting on weight, they need to know how to go about it initially. And because we’re specialised, we can supply the answers more comprehensively than perhaps their GP could. Nothing against general practitioners,’ he said with a laugh, raising both hands as if to ward off her expected critical response.
‘And before you begin to imagine I’m filthy rich,’ he continued, ‘I haven’t done any of this on my own. I may have had the idea originally, but the place is owned and run by a consortium. We have accredited coaches, a couple of physios on staff—in fact, here’s one of them now. Morning, Elle.’
‘Matt.’ A tall, leggy blonde clad in white shorts and T-shirt sent him a wide white smile before disappearing through a set of swing doors to what was presumably a staffroom.
‘She seems very young.’ How absurd to feel a twist of resentment! It was none of her business who Matt McKellar chose to work with him.
‘But very capable.’ Following Joanna’s gaze after the young physio, Matt added carefully, ‘And in case you’re concerned, we’re fully insured against accidents.’ He finally completed the tour and walked her back to the entrance. ‘Everyone who joins the club receives a leaflet on its philosophies and workings. Jason should have had one.’
Joanna gave a hollow laugh. ‘It’s probably still at the bottom of his sports bag.’
His mouth twitched into a grin and Joanna found he was holding the door open for her in a display of old-fashioned courtesy.
In a second the atmosphere between them was charged with awareness. Joanna felt her mouth dry. What on earth was going on here? She took a step, hovering in the doorway, as if something beyond her control was delaying her, keeping her within McKellar’s orbit. She swallowed a bit unevenly. ‘Thanks, again, Dr McKellar—Matt.’
‘My pleasure.’
Joanna adjusted her bag, her fingers biting into the soft leather of her shoulder strap. ‘I, uh, feel very reassured now about Jason spending time here.’
Another awkward silence descended over them and Matt broke it, fixing her with a sudden searing blue look. ‘You should be very proud of your son, Joanna. He needn’t have told you anything about the calendar but he obviously respected the values you’ve instilled in him. Take care.’ He raised a hand in a farewell salute and closed the door.
Matt stepped back into the foyer, lifting his hands to bracket his head. Hell’s bells. He took a hard indrawn breath and let it go, and then on impulse he turned, sprinting back up to his office, taking the stairs two at a time. Inside, he was drawn to the window like a thirsting animal to a running stream.
He looked down just in time to see Joanna Winters emerge from the walkway and begin making her way across the car park to stop beside a dark blue nifty little sports car.
Watching her, he felt as though an invisible punch had landed in his solar plexus, robbing him not just of oxygen but of reason as well. And he was only too aware of another tightness elsewhere, an awareness, a longing that had lain dormant for longer than he cared to remember. Too long…
He shook his head. She was lovely. There was a sweet vulnerability about her that was already threatening to drag out the male protectiveness in him. Was he ready for that to happen? He yanked himself up short and with a barely discernible shake of his head turned away from the window.
Hell, after all this time he wouldn’t even know the rules.
Joanna drove towards the Strachan medical practice, her reflexes almost automatic. Slowing for the red traffic light, she studied her hands lying loosely on the steering-wheel. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have said they looked relaxed.
How deceptive appearances could be.
She took a deep breath, swinging round a traffic island to join the line of cars heading over the bridge to the northern side of the city.
‘Damn,’ she murmured quite mildly, easing her car into her usual parking bay at the clinic. She had a full day ahead of her. But how on earth was she going to concentrate? Letting her head go back on the seat for just a second, she closed her eyes and could see Matt McKellar’s magnetic blue eyes, hear the rich huskiness of his voice. She tried his name in her head. Matt. Nice, uncomplicated.
And tell that to the marines, she huffed silently, opening the door and swinging out of the car. Unless she’d completely lost her feminine intuition, there was nothing uncomplicated about McKellar. Stifling a sigh, she retrieved her case from the boot of the car and made her way across to the low-set brick building.
‘Oh, don’t you look terrific!’ Steffi Phillips, the practice receptionist, arched an eyebrow. ‘Lunch date?’
‘Nice thought.’ Joanna’s mouth tipped into a wry smile. ‘What do you have for me, Stef?’
‘You’re booked solid.’ Steffi lowered her voice to add, ‘And Moya Kirkland’s been here since nine o’clock. She’s listed for an excision at ten. A bit uptight, poor pet.’
Joanna glanced at her watch. It was fifteen minutes to the hour. ‘Well, let’s not keep her fretting.’ She took the pile of patient cards Steffi had ready for her. ‘Show Mrs Kirkland into the small treatment room, please, Stef. I’ll buzz Kate to get her prepped.’
A few minutes later, Joanna made her way along the tiled corridor to the treatment room. It was hardly high-powered medicine she practised these days, she reflected and wondered whether after almost six years in general practice, she was subconsciously looking for a change.
Forget it, Joanna, she chided inwardly. With a teenager who outgrew his clothes almost weekly and who ate as much as two grown men, she needed a regular income. This was no time to start being picky about her career.
Pushing aside the cheerful peach and gold-patterned curtain, she greeted her elderly patient. ‘Good morning, Moya. All ready for your little op?’
‘I do hope so, Doctor.’ The anxiety in Moya’s eyes moderated slightly at Joanna’s warm manner.
‘You’ll be fine.’ Joanna double-checked the notes. Moya’s blood pressure was normal and, apart from the recurring problem relating to sun-damaged skin on her face and the backs of her hands, she enjoyed reasonably good health. Today, though, Moya looked unusually small and vulnerable, her neat black shoes placed side by side under the chair at the foot of the treatment couch, her large shopping bag placed on the chair itself.
Joanna stroked back the elderly woman’s hair gently, revealing a red, scaly patch running parallel with the lower end of her eyebrow at the temple. ‘We’ve treated this twice with freezing, Moya,’ she commented. ‘But it’s a stubborn one. I’ll excise it for you today. That should stop it in its tracks.’
Moya’s pale eyes fluttered briefly. ‘I trust you to do the right thing by me, dear.’
Taking Moya’s hand, Joanna exchanged a smile with Kate, the practice nurse. ‘Are we right to go?’
Kate nodded, indicating the small trolley she’d set out ready for the procedure.
‘Now, Moya, I’m just going to wash my hands and then we’ll start off by giving you a local anaesthetic,’ Joanna explained gently. ‘It’ll make the side of your face quite numb so you won’t feel any discomfort when I operate.’
She heard the old lady’s long sigh before she closed her eyes.
Gowned and gloved, Joanna expertly drew up the lignocaine. ‘This will pack quite a sting, Moya,’ she warned, and began slowly infiltrating the area. Stoic little pet, she thought, disposing of the needle into a sharps container. ‘We’ll need to wait a little while and then I’ll whip off this nasty little number and stitch you back nice and neatly.’
‘Could I still go along to my bingo, Dr Winters? I always go on a Wednesday. It’s on at St James’s church hall.’
‘If you’re feeling OK when we’ve finished, I don’t see any reason why not,’ Joanna said. ‘Perhaps we could arrange a taxi for you down to the hall.’
Moya clicked her tongue. ‘I don’t need a taxi, dear. It’s only half a block away. Besides,’ she added, a serene little smile curving her mouth, ‘my friend Edward’s outside, waiting for me. We’ll walk along together. There’ll be a nice cuppa tea when we get there.’ Her brow puckered fleetingly. ‘I won’t look a fright, will I?’
‘No, Moya, you won’t.’ Joanna stifled a chuckle, winking at Kate as she adjusted the sterile drape. ‘Your hair will camouflage most of it anyway.’
Satisfied the area around the lesion was now quite numb, Joanna picked up a scalpel and began to work swiftly, relieved when she got the entire scaly top section off almost complete. It looked quite inoffensive lying on the plastic slide, but only expert analysis would reaffirm that it was so.
And with Queensland having one of the highest rates of sun cancers in the world, health professionals had to be ever-vigilant when patients presented with even the merest trace of skin damage.
Twenty minutes later Joanna had finished. ‘There you are, Moya, all done.’
‘Fancy!’ her elderly patient said in some amazement. ‘I didn’t feel a thing.’
Joanna chuckled. ‘I should hope not. This dressing will need to be replaced each day, Moya. It’s only a patch and quite easy to remove if you soften the edges with warm salty water. Try not to get the actual wound area wet, though. Just ask for Cutiplast at the chemist. They’ll be able to fix you up with a supply. Would you like me to jot all that down for you?’
Moya looked relieved. ‘That might be helpful, thank you, Doctor.’
‘Right, I’ll do that now, while Kate’s clearing away,’ Joanna said kindly. ‘Then pop back in a week and I’ll remove the stitches and we’ll have a chat about the lab result.’
‘I’m most grateful for all the care you’ve taken.’
‘You’re welcome, Moya.’ Tugging off her gown, Joanna aimed it at the bin. Another satisfied customer. She went out into the corridor. Perhaps general practice did have its moments after all.
Walking past Reception to her own consulting room, she was deep in thought. Steffi had to hail her twice before she registered. ‘Call for you.’ The receptionist held the receiver aloft, her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Dr McKellar.’
Joanna stopped short, the speed with which he’d moved sending her heart fluttering in alarm. A wave of sheer panic hollowed out her insides, yet her body began to sing, more alive than it had been for an age.
‘Ah…’ She clamped her bottom lip. ‘Switch it through, please, Stef. I’ll take it in my office.’
