A GP Worth Staying For
Autore
Louisa Heaton
Letto da
16,3K
Capitoli
10
CHAPTER ONE
DR OWEN LEDGER cupped his mouth with his hands and blew a quick burst of air into them before rubbing them together. It was freezing, and standing in Sandpiper Bay Station in the middle of a blizzard, waiting for a train to arrive, was not his idea of fun. He turned up the collar of his jacket and stamped his feet as he saw the lights of the train in the distance through the thick flakes of snow, and he felt much better to know that soon the new doctor would be here and they could get back into the warmth of his car.
Dr Childs was going to be his ticket out of here and he couldn’t wait to go. Make a fresh new start in a brand-new place where absolutely no one knew him. Where absolutely no one could judge him on his past and look at him with pitying eyes.
Okay, they might not actually be pitying eyes, but they certainly felt that way to him. The people of Morrow Island knew too much about him, and it was hard to create the professional distance that he needed as a doctor. He knew these people. He knew their families and their friends and what happened to them on a daily basis. Because the island grapevine never needed much time to get going and there were only a couple of hundred people here.
When it came to serious matters—when it came to having to deliver difficult news—it was hard to maintain the distance he needed to protect himself, as well as them, when they had all come to his wedding. When most of them had danced with his bride.
When all of them had attended her funeral.
The train pulled in and the doors slid open to allow an assortment of passengers to get off. He recognised Gerry Farmer, who gave him a wave, and then Peter Atkins, who said hello, shook his freezing hand and asked him if he needed a lift.
‘I’m okay, thanks, Pete! Just waiting for the new doc,’ he said, shivering in the snow.
‘It’s today? Gosh, I guess that means we don’t have you for much longer?’
‘Four weeks and I’m gone. End of January. Just enough time to get Dr Childs settled in and introduced to everyone.’
‘I’ll remind Josie. I think she’s going to drop some scones round for you. She made a batch with ginger. Best things you’ve ever tasted!’ Josie was Pete’s daughter, who had aspirations to be on some baking show on the television.
He nodded and gave a brief wave. ‘I’ll look forward to it!’
‘G’night!’
Owen watched as Pete hurried away, then turned back to look at the platform. There was only one passenger who remained. She was very small and dainty, wrapped in a calf-length coat with a multicoloured scarf and matching hat, and she was pulling behind her a suitcase that had to weigh more than she did.
He hoped she wasn’t the doctor—because she was startlingly attractive and the two of them were going to have to live in the same house until he moved out. The property he lived in came with the job, and the surgery was connected to the main house.
She had large doe-like eyes, innocent and wide. Possibly brown, but it was hard to see in the dark and be sure. But she was pale from the cold and had a bright red nose—like Rudolph the reindeer.
Despite that, he very much liked what he saw.
‘Dr Childs?’ he said.
She smiled and nodded, snow hitting her face. ‘Dr Ledger?’
‘Owen. Can I take your case for you? I’m afraid the car is parked quite a distance away.’
‘Thank you.’ She passed him her case and he took it, surprised at its weight. What did she have in this thing? Solid oak units?
‘How was your journey?’ He turned so she could hear him over the strong wind that blew snow into their faces.
‘Not bad.’
‘That’s great.’
‘I appreciate you meeting me like this.’
He could barely hear her over the sound of the howling wind, and he kept checking to make sure she was keeping up with him as they walked against it. The tail end of this storm had brought them snow two days after Christmas, bathing the small island in white, frosting it like a cake. They didn’t normally get snow there, so it was a novelty, but he was glad the off-roader was able to make it down most of the rural roads on the island, so that he could tend to his patients.
Dr Childs would have to get used to driving it, too. The car, like the house, came with the job.
When they reached the vehicle, he opened the passenger door for her, then took her suitcase and put it in the rear. He got into the driver’s seat and closed his own door with a huge sense of relief, as if they’d just yomped miles over rough terrain.
‘I’m sorry the weather’s so bad. It’s not normally like this at this time of year.’
She turned to smile at him, blinking those big doe eyes at him. A strange sensation hit him squarely in the stomach and he had to turn away, pretending he was struggling to get the key into the ignition. Dr Childs was very beautiful, but nothing was going to happen. He was very much single now, and Dr Childs could be Miss Fricking World and he wouldn’t do anything about it.
He’d been burned once. Had his heart ripped from his chest, set fire to and stomped on. There was no way he was going to complicate matters before he left. She was here to work, and he was here to pack up and leave once she’d got orientated. That was all. That was going to be the extent of their relationship.
He started the engine. ‘Ready to go home?’
She nodded. ‘I am.’
The brightness in her dark eyes was hypnotic and he had to force himself to turn away once again, flicking on the headlights full beam. Turning on the windscreen wipers to remove a shield of snow.
What was going on here?
The sooner he could get out of here, the better.
Dr Lucy Childs sat in the passenger seat of the car, looking towards the old farmhouse that would be her new home. She couldn’t see too much of it, because of the darkness and the blizzard, but it looked sizeable.
From the train station, Owen had driven them across the bridge that connected the mainland to the island and then down a myriad of winding country roads, until they’d reached a lane that was pitted with potholes.
The lane was bordered by drystone walls and ditches, but the farmhouse itself, from what she could see, looked nice. A curl of smoke issued from the chimney, indicating that a real fire was burning inside, and a solitary yellow light glowed like a beacon from one of its windows.
‘I thought I’d have the place all warm for you when you arrived,’ said Owen.
She turned to smile at him, grateful for his kind consideration. ‘Thanks.’
Dr Owen Ledger was an astoundingly attractive man—which she’d not expected to find. When she’d come across the advert for a job here on Morrow Island she’d expected to find the outgoing doctor would be a silver-haired man, maybe a little portly. Someone ready for retirement, perhaps? With a penchant for reading a real newspaper and enjoying a pint down at the pub? And he’d have a nice wife—someone warm and welcoming, who wore a pinny and had her hair curled and set each weekend.
Not him. Not the thirty-something, handsome devil who sat beside her, with his raven-black hair and intense green eyes that were framed with enviable thick, dark lashes. The kind of lashes that women would pay lots of money for in extensions and expensive mascara.
And they were going to have to live in the same house for the next few weeks, before he moved on...
Hmm. I’ll take one for the team, she thought with a smile. It would be a nice bonus, that was for sure.
‘This place looks amazing,’ she said.
‘It is. It used to be a proper farm. They raised beef cattle here for many years, until the farmer sold off his land. The medical trust bought the property and moved the surgery here from its old place, which was in the middle of nowhere. At least here people can get to us quickly. We’re on the outskirts of the village and the bus stops right at the end of the lane.’
‘I understand it’s just us?’
‘Mostly. We have a nurse from the mainland who drives over once a month for our lumps and bumps clinic, and Helen is our receptionist. She works here every morning, and if she can’t make it, her daughter steps in. I can give you a tour when we get inside. Ready to brave the snow again?’
Her stomach churned as the moment to step from the car grew closer. This was it. The start of her new life. She’d left everyone behind to do this. To come to the middle of nowhere, where no one knew her. That had been the whole point. A fresh start. A clean slate. The chance to start over without everyone watching her constantly and worrying over her, waiting for her to falter.
‘Okay. I’m ready.’
They both got out of the car and Owen went to the rear of the vehicle and popped open the boot, pulling Lucy’s suitcase from it and placing it on the road, before pulling up the long handle so that he could drag the case behind him.
The wind had dropped, and it was almost silent as she stood there in the road with the deepening dark and the soft, silent snow. She turned to look at the farmhouse, situated here on this small island just off the southern coast of Cornwall. It was meant to have the GP practice attached to it. Maybe it was in another building that she couldn’t see?
That yellow light did look welcoming. And the smoke that hinted at a real fire made her want to get inside and be hypnotised by the warmth and pop and crackle of the flames, to stretch her toes out in front of it. All she had to do was take a step. And then another. And another.
She started forward, behind Owen. Her suitcase wheels were making more noise on the road than she was.
The farmhouse door was made of a modern uPVC, along with the windows, though the rest of the building looked as if it had stood for centuries. The stones were dark and covered in lichen or moss in parts, and when she reached out to touch this place that would soon be her for ever home she felt a soft furriness against the cold.
‘Hello, house, I’m Lucy,’ she whispered, staring up at the building around her and feeling incredibly stupid for having spoken to the house. But houses were easy to talk to. They didn’t talk back, they didn’t ask awkward questions she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready to answer and they didn’t try and smother you or wrap you in cotton wool, as if you were a broken, fragile thing.
Owen looked at her with a quizzical smile. ‘You say hello to houses?’
She smiled back, feeling her cheeks flush. ‘You don’t?’
He smiled again and turned to open the door, throwing it open wide, and the warm glow from within burst out to welcome her. He stood back, so she could go in first, and she stepped inside, brushing her feet on the mat and then pulling off her boots as she looked around the place.
A fire crackled away in a large inglenook fireplace, and above her head were old, black Elizabethan beams. The room was filled with soft, squishy chairs and the walls were lined with bookcases, stuffed to overflowing with books. In a corner, a guitar was propped up on a stand, and through a doorway, off to her left, she saw a sleek white kitchen.
‘Wow.’
‘Welcome home.’
Owen closed the door on the cold behind her and they both began to peel off their heavy overcoats. Owen took hers from her and hung it up next to his, which strangely seemed unbearably intimate, and then wheeled her suitcase over to the base of the wooden stairs behind them.
She couldn’t help but notice, now that he was out of his coat, that Owen was rather delicious. He wore soft dark jeans and a black V-neck jumper with a white shirt over a nice flat stomach, and when he rolled his sleeves up she noted that he had very nice forearms and wore a chunky metal wristwatch.
Do. Not. Stare.
‘Obviously you’ll be free to decorate how you like once you’ve settled in,’ he said.
‘Are you kidding me? This place is perfect.’
She stepped forward to touch the back of one of the couches, running her fingers over the soft wool blanket that was draped over the back. Naturally, her gaze went to the books. As a bookworm herself, she could discover a lot about a person by the titles on their shelves. Owen had a mix of medical texts and science fiction stories and that made her smile. She’d always loved stories and films set in space, too.
‘Fancy a hot drink?’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate?’
‘Hot chocolate sounds perfect.’
He headed into the kitchen and after a moment or two she followed him in, watching him as he made his way around. It was quite a modern kitchen. Sleek and rounded, the cupboards had an automatic soft close that she liked, and Owen had filled the room with chrome equipment. There was a chrome toaster, a kettle and a large coffee machine in one corner. And yet on the windowsill were softer touches—hyacinth bulbs in pink and blue and a large red-leafed poinsettia.
Owen clearly knew his way around a kitchen, and she envied him that. She’d never been very good at cooking, and often became quickly acquainted with the microwave. But she was determined to learn. One day, anyway.
Coming here to Morrow was meant to give her that time. She’d not wanted a GP post that would take up her entire day, with all her evenings and most weekends on call. Morrow offered only a morning clinic, Monday to Friday, and though she would be on call after that, an island with two hundred people on it meant that her bleep would hardly ever go off, or so the trust had assured her during the interview process. Any real emergencies meant the island’s residents driving themselves to the hospital a few miles away on the mainland, or calling an ambulance.
Owen had steamed the milk in some contraption she didn’t recognise, and soon he was handing her a large mug of steaming hot chocolate. She sipped at it and it was delicious. He leaned back against one of the kitchen units and they faced one another in quiet for a moment.
‘So what made you choose a job on a tiny Cornish island?’ he asked. ‘It’s not the most obvious step in a career.’
She met his gaze, then looked away, blowing the steam from the top of her drink before taking another small sip. She didn’t know him well enough to tell him everything—and what would be the point in that, anyway? The whole reason for coming here was so that she would have a clean slate and people would judge her on her ability, not her disability.
She smiled. ‘I was just looking for a slower pace. Somewhere quieter than the inner city.’
‘Where were you based before?’
‘Wandsworth. London.’
‘How many patients on your roll?’
‘Two thousand.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Wow.’
‘What about you? When you leave here what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to a village practice just outside Tavistock.’
‘What’s made you choose to leave this place? It seems idyllic.’
Owen smiled and sipped from his mug. ‘It is.’
But she could tell from the look on his face that there was something he wasn’t telling her.
Fair enough.
What could he say? Tell her the truth and scare her off before she’d even unpacked? Tell her that the people here never let anything go and were happy to wallow in the past and never move forward?
He couldn’t do it.
Not any more.
It had been two years, for crying out loud, and still they wouldn’t let him forget. Two years of being a widower and still her name got mentioned with his. If he stayed here...? Well, he would never be allowed to find happiness. Never be allowed the future he had once dreamt of with Emily.
Marriage. Children. Family. Becoming the father he dreamed of being.
It had all died with her, and now that he’d announced his decision to leave, had put all the steps into motion, he wanted to get moving.
He’d found a new job. A GP surgery in a village just outside Tavistock. Two partners ran the place. Two other doctors were on staff. He’d be the third, along with an advanced nurse practitioner, two nurses and a senior-level healthcare assistant who, he had been reliably informed, was one of the best-trained HCAs he’d ever get to meet.
He’d driven over there a couple of times when he could. Put a deposit down on a rental property that was about a ten-minute drive from work. Just a two-bedroomed place—he didn’t need anything bigger than that. He’d use one bedroom for sleeping and transform the other into a small office, where he planned to write the book he’d been scribbling notes for, on and off, for years.
It was finally time to move forward. To take the next steps. To shake off the shackles that tied him to this place and the haunting memory of Emily. Not that he would ever forget her—of course he wouldn’t. She’d been his wife. His love. His very heart. They’d still been practically newlyweds when she’d died so unexpectedly, but he wanted to be able to move forward with his life without feeling as if the whole of Morrow was watching him. Judging him. Passing comment. Gossiping in The Boar and Bloodhound.
Though he suspected that they would gossip for some time after he’d gone.
Remember Owen? He left! Can you believe he did that? Walked away from everything that connected him with his wife. Almost like he couldn’t wait to get away. Mind you...was he there for her when he was meant to be?
He couldn’t stay on the island. Who could he find to be with? Who could he settle down with, knowing how much Emily had been loved by everyone there? They would think anyone he met was second-best. And she would feel it—of course she would. The eyes upon her. The gazes.
Emily had said to him when they were on their honeymoon in Dubai that if anything ever happened to her she’d want him to marry again. He’d told her not to be ridiculous, that nothing was going to happen to her—but what had he known? Look at how wrong he’d been proved. And now, feeling as incredibly lonely as he had been these last few months, he knew that if he was going to get the chance to start again, it could never be here. In this place.
Not here on the island that didn’t forget.
Not here on the island where everything reminded him of his wife.
The church? They’d got married there.
That little cafe? That was where he’d spilt all that milk on her dress when they were first dating.
The harbour? That was where they’d shared their first kiss.
Carrigan’s Cove? That was where they’d gone swimming together.
He couldn’t turn round in this place without being reminded. And if the places didn’t remind him, then the people did.
‘You were such a sweet couple.’
‘I remember you and Emily holding hands as you walked on the beach.’
‘I’ve brought you some ginger cookies. They were Emily’s favourites, weren’t they?’
And now she was here. Dr Lucy Childs. His first step in unshackling the chains and being free. She was a tiny woman—like a little pixie, really. Slim. Well, it wouldn’t take the islanders long to fatten her up. They liked to feed people and often set up meal drives. Broken leg? They brought you food. Recovering from an operation? They brought you food. Losing your new wife to a brain aneurysm? Food.
The people on this island looked after one another. He’d give them that. Sometimes he thought it was kind of smothering, but he knew they would spring into action to welcome the new doctor. Besides, bringing meals was a great way to introduce themselves and get to know her. Find out all the gossip to spread along the island grapevine. Because everyone here knew everyone else’s business. That was what happened when you lived on an island with only a couple of hundred people. There was no privacy here. If Dr Childs thought she could keep any secrets... Well, good luck to her.
‘I should show you your room...give you the tour.’
She nodded and smiled, and he put down his mug, glad of something to do. That smile of hers was really something. Warm. Inviting. Hypnotic. Those large eyes of hers...they drew you in.
He hefted her suitcase up the stairs and heard her softly padding after him. He’d taken the smallest bedroom after losing Emily. It hadn’t seemed right to stay in the big one. He’d put most of Emily’s things in the loft, save for a few special keepsakes that he kept in a box under his bed, and then he’d moved into the smaller room.
That had left two other bedrooms, and he’d chosen the one that looked out on to the woods for Dr Childs. Once he’d moved out she could take her pick, but for now it would have to do. He’d given it a clean, put fresh linen on the bed, polished, vacuumed. No doubt she would add her own touches to the place.
He flicked on the switch, that lit up the room. ‘This is you.’ He placed her suitcase by the large wardrobe and walked back towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you to settle in and we can catch up later. Then, when you’re ready, I’ll fill you in on all the people you’ll be living with for the foreseeable.’
He closed her bedroom door and let out a breath. The next few weeks were going to be hard in more ways than one.
The bedroom was lovely. A double bed sat in the centre of the room, covered with what looked like brand-new crisp white fresh linen. A pale rose counterpane matched the colour of the tiny flowers that adorned the curtains, held back by softly braided white ropes. The floor was exposed wood, with a fluffy white rug to put her feet on in the morning when she got out of bed.
Lucy noticed not only a wardrobe but a dresser, painted to look distressed, its handles made of leather loops the colour of warm caramel. To her left was a wooden door and, opening it, she found a small en-suite bathroom that comprised a toilet, a sink and a modern shower that not only had a large showerhead above, on the ceiling, but also showerheads that would squirt water from the sides, too.
She was surprised at the mix of modern and old-fashioned, but pleased by it. If this were to be her home she could do a lot to the place, if she wished. She had carte blanche to decorate however she wanted.
She went to her suitcase and unzipped it, throwing back the lid and placing her clothes on the bed, sorting them before placing them in the dresser and the wardrobe. It felt weird to be putting her things here, this far away from anyone she knew.
Her family had not been too impressed that she’d chosen somewhere so far away from them.
‘But how will we know you’re all right?’ her mum had pleaded.
‘Because I’ll phone you at least once a week.’
‘Once a week?’
It had been said as if she’d suggested only calling them once a decade, and then she’d received the look. Her sisters and her younger brother had all looked at her as if she was crazy.
‘I’ll be fine. I’m taking the meds.’
‘But what if that’s not enough? Look what happened to your father.’
She’d walked away then, needing a break from their intensity. They couldn’t keep using what had happened to her dad as a weapon to punish her with. Was she to live her entire life under their watchful eye? Feeling enclosed? Trapped? Or did she have the right to live life as she pleased, enjoying every moment she could, as long as she was sensible?
Lucy preferred the latter option, and to do so had known she needed to move as far away as she possibly could, so that her family couldn’t just drop in whenever they were passing by. Well, it was a long drive from London to Cornwall. She hoped it was enough. Plus, it also meant that she never stood the chance of running into Phillip again.
Her heart sank at the thought of him. Of how he’d abandoned her as soon as the results of her blood test had come through.
She tried to tell herself she’d had a lucky escape. Was glad that she’d found out what kind of man he was before it got too serious. But the truth of the matter was, it still hurt. He’d acted as if she was broken goods. Useless, with no future worth.
Who wanted to be with a man who treated a woman like that?
She wondered what kind of man Owen Ledger was.
He seemed nice. Calm. Welcoming. And a great deal more handsome than any man had a right to be. That dark, glossy hair. Those piercing green eyes, flecked with gold. Thank goodness he was only going to be here for a few more weeks, because he made her feel nervous. And not scary nervous, but excited nervous. Tingly nervous. Aware. Expectant.
He looks like he’d be a good kisser.
She blushed at the thought and laughed to herself. Owen had a fine mouth. A lower lip slightly larger than the top one. A manly smattering of stubble that made her want to run her fingertips over it...
Owen was the kind of man she felt attracted to—which might have been a problem if he were staying on here, but he was leaving.
It was a good thing he wouldn’t be here long. A good thing that they wouldn’t have to live together for more than a few weeks and then she’d be waving him goodbye.
It was safer that way. Staying alone was better for her emotional well-being. If she kept herself to herself, romantically, then she would never unwittingly put herself in danger of such horrible rejection again.
With her clothes put away, she took another steadying breath and headed downstairs.
Owen was in the kitchen, turned away from her, loading up the dishwasher, and for a brief moment she watched him unnoticed. He was rinsing off some bowls and plates under the tap first, before placing them inside. When he got to a large dessert spoon the water from the tap hit it at an angle and sprayed water all over his jumper. He jumped, and looked down at himself, and she couldn’t help but smile.
‘Need a hand?’
He turned to look at her and laughed, before grabbing a tea towel and dabbing at his top. ‘You’d think I’d know how to wash a spoon at my age.’
‘They’re difficult pieces of kitchen equipment.’
‘You’re telling me. I’ve put your hot chocolate over there. I can reheat it, if it’s not warm enough.’
He indicated with his head and she saw her mug by the kettle.
Taking it in her hands, she sipped at it, grateful for the warmth of the hot drink. She noticed the dark water stains on Owen’s jeans before looking away, trying not to think of how shapely his legs looked.
‘Have you been here long?’ she asked.
‘As GP? Four years. But I’ve lived here half my life.’
‘Long time...’
Owen placed a tablet in the dishwasher, closed it, pressed a few buttons on the front, switching it on, then leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms folded. ‘It is. And it feels right to make the change now. Meet some new faces.’
‘I guess you know everyone here really well?’
‘Oh, yes! And they’ll certainly get to know you, all right. It can be hard to keep your privacy in a place like this, so be warned.’
She sipped at her hot chocolate, trying to hide her anxiety at that. The last thing she needed was people prying into her personal life. Had it been a mistake to come here?
‘A lot of them already know you were arriving today. In fact, I’m amazed they aren’t lined up outside the front door already, come to introduce themselves. I was wondering if you fancied going to the local pub, to get it all over and done with?’
A pub? That wasn’t really her thing. ‘Would you mind if we didn’t? It’s been a long day, and I’m not sure I’ve got it in me to be sociable right now.’
‘Okay. Want me to give you the full tour of the house and surgery instead?’
She smiled. That sounded more doable. ‘Yes, please.’
Owen showed her around the house, room by room, and then walked her through the extension to the rear of the house, where the general surgery practice room was located.
‘We run a morning clinic Monday to Friday, nine till twelve, have lunch and then make home visits, if needed. You’ll get bleeped through your mobile phone, and generally you’re on call all the time—but because there’s only a couple of hundred people on the island, believe me, you’ll hardly ever get called out for emergencies.’
‘And if there is an emergency?’
‘Then an ambulance gets sent from the mainland. But because it can’t get here in less than seven minutes you’ll act as first responder and keep people alive until the paramedics arrive and take over.’
She nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘We’re equipped to do minor surgeries. And the last Friday of every month we run what I call the lumps and bumps clinic. Ingrown toenails, cysts...that kind of thing. A nurse comes over to assist from the main hospital. They usually send Ellen—she’s very good and everyone knows her.’
Lucy looked around the room. It looked perfectly modern. Desk, computer, examination bed with lamp, scales, a cupboard full of blood-taking equipment and bandages. ‘It all seems pretty hands-on.’
He nodded. ‘It is. Work that at your old surgery you would normally have passed off to a nurse or HCA, here will be something you do yourself. It keeps things interesting. I’ve always liked that. You’re not just sitting in this room and listening to people complain about colds and headaches, you really get to know them.’
‘How often are blood and culture samples collected?’
‘The large white box in the corridor we passed gets emptied at midday, Monday to Friday. The guy can access it himself—he has his own key.’
‘Okay.’
It all seemed perfectly straightforward. But she felt nervous. It was one thing to talk about it in hypotheticals, but tomorrow she would actually start working here. Actually start meeting people who, Owen had suggested, might be quite nosy.
At that moment Owen’s phone beeped, and he pulled it from his back pocket to look at it. ‘I should never have said we hardly get called out.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘I need to see a patient. You’re tired. Why don’t you stay here and rest?’
‘No...’ She smiled. ‘I’d like to go. Best to start sometime, right?’
He smiled back at her. ‘Right.’
