Kitabı oku: «Neurosurgeon . . . And Mum!», sayfa 2

‘You’ve been at work.’

He shrugged. ‘And you’ve had a long drive, which I’d say is more tiring—especially as I know there are roadworks on the motorway and you’ve probably been stuck in traffic for a while. It’s no problem. Really.’

‘Then I’ll wash up,’ she said.

‘Deal.’ Though he didn’t offer to shake on it. Because he had a feeling that once he touched Amy Rivers, he’d want more. A lot more. And it would get way, way too complicated.

She’d vanished by the time he’d finished playing with Buster. He made himself a sandwich, checked the dog’s water bowl was full then headed out on his house calls.

‘I hear young Amy’s back,’ Mrs Poole, his first patient, said as he removed the dressing to check the ulcer just above her ankle.

He looked up at her, surprised. ‘Wow. The grapevine’s fast around here.’ Amy couldn’t have arrived more than a couple of hours ago.

‘Well, a car with a registration plate saying “AMY” parked outside Marsh End House has to be hers, doesn’t it?’ She shrugged. ‘Not that she’s been down here for a while now. Funny that she decides to turn up this week, with Joe and Cassie just off to Australia.’

Tom didn’t appreciate gossip about himself and he had a feeling that Amy would be the same. ‘She’s house- and dog-sitting for her aunt and uncle.’

‘I thought that was what you were supposed to be doing.’

‘You know what they say. Many hands make light work,’ Tom said with a smile, and concentrated on checking the ulcer for granulation.

‘Used to spend every summer here, she did. Too quiet by miles for the first week, but by the end of the summer she was getting as grubby as the boys and plotting all kinds of things with young Beth.’

Too quiet. Just as his own daughter was. But Amy had had her cousins to help her out of her shell. Perdy had nobody except him, and so far he was a big fat failure.

He changed the subject swiftly. ‘I’m really pleased with the way you’re healing. So you’ve been keeping your leg up, as I suggested?’

‘Yes. Though I hate sitting still.’ Mrs Poole tutted. ‘I’ve never been one to sit and do nothing.’

‘Gentle exercise is fine,’ Tom said. ‘But if you overdo it, the ulcer will take longer to heal. You don’t have to sit around all the time, just make sure you rest with your leg up for half an hour, three or four times a day, to take the pressure off your veins.’ He cleaned the ulcer gently then put a fresh dressing on, topping it with an elastic bandage. ‘Can you circle your ankle for me, Mrs Poole, so I can check that bandage isn’t too tight for you?’

She did so, and he smiled. ‘That’s fine. I’ll come and see you tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, if it starts to hurt more or your foot feels hotter or colder, or you notice it’s changed colour, ring the surgery straight away—please don’t wait.’ In his experience, elderly people fell into two camps: the ones who were lonely, desperately wanted company and would ring up if they so much as cut their finger; and those who didn’t want to make a fuss and would leave it until their condition had really deteriorated before they admitted that they needed help. Mrs Poole was definitely one of the latter, or her ulcer wouldn’t have spread so badly.

‘I’ll be fine, Doctor,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

He rather thought he did. ‘I want a promise from you,’ he said, giving her his most charming smile, ‘or I’ll have to go and chat to your neighbours and ask them to set up a roster to check on you every couple of hours between now and my next visit.’

‘You can’t bother them with that!’ She looked aghast.

‘Promise me, then.’ He squeezed her hand gently. ‘I appreciate you want to be independent, which is great, but there is such a thing as being too independent. If you catch a medical condition in the early stages, it’s usually easier and quicker to treat it—and it won’t hurt you as much.’

‘I’m not like that Betty Jacklin—straight on the phone to the surgery, convinced she’s got a brain tumour, every time she has a headache.’ Mrs Poole rolled her eyes.

Tom hid a smile. He’d already been warned about Betty Jacklin, but hadn’t come across her yet. ‘I can’t possibly comment on other patients. I know you wouldn’t call me for something little. But I also know you’re the sort who’s too stubborn to ring when she really ought to.’ He squeezed her hand gently again. ‘And guess which kind of patient I lose more sleep over?’

Mrs Poole sighed. ‘All right. I promise I’ll call you.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Do you want me to make you a cup of tea before I go?’

She shook her head. ‘You don’t have time for that, Doctor.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Actually, I do.’ It would only take a couple of minutes. And if it meant getting her to drink a bit more, he was all for it. Too many of his elderly patients didn’t drink enough and ended up with bladder in-fections—which, if not treated fast enough, led to fever and confusion and being cared for in hospital until the antibiotics did their job, not to mention a huge worry for their families. He believed in pre-empting things where he could. ‘So, if I remember rightly, that’s a dash of milk and half a teaspoon of sugar?’

‘You’re a good lad, Dr Ashby,’ Mrs Poole said. ‘And, with your looks, you must have the women lining up for you.’

Tom just smiled. He hadn’t noticed any line of women—and even if there was one, he wasn’t interested. His daughter came first. And he’d never put himself in the position where his heart could be broken again.

At half past three, Amy was sitting at Joe’s desk, starting to look through the box of Joseph’s papers, when Buster left his position at her feet and bounded through the door, tail wagging.

Clearly Tom was home.

She could hear a child talking. Odd: Tom hadn’t mentioned anything about a child. Unless maybe his wife was doing some extra tuition and one of her pupils had come back with her?

Better get the introductions over with, she thought, and headed out of the office. She followed the sound of voices to the kitchen, noting the child’s rucksack hanging up in the hallway. And she blinked in surprise when she walked into the kitchen. There was a little girl sitting at the table—around eight years old, Amy judged—with a glass of milk and a book in front of her. She had Tom’s colouring and that same shy, slightly hesitant smile.

Buster pattered across the tiles to her, alerting Tom to the fact that he and the little girl were no longer alone. He turned round and smiled at Amy. ‘Hello, Amy. Let me introduce you. This is Perdita—everyone calls her Perdy.’

Perdy was clearly Tom’s daughter, then, not his wife.

Carrie hadn’t mentioned anyone else. So where was the child’s mother? Was Tom divorced? But Amy knew it wasn’t that common for fathers to be given custody of the children, which meant that the break-up must’ve been messy with a capital M.

No wonder Perdy looked quiet and withdrawn.

Amy remembered another little girl being like that, too. A little girl whose father had been awarded custody. A little girl she’d grown to love so much, as if Millie were her own daughter rather than her intended stepchild-to-be.

But then Colin had suggested that they move to the States, to let Millie see more of her mother. And while Amy had been tying up loose ends in England, thinking that she was going to start a new life with the man and child she loved, Colin had changed his mind. He’d called Amy with the news that he and his ex had decided to give their marriage another go, for their daughter’s sake. That had been hard enough to take; but then he’d added that he thought that a clean break would be the best thing for Millie.

Amy knew it had been the right thing to do, for the little girl’s sake. But it had ripped her world apart, and she’d retreated into work afterwards, concentrating on her career rather than her private life.

Which had worked just fine—until her career had gone so badly wrong, too.

OK, so this wasn’t quite the same. She wasn’t in any kind of relationship with Tom Ashby. But, right now, she was bone tired and she just didn’t have the strength to help anyone else.

Be polite, smile, but keep your distance, Amy told herself. It isn’t your job to fix this. ‘Hello, Perdy,’ she said, staying exactly where she was.

‘Perdy, this is Miss Rivers.’

Miss rather than Doctor. Did he know that she was a qualified surgeon? Or hadn’t Joe and Carrie told him that she was a medic of any kind? Not that it made much difference. She wasn’t a neurosurgeon any more.

‘Hello, Miss Rivers,’ Perdy said dutifully.

That sounded so stuffy and formal. Completely not how Amy was. For a moment, she was tempted to offer her own first name; then her common sense kicked in. Keep your distance. Formality would help her to do that. She gave the little girl a polite smile. ‘Hello.’

‘Joe and Carrie are Miss Rivers’s aunt and uncle. She’s staying here for a while,’ Tom explained.

Perdy looked worried for a moment, and then carefully made her face blank. ‘Does that mean we have to go and find somewhere else to live?’

It sounded as though they’d moved around a bit, and Amy could remember being much happier here as a child because she was settled for the summer instead of dragging round after her parents with nobody to play with. Guilt flooded through her. What was the old saying? What goes around comes around. Joe and Cassie had been kind to her. She really ought to offer the same kindness to Perdy. It wasn’t the little girl’s fault that her presence brought back memories of Millie and a sense of loss that Amy would prefer to suppress.

‘No, darling, it just means we’re sharing the house,’ Tom said, ruffling her hair.

‘So I can still play with Buster?’ Perdy asked.

‘Absolutely,’ Tom reassured her.

Amy should’ve guessed that Perdy would respond to the dog in the same way that Amy herself had responded to Joe and Cassie’s dogs as a child. Guilt twisted in her stomach again. But this wasn’t her problem and she had enough to deal with. She had nothing to offer a lonely little girl. Right now, she had nothing to offer anyone.

‘Are you here on a summer holiday, Miss Rivers?’ Perdy asked.

‘Sort of.’

‘Perdy, you’re asking too many questions,’ Tom said quietly.

The little girl flushed, and shut up.

Amy raised her eyebrows at Tom. OK, so she didn’t particularly want to talk about why she was here, but he could have just distracted his daughter instead of putting her down like that.

He looked right back at her, and Amy found herself flushing as deeply as Perdy when she read the message in his eyes. Just who did Amy Rivers think she was, to judge him?

He had a point. She hadn’t exactly helped matters, had she? And he was clearly trying to do his best with his little girl.

‘I’ll, um, let you get on,’Amy said. ‘I just wanted to introduce myself, that was all. See you later.’ She fled for the sanctuary of Joe’s office.

Though not before she heard Perdy ask Tom, ‘Did she go because of me?’ And she could almost see the wobble in the little girl’s lower lip, the distress on her face.

‘No, honey, of course not. She’s just got things to do,’ Tom said.

Which made Amy feel even more horrible inside. She’d have to find some middle ground. Surely she could be kind to the little girl, without taking down the barriers round her heart?

She’d make the effort, later.

Just not right now, when all the memories had come back to shred her heart all over again.

Chapter Three

THAT evening, after Tom had settled Perdy in bed, he walked into the living room and saw Amy curled up in a chair, reading a book. In Perdy’s favourite chair, Tom noticed, the one with a view through the French doors into the garden. Amy was completely engrossed in the words, just like Perdy always was when she had her nose in a book.

And he was intruding.

‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you were here,’ he said, and began to back away.

She looked up. ‘It’s not a problem. If you want to watch the television or something, that’s fine. You won’t disturb me.’

‘No. But my daughter clearly does.’ The words were out before he could stop them, and he kicked himself mentally as colour shot into her face. Couldn’t he have found a more tactful way to broach the subject?

‘I’m sorry I was a bit abrupt with her,’ Amy muttered.

Tom knew he should accept the apology and leave it. But, now he’d started, he couldn’t stop himself. Amy hadn’t even had dinner with them that evening—she’d made an excuse and shut herself away in the study. And for some reason Perdy had got it into her head that it was because Amy didn’t like her—that she was in the way. ‘She’s eight years old. And it’s not as if she’s a spoiled brat or running wild.’

‘I can see that.’

‘So what is it? You don’t like kids?’

‘It’s not that.’

But she didn’t look him in the eye; it was obvious that there was something she wasn’t telling him. Well, that was her choice. She was an adult, able to make her own decisions; and his main concern was his daughter. ‘Look, I don’t know how long you plan to be here, and I’ll try to keep Perdy out of your way as much as I can, but I’d appreciate it if you could try to be pleasant to her when your paths cross.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Amy’s breath shuddered, as if she was suppressing a sob, and the distress on her face was obvious.

Ah, hell. He’d blundered straight in and made this whole situation worse. Tom raked a hand through his hair. He had to face it, he was hopeless with women. He’d let his wife down, he’d let his daughter down, and now he’d managed to upset the woman he had to share the house with for the next however long. Time to compromise and make the best of this mess. ‘So am I. We’re guests here in your family’s home, and I shouldn’t be having a go at you.’

‘I’m a guest here, too,’Amy said. ‘And you were standing up for your daughter. It’s a parent’s natural reaction.’

He could see the pain in her eyes before she masked it. So was Amy a parent? And, if so, why wasn’t her child with her now?

It was none of his business. He wasn’t going to pry. But he had to say something. Give her an explanation for the way he’d snapped at her, at least. ‘I’m probably being over-protective. It hasn’t been a good year.’

‘Yeah. This year’s been…’ She blew out a breath.

It sounded as if she’d been through the wringer as much as he and Perdy had lately. So maybe they had something in common after all. He sat down. ‘That’s why we came here. This job seemed like the perfect opportunity—somewhere to make a new start.’

His admission made her expression soften slightly. ‘It’s a good place,’ she said. ‘I used to spend my summers here.’

‘Holiday home?’ he guessed.

‘Sort of.’ She grimaced. ‘My parents were always away on lecturing tours, so it meant either being stuck in London with a nanny, or spending the holidays here with Joe and Cassie.’ She smiled, clearly remembering something happy. ‘I loved it here. The house was always full of laughter, and I didn’t have to be quiet in case I disturbed anyone. I had Cassie and Joe and Beth and the boys, I could share their dog—and, best of all, I knew I was here because they wanted me here, not because they were paid to look after me.’

Amy’s childhood sounded very similar to Eloise’s, with ambitious parents who didn’t pay her enough attention. So had she been damaged the same way as Eloise, Tom wondered, making her desperate to save the world to gain her parents’approval? ‘That’s why I became a GP rather than working in a hospital—the hours are more regular, and in the days before the practice started using the after-hours service Eloise and I could usually muddle through school holidays between us and not need to use too much child care.’

‘Eloise being Perdy’s mother, I take it?’

Tom felt the muscle tensing in his jaw. ‘Yes.’ Now he’d opened up this far, no doubt Amy would ask questions. If he told her the rest, she’d start pitying him. And he’d had enough pity to last a lifetime.

To his surprise, Amy uncurled from her chair. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘we need to agree a truce. And some boundaries.’

‘A truce.’ That wasn’t half of what he was tempted to do with this woman. But he had a feeling that both of them were too mixed up to cope with any kind of relationship right now—not to mention the fact that Amy might be involved with someone.

‘I won’t ask you about whatever’s messed up your past,’ she said, ‘if you don’t ask me about mine.’

‘Agreed.’ He paused. ‘And Perdy?’

She curled up again and wrapped her arms round her legs, resting her chin on her knees. ‘I’ll try not to be so abrupt.’

‘Thank you.’ He couldn’t ask any more than that. ‘So do you know how long you’re staying?’

She shrugged. ‘My plans are flexible. You?’

‘Until a week or so after your uncle and aunt get back from Australia.’

‘And you’ve settled in OK?’

He knew she was being polite rather than really wanting to know. ‘Fine.’ He had, at least; he wasn’t so sure about his daughter. Not that he could discuss that with Amy. She’d made her views on children pretty clear. ‘I like it here. Though the village grapevine is pretty effective,’ he said ruefully.

‘Grapevine?’

‘When I saw Mrs Poole on a house call this afternoon, she knew you were back. Though I didn’t feed her any gossip. I told her you were dog-sitting.’

The corners of Amy’s mouth quirked. ‘Tomorrow, you can expect to hear that you’re having a hot affair with the wild child from London. So if you have someone in your life who’s going to be bothered by that—except your daughter, who already knows we’re not involved—you’d better warn her now.’

‘There’s nobody.’ Tom hadn’t intended to say that much. But the picture she’d just put in his head…Oh, lord, he could just imagine it. A hot affair with Amy Rivers. Her mouth softening under his. Her hands in his hair. Finding out how warm and soft her skin was.

He just hoped none of that showed in his expression, or she’d run a mile. ‘So were you really a wild child?’ he asked.

She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Far from it. But since when did truth get in the way of a good story?’

‘I’m sorry if sharing the house with me is going to make life difficult for you.’

‘It won’t.’ She shrugged. ‘If anyone says anything to you, just laugh and ask them if they know where you can get a few more hours in a day, because with a little girl to look after you really don’t have time for a love life.’

‘That,’ Tom said, ‘is absolutely true.’ And he’d do well to remember that. Any fantasies he might entertain about Amy Rivers had to stay exactly that: fantasies.

On Friday afternoon, Tom was in surgery seeing his last patient before he had to pick up Perdy from the after-school club. Max Barton had passed out at work, and when his colleagues had brought him in Max had said that he felt tired all the time and had to get up at night more frequently to go for a wee. He’d put it down to getting older and putting in more hours at work, but the symptoms—together with Max’s ample girth—made Tom suspect something else. He’d also noticed a plaster on Max’s thumb, and Max had eventually admitted that he’d cut his hand several days before but the cut just wasn’t healing properly. Tom had checked his blood pressure and sent off blood samples, and now the results were back.

‘Let’s start with the good news, Mr Barton,’ he said. ‘It’s not cancer or heart disease.’

‘But?’ Max asked.

‘Your blood tests,’ Tom said gently, ‘show that you have type two diabetes. That’s the late-onset type, so we can keep it under control with diet and tablets. The good news there is that you’re not going to have to inject yourself with insulin.’

Max blew out a breath and relaxed back against the chair. ‘I’m so glad. Dad died from a heart attack and I was scared stupid that it might happen to me and the kids would have to grow up without me.’

Yeah. Tom knew all about that feeling. Especially now there was only him; and he resented the fact that Eloise hadn’t seemed even to give it a thought before she’d left. Of course saving other people’s children was a good thing to do, but did it have to be at the cost of your own?

He snapped his attention back. Not now. His patients had to come first. ‘You can put your mind at rest there,’ he said gently, ‘though I’m afraid there will be a few needles for a bit—you’ll need to keep testing your blood sugar levels so we can fine-tune the tablets to suit you. And there are also some things we need to keep an eye on, complications that sometimes come with diabetes, so I’ll book you in for the clinic here once a month. Can you remember the last time you had your eyes tested?’

Max spread his hands. ‘I’ve never had a problem with my eyes.’

‘Sure,’ Tom said, ‘but you need to book yourself in and have eye tests at least once a year now, because diabetes can sometimes cause problems with eyes.’

Max frowned. ‘So why have I got it? Why me, why now?’

‘We don’t know why some people get it and not others,’ Tom said honestly. ‘It’s known as late onset because it tends to happen in your forties. Sometimes it runs in families, but not necessarily. Men are twice as likely as women to get it, and you’re also more likely to get it if you’re overweight and don’t do enough exercise.’

‘I’ve always been big,’ Max said. ‘Everyone in my family’s big-boned. But I’ve cut down on the beer and I always have fruit when someone brings cakes in to work.’ He sighed. ‘I know I ought to go to the gym or something, but there’s never enough time, and to be honest I don’t really fancy all that bodybuilding stuff.’

‘The fitter you keep yourself,’ Tom said, ‘and the better you control your diabetes, the less likely you are to develop complications. You don’t have to go to the gym. Find something you enjoy doing with your family—that way you’ll all get the benefit, whether it’s going for a walk or a swim or just kicking a ball around in the park.’

‘I suppose we could do that,’ Max said.

Tom ran through what the condition involved, how to take the tablets he was about to prescribe and how Max could take readings of his blood sugar and what they meant he needed to do next. ‘I’m also going give you some leaflets to take home, including how to get in touch with the local diabetes support group,’ Tom said, ‘and I’ll arrange an appointment for you at the diabetic clinic here at the practice. You’re bound to have questions, and we can answer them all there—and your wife’s very welcome to come along too. I’ll get in touch with the dietician, too. It’s a good idea to keep a diary for a week of what you eat, how much and when, and take it along with you to the appointment—it’ll save you some time in working things out.’

‘So do I have to eat special diabetic foods?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Tom fished out one of the leaflets and handed it to him. ‘It’s all about eating healthily. Regular meals, plenty of fruit and veg and foods with a low GI—that means your body absorbs them more slowly and your blood sugar doesn’t suddenly spike—and cutting down on salt, sugar and fats. You don’t have to eat anything special, and everyone in the family can eat the same as you—it’ll be good for them, too.’ He smiled at the older man. ‘It’s a lot to take in all at once, which is one of the reasons why we have leaflets—they’ll answer the questions you wish you’d thought of when you’re halfway home. But if you’re worried about anything at all, just give us a call.’ He tapped into the practice system and booked an appointment. ‘And Jenny, the practice nurse, will see you on Tuesday morning at ten.’

‘Do I have to tell my boss?’ Max looked stricken. ‘I might lose my job.’

‘It’s not compulsory, no. But it’s a good idea to tell your boss and your colleagues, so they know what to do to help you if you suddenly have a hypo.’ Tom explained what would happen if Max’s blood sugar suddenly dropped and how people could deal with it. ‘You will need to tell the DVLC and your insurance company. But as long as your diabetes is well controlled, it shouldn’t be a problem.’

Max closed his eyes and blew out a breath. ‘It’s a lot to take in. But it’s such a relief to know I’m not going to just drop down dead like my dad did.’

Yeah. That was Tom’s own biggest fear. If anything happened to him, what would happen to his daughter? He and Eloise had both been only children. There wasn’t a family network who could take over. His parents were too old, and Eloise’s were as uninterested in their granddaughter as they’d been in their daughter. The only thing they were interested in was her end-of-year school report; and for Tom that was only part of who his daughter was. No way was he going to let them pressure her, the way they’d pressured Eloise.

He pushed the fear aside and concentrated on answering Max’s remaining questions, then glanced at his watch. He was going to be late picking Perdy up from after-school club. But he couldn’t have rushed his patient out of the door. Sometimes, he thought, juggling single fatherhood with his job was too tricky. And he still hadn’t thought about how he was going to cope with the long summer holidays.

Joseph’s papers. They were here somewhere, Amy thought, opening a fourth box.

And then she blinked. It was full of books. A quick glance at some of the covers told her they were the ones she and Beth had devoured when they’d been around Perdy’s age. Given that Perdy had been reading at the kitchen table yesterday, maybe this would be a good way of apologising for being abrupt. A gesture. Some were probably too old-fashioned now, but she was pretty sure that Perdy would enjoy some of the others. She picked out an armful of the ones she’d enjoyed most, and left them stacked on top of the box while she searched for the box containing Joseph’s papers. Once she’d located it and had taken the papers she needed downstairs, she returned to the loft to collect the books. Then, just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, Tom walked through the front door with his daughter.

He brushed a hand against her face and Amy nearly dropped the books as desire shimmered through her. Oh, this was ridiculous. She knew he was single and not involved with anyone, because he’d told her so the previous night; but that didn’t mean he was interested in getting involved with her. Whatever had happened between him and Perdy’s mother had clearly made him as wary, as Perdy was; and of course there was Perdy to think of.

Not to mention the fact that Amy didn’t make the same mistake twice. She’d learned the hard way, through Colin and Millie, that getting involved with a single father was a seriously bad idea. There were way too many complications; and it meant that more than one person ended up with their heart broken when it all ended.

She frowned at Tom, and he said, ‘Cobweb.’

Oh. So that was why he’d touched her face. And it wasn’t really surprising that she was covered in cobwebs, considering how she’d spent her afternoon. ‘I’ve been rummaging around in the attic,’ she explained.

And now for the biggie. Perdy’s eyes were averted and she looked uncomfortable. Hardly surprising, given how unwelcoming Amy had been, the previous day.

She took a deep breath. ‘Perdy, when I was your age, I used to read a lot, too. And while I was in the attic, I discovered that my aunt kept the books that my cousin Beth and I liked best. So, um, if you’d like to borrow any of them, feel free. I’ll leave them stacked on the bookcase, shall I?’

‘Thank you, Miss Rivers,’ Perdy said politely, though Amy noticed that the little girl still didn’t make any kind of eye contact and her face was etched with worry.

First-name terms didn’t mean getting involved, did it? Amy swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘As we’re going to be sharing the house and Buster for a while, until I go back to London, perhaps it’d be easier if you called me Amy.’

She saw the little girl look at her father for guidance, and Tom’s brief nod, and her heart ached. How much this reminded her of the time when she’d met Millie. Colin’s daughter had been four years old, sweet and shy. Her eyes had been the same serious grey as her father’s, and when she’d smiled Amy had discovered that Millie had the same charming dimples as Colin, too. At first Amy had been ‘Daddy’s friend Amy’. And then she’d earned smiles and hugs in her own right. The night that Millie had asked Amy to read her bedtime story instead of Colin was the moment Amy had realised how much she loved father and daughter, how deeply she’d wanted to be a proper family with them…

‘Thank you, Mi—Amy,’ Perdy corrected herself, breaking Amy’s train of thought and bringing her back to the present.

The expression of pleasure on the little girl’s face told Amy that she’d done the right thing. She wasn’t getting involved—this time, her heart was definitely going to stay unbroken—but she was making life just that little bit easier for someone else who’d had a rough time.

‘What are those?’ Tom asked, gesturing to the pile of notebooks on the table in the hallway.

‘Joseph’s casebooks. He was my…’ Amy counted on her fingers ‘…great-great-great-great-grandfather. The first doctor in the family. He trained in London, but he married a girl from Norwich and moved there.’ She smiled. ‘Joe’s named after him. Actually, it’s a family tradition that the eldest son of the eldest son is called Joseph.’

‘Why are you looking at his papers?’ Perdy asked.

‘Uncle Joe asked me if I’d take a look through them while I’m here. He and Dad always meant to sort it out, but as they’re both doctors—another family tradition—they were really busy at work and never got round to it.’

‘Are you a doctor, too?’ Perdy asked.