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The Brooding Doc's Redemption
Kate Hardy


A new job should be the fresh start Dr Marc Bailey needs in order to accept that he wasn’t to blame for the loss of his wife and unborn child.But spending time with Laurie Grant and her daughter Izzy is a joy and a heartache. He should walk away – except Laurie and Izzy are showing Marc that everyone deserves a second chance at happiness…










Dear Reader

This is a story about forgiveness, and how love can give you a second chance.

GP Laurie thinks she’s settled and has the perfect life with her daughter and her dog in a little country town—but she’s missing something. And Marc needs to forgive himself for the past before he can move on and learn to be happy again.

Working together on a project to help their patients means they’re thrown into each other’s company—and, although neither intended to fall in love, that’s exactly what they end up doing. But it takes a shock for them both to overcome their pasts and admit it …

This book’s set in my part of the world, and I can honestly say that the bluebell woods Marc and Laurie visit are even more magical in real life. It’s definitely one of the most romantic places in the world, and I’m lucky in that my research assistants are always happy to come with me. (Except the dog, because sadly dogs aren’t allowed—otherwise he’d be there, wagging his tail alongside us.)

I’m always delighted to hear from readers, so do come and visit me at www.katehardy.com

With love

Kate Hardy




About the Author


KATE HARDY lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two young children, one bouncy spaniel, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history, she helps out at her children’s schools. She also loves cooking—spot the recipes sneaked into her books! (They’re also on her website, along with extracts and stories behind the books.)

Writing for Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She’s been writing Medical Romances™ for over ten years. She says it’s the best of both worlds, because she gets to learn lots of new things when she’s researching the background to a book: add a touch of passion, drama and danger, a new gorgeous hero every time, and it’s the perfect job!

SCARLET WILSON wrote her first story aged eight and has never stopped. Her family have fond memories of Shirley and the Magic Purse, with its army of mice, all with names beginning with the letter ‘M’. An avid reader Scarlet started with every Enid Blyton book, moved on to the Chalet School series and many years later found Mills & Boon.

She trained and worked as a nurse and health visitor and currently works in public health. For her, finding Medical Romances™ was a match made in heaven. She is delighted to find herself among the authors she has read for many years.

Scarlet lives on the West Coast of Scotland with her fiancé and their two sons.



Also by Kate Hardyin Mills & Boon


Medical Romance™:

ONCE A PLAYBOY …

DR CINDERELLA’S MIDNIGHT FLING

ITALIAN DOCTOR, NO STRINGS ATTACHED

ST PIRAN’S: THE FIREMAN AND NURSE LOVEDAY

(St Piran’s Hospital)

And in Mills & Boon Modern™ Romance:

THE HIDDEN HEART OF RICO ROSSI

THE EX WHO HIRED HER

A MOMENT ON THE LIPS

These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk




The Brooding Doc’s Redemption

Kate Hardy

















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Maggie Kingsley and Margaret McDonagh—in loving memory of dear friends who were taken too young.




CHAPTER ONE


THIS was ridiculous. Anyone would think that Marc was five years old and about to start his first day at school, not thirty-five and about to start his first day as a GP at Pond Lane Surgery.

He shook himself. There was absolutely no reason for him to be nervous. If Sam, the senior partner at the practice, hadn’t thought that Marc would fit into the team, he wouldn’t have offered him the job. Marc had spent ten years working in a busy practice in London. Working in a sleepy country town would be different, but he’d wanted different. Something to help him leave the memories behind.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The middle-aged woman at the reception desk smiled at him. ‘It’s a bit early for appointments, I’m afraid. We’re not quite open yet.’

‘I’m not actually here for an appointment,’ he explained. ‘My name’s Marc Bailey.’

‘Oh, our new GP! Welcome to the practice.’ She shook his hand. ‘I’m Phyllis—well, obviously I’m the receptionist. Sam’s expecting you. I’ll take you through to his office.’

A friendly face on Reception was a good start. Hopefully the rest of the day would match up to it.

Phyllis rapped on the open door. ‘Sam? Marc Bailey’s here.’ She smiled at Marc. ‘I’ll leave you to it. If there’s anything you need, just let me know.’

‘Thank you.’

Sam shook his hand warmly. ‘Welcome to Pond Lane. I hope you don’t mind, Marc, but I’d like you to work with Dr Grant for the first half of the morning. I know you’re perfectly capable of settling in by yourself, but it always helps to have someone teach you the horrible little quirks of a computer system that’s new to you.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Marc wondered where this was leading. Was having someone shadowing him his new boss’s way of making sure that he’d made the right decision in offering Marc the job?

‘And you’ll be helping her at the same time. Laurie works part time at the surgery. She’s halfway through qualifying as a GP trainer, and it’ll be useful for her to sit in on consultations with someone she hasn’t worked with before.’

Marc gave him a wry smile. ‘It’s been a while since someone observed me in a consultation.’

‘Laurie won’t bite. She’s a sweetie, and she makes the best lemon cake ever,’ Sam said with a chuckle.

‘Right.’ Marc imagined a doctor in her mid-forties, the motherly type, who wanted to enrich her career by teaching new doctors.

‘Oh, and I should warn you—she has this pet project. Given your experience in sports medicine, she might ask you to help out.’

Marc wasn’t sure whether to be more intrigued or concerned. ‘Noted,’ he said.

‘I’ll take you through to Laurie.’ Sam shepherded him through to Laurie’s room. ‘Marc, this is Laurie Grant. Laurie, this is Marc Bailey, our new GP.’ He patted Marc’s shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you to sort things out between you.’

‘OK.’

Laurie was nothing like Marc had expected. She was in her early thirties, a couple of years younger than himself, he’d guess, but what he really noticed were the dark corkscrew curls she’d pulled back in a scrunchie, her piercing blue eyes, and the sweetest-looking mouth he’d ever seen.

Which was terrible. He shouldn’t even be noticing this sort of thing about her. She was his new colleague, and for all he knew she could be married.

Worse still, he found himself actually glancing at her left hand, to check.

No ring. Not that that meant anything.

She didn’t seem to notice, and simply held out her hand to shake his. ‘Welcome to Pond Lane, Marc.’

When his palm touched hers, it felt like an electric shock.

This really couldn’t be happening.

But either it wasn’t the same for her, or she was a bit better than he was at ignoring the zing of attraction, because she said, ‘It’s really good of you to let me sit in on consultations with you this morning, especially as it’s your first day here. Leigh, the practice manager, is off today, but she left me all the details so I can set you up on the computer.’ She laughed. ‘Sam has this mad idea that because I’m the youngest doctor in the practice, it means I’m the one who’s best with computers.’

‘Are you?’ Marc asked.

‘Only because my brother’s a computer consultant and taught me a lot, to stop me ringing him up and wailing down the phone to him every time I got stuck when I was a student,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Shall we grab a coffee, then go to your room and make a start?’

‘Sure.’ Marc found himself warming to her. She was efficient and bubbly, with an overlay of common sense: it was a good combination, and he’d just bet her patients adored her.

They headed for the staff kitchen, and Laurie switched the kettle on. ‘Do you prefer tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee’s great, thanks.’ Instant coffee, he noticed. A couple of years ago, he would’ve been a bit sniffy and insisted on bringing in a cafetière and a special blend of ground beans; and his suit for work would’ve been a designer label, his shirts hand-made. Nowadays, he knew there were more important things in life. And how he wished he’d been less shallow when he’d been younger. That he’d appreciated what he’d had.

‘Milk or sugar?’ she asked.

‘Just as it is for me, thanks.’

She added a large slug of milk to her own mug, then shepherded him to his consulting room. Which looked incredibly bare: the only hint of colour was the plant on the windowsill. Compared to hers, which had had a child’s paintings on the walls and framed photographs on her desk, the room looked impersonal and slightly daunting.

He’d have to change that, to help put his patients at ease. Though, even if all his photos hadn’t been packed away, he couldn’t quite face putting a photograph on his desk. This was a new start for him. No memories.

There was also a state-of-the-art computer on his desk, he noticed.

‘It’s probably very similar to the system you used before, but this one does have a couple of quirks.’ She switched it on, and fished a note out of the file she carried. ‘This is your username and password.’

And he noticed that when she talked him through the system, she let him press the keys rather than rattling through it and expecting him to watch what she did and take it all in. ‘You’re very good at this teaching stuff.’

‘Thank you. It’s something I like doing.’

‘Is that why you’re doing GP training?’

She nodded. ‘Sam believes in job enrichment. Ricky—have you met Ricky yet?’ At his shake of the head, she said, ‘He’s not in today, but he has ALS training. We all have our special interests. One of my friends suggested being a GP trainer, because I was always good at explaining things when I was helping others revise for exams. I looked into it and talked to Sam, and an opportunity came up last year to start a course. It means fitting things about a bit—I’m at the university one morning a week in term-time—and my hours are a bit odd, but I’m enjoying it.’

‘Sounds good.’

Marc had a lovely voice, and Laurie hoped his manner with patients lived up to it. The last locum at the practice had been terrible, speaking to patients as if they were five years old, and they’d all complained to Phyllis and asked not to have any more appointments with him.

Though Marc was permanent rather than a locum. Given that he was moving here from London, Laurie had expected someone in his late forties or early fifties, wanting to exchange the bustle of life in the city for the much calmer pace of life in a small Norfolk town. Marc looked as if he was in his mid-thirties, a couple of years older than herself. And he was very easy on the eye, with hazel eyes behind wire-framed glasses, and dark hair, cut very short, which stuck up slightly on the top.

She damped down the surge of attraction. This was ridiculous. So what if he happened to remind her slightly of a TV star she’d had a crush on for ages? He probably wasn’t single anyway; and, even if he was, she was very careful about relationships nowadays. No way was she giving Izzy a series of ‘uncles’ flitting in and out of her life in place of her absent father. Her little girl came first. Always would.

Besides, given what had happened with Dean, she didn’t want to repeat her mistakes. Being single suited her just fine.

‘So who’s on your list this morning?’ she asked.

He glanced at the screen. ‘My first patient’s Judy Reynolds.’

‘Ah.’

Marc looked at her, frowning. ‘Is there anything I need to know?’

‘Only that she’s on my mental list for my pet project.’

‘Sam mentioned that.’

‘I thought he might.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’d better not make you late starting on your first day, but maybe we can talk about my project at break?’

‘Sure.’

He pressed the button to call in his first patient, and a few moments later there was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ he called.

A middle-aged woman walked in, and her eyes widened as she saw both Laurie and Marc sitting there.

‘Hello, Judy,’ Laurie said with a smile. ‘I hope you don’t mind me sitting in on your appointment with Dr Bailey?’

‘Is this all to do with your GP training thing?’ Judy asked.

‘Yes.’ Laurie smiled. ‘If anything, Dr Bailey’s senior to me—he’s been a GP for longer than I have.’

‘That’s fine. I don’t mind you sitting in.’

‘Thank you. Just pretend I’m not here,’ Laurie said.

Judy looked at Marc. ‘So you’re not another locum, then?’

‘No, I’m here permanently.’

‘Right.’ She blew out a breath. ‘That last locum was terrible—he spoke to you as if you were a toddler.’

Laurie didn’t say a word—the practice manager already knew how everyone felt about that particular locum, staff and patients alike—but she wanted to see how Marc dealt with the situation.

‘I’m sorry you had that kind of experience with him. But I’d like to assure you that that’s not the way I do things, Mrs Reynolds,’ Marc said. ‘How can I help?’

‘I’m probably wasting your time and I’m making a fuss over nothing, but I’m just—’ She sighed. ‘Well, I’m tired all the time. That locum sent me for blood tests, but I never heard anything back.’

Marc looked at the notes on the screen. ‘I can see he checked you out for an underactive thyroid. Can I ask how your periods are?’

‘A bit on the heavy side,’ she admitted.

‘That can make you a bit anaemic, which in turn can make you feel tired,’ Marc said.

She grimaced. ‘I’m almost looking forward to the menopause so I don’t have to put up with them any more.’

‘You don’t have to put up with heavy periods now, either. It might be another five years before you’re menopausal, but periods can often be a problem in the lead-up to menopause. I can give you something to make them a bit more manageable.’

Laurie liked the way he’d got straight to the point without any fuss or embarrassment.

Marc looked at the screen. ‘Your blood results tell me your thyroid is working properly, but given that your periods are a bit heavy I’d like to take some blood and check your iron levels, if that’s OK?’

Judy nodded.

‘In the meantime, you might find it worth taking a supplement with B vitamins and zinc. That often helps with energy levels. Have you been under any extra stress lately?’ he asked as he took the blood sample.

Judy shrugged. ‘No more than any other mum who’s got kids with exams coming up in a few weeks and they have to be nagged into revising.’

‘Are you waking up at all in the night?’

‘Not that I remember. I sleep like the dead.’ She gave him a rueful look. ‘Though my husband’s been complaining about my snoring, and the kids say we do synchronised snoring.’

He returned her smile. ‘And I bet they told you where it’d embarrass you most.’

‘In the post office, where everyone could hear them.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘It could be that you have sleep apnoea.’

‘What’s that?’ Judy asked.

‘It’s where the soft tissues in your throat relax when you’re asleep and block your airway for a few seconds, which brings your body out of deep sleep. It’s so short you won’t remember waking up. Even though you might think you’ve had a good night’s sleep, you’re not actually getting enough deep sleep to restore your energy levels.’

Laurie liked the way he’d explained it: concisely, and in layman’s terms, while putting Judy at her ease. Marc was definitely going to be an asset to the team.

Judy looked worried. ‘Do many people get it?’

‘It’s pretty common. About one in every fifty women of your age get it,’ he said. ‘But I need to ask you a few more questions to narrow things down a bit more, if you don’t mind?’

Marc’s manner was as nice as his voice, Laurie was pleased to discover, and he got a lot of information from Judy while keeping his questions relaxed and sounding concerned rather than aggressive.

‘Do you have hay fever or anything like that?’ he asked finally.

‘Well, I often get a bit of a sniffle this time of year.’ Judy flapped a dismissive hand. ‘But it’s nothing I’d bother a doctor with.’

‘Any symptom’s always worth checking out. That’s what I’m here for,’ he reassured her. ‘I’d like you to have some tests, because from what you’ve told me I think you might well have sleep apnoea. I’ll need to get in touch with the local sleep clinic, but what’ll happen is that they’ll give you a monitor to wear overnight to measure the oxygen in your blood and your breath, plus your heart rate, and then they’ll analyse the data. It’ll take me a couple of days to arrange, if that’s OK? I’ll get Phyllis to ring you as soon as I have some news.’

‘Thank you.’ Judy looked surprised. ‘I’d never even heard of sleep apnoea before.’

‘It might not be that,’ he reassured her, ‘but I think it’s a possibility and it’s worth checking out. If nothing else, we can cross it off the list of potential causes of your tiredness. You can do some things to help yourself in the meantime. I’m pleased you don’t smoke or drink heavily, as that tends to make sleep apnoea worse, but losing weight would help you. So would sleeping on your side rather than your back.’

‘How do I do that?’ she asked.

‘The easiest way is to put a tennis ball in a sock and pin it to the back of your nightie, so it’s not comfortable for you to lie on your back.’

‘Oh, very sexy,’ she said with a grimace. ‘My husband’s going to wet himself laughing.’

‘You said he’s snoring, too. If it disturbs you,’ Marc said, ‘then you can do the same thing to his pyjamas. And tell him it’s on your doctor’s advice.’ Mark smiled.

‘I’ll do that.’ She smiled.

‘Now—your periods. It says here you’re not on the Pill.’

‘No. John had the snip after our son was born.’

‘OK. Have you had any problem with taking any tablets with progesterone in the past?’

‘No.’

‘Good. It’s oestrogen that’s making your periods heavy, and the progesterone will help balance that out a bit. You take the tablets for twenty-one days and then stop for seven, and you should find that your periods are a lot more manageable.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Losing weight,’ he said gently, ‘would help you with that as well. Your body produces more oestrogen when you’re overweight.’

Judy looked upset. ‘It’s not as if I sit there watching TV all night, stuffing my face with doughnuts and burgers.’

‘No,’ he replied carefully, ‘but your body’s less efficient as you get older, so every year after you hit forty you’ll need to exercise more and eat less to stay at the same weight. Which is totally unfair, but I guess at least it happens to all of us.’

‘Can I suggest something?’ Laurie asked. At Marc’s nod, she continued, ‘I’m about to set up a project for some of our patients who are having problems losing weight. It’s not a judgemental thing, it’s looking at ways we can support you better and help you. Would you like to come along and see what’s on offer?’

‘After all the diets I’ve been on, it’s worth a try,’ Judy said. ‘All right.’

‘Great. I’ll put you down on my list, and I’ll get in touch with more details later in the week,’ Laurie said.

Marc printed out the prescription, signed it and handed it to Judy. ‘I’ll get Phyllis to ring you and make an appointment as soon as I hear back from the sleep clinic.’

‘Thank you, Dr Bailey.’

‘Pleasure. And I meant what I said. If you’re worried about something, no matter how silly you think it is, come and see me. If it’s something you don’t need to worry about, I can tell you so you can stop worrying—and if it is something to worry about, then by telling me we’ve got a better chance of catching it early, which in turn means that treatment will be easier for you.’

‘I will.’ She looked relieved. ‘Thank you, Dr Bailey.’

‘My pleasure.’

Marc saw the rest of his patients up to the mid-morning break, then glanced at Laurie. ‘Dare I ask if I passed muster?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘It wasn’t a test. It was a chance for me to observe how you do things, and maybe learn from you. But, since you asked, yes, you have the skills I’d want my trainees to have. You put patients at their ease, you talk to them in layman’s terms, and you’re a definite improvement on that locum.’

‘Thank you. Though, from what I’ve heard this morning, just about anyone would be an improvement on that locum.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘So how did Mrs Reynolds know about your training?’

‘This is a small town, Marc. Everyone knows everything.’

‘Right.’

He sounded slightly tense—wary about living his life in a goldfish bowl, maybe. She smiled. ‘It’s not being nosey, it’s caring. It’s being part of the community. Talking of which, my pet project might be useful for you. Obviously you don’t need to lose weight, but it’ll be a quick way for you to get to know a lot of people in the town.’

‘So what does it involve?’

‘Let’s grab a drink, and I’ll explain.’ In the staff kitchen, she made them both a coffee, then chose a corner chair. ‘We have quite a few patients on the obesity register. I’m looking at trying to stop them developing diabetes or having a CV incident. It’s not all about diet—a few of them have brought in food diaries, and they’ve already made all the simple switches and are eating sensibly.’

‘What about exercise?’ Marc asked.

‘That’s what I think the problem is. They already have work and family commitments, and they put their own needs way down the list and they don’t think they have the time to exercise.’

‘So we have to change their mind sets first.’

‘Exactly. A friend of mine at the university is doing a study on the effects of diet and exercise in people over thirty-five. He can lend us activity monitors, so we can get our at-risk patients to wear them for a week and we can show them a baseline of what they actually do, and then we look at how they can boost their activity, when and where.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘I thought we could repeat the monitoring at three-month intervals to see how the activity patterns of our patients have changed, and tie that in with weight, blood glucose and cholesterol checks. It’s a win-win situation. My friend Jay gets people in his target group for his study, and we get to help our patients. And the monitors won’t cost anything, so Leigh won’t be on my case about budgets.’

‘Ah, the joys of budgets. The key to getting people to do regular exercise is to find out what they actually enjoy doing,’ Marc said.

She was pleased that he’d hit the nail on the head. ‘That’s why I want to get the local gyms and sports clubs involved, to set up taster sessions and beginners’ classes. Once our patients find out what they enjoy doing, then we talk them into having an exercise buddy who goes with them to whatever the activity is.’

‘So they feel they can’t let their friends down and they stick to a programme,’ Marc said. ‘That’s a really good idea.’

‘Sam says you have an interest in sports medicine.’

‘Yes.’ Though Marc didn’t volunteer any information about himself or what experience he had in sports medicine, Laurie noticed. Clearly he preferred to keep himself to himself. OK. She could work with that. She’d seen how he was with patients, and that was more important.

‘So would you like to be involved in the project?’ she asked.

‘I can’t really say no, can I?’

‘Of course you can. I understand if you’re too busy.’

He looked thoughtful, and for a moment she thought he was going to say no. Then he nodded. ‘OK.’

‘Thank you. When’s a good time for you for a meeting?’

‘After surgery?’ he suggested.

Not when she had a pile of paperwork and then had to take the dog out and do the school run. ‘Is there any chance you could make an evening meeting at my house?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Your house,’ he repeated.

‘Because I’m a single mum,’ she explained. ‘It’d be a lot easier for me to discuss work with you at my place after Izzy’s gone to bed. If that’s a problem for you, never mind—I’ll ask my mum to babysit.’

Something in her tone told Marc that wasn’t her preferred option. ‘But you’d rather not?’

‘Mum helps me out quite a bit as it is,’ Laurie admitted. ‘I try not to ask her unless it’s really desperate, because it’s not fair to keep relying on her.’

Discuss the project at her house.

A family home.

It was something Marc had shied away from for the last couple of years; since the accident, he’d quietly cut himself off from friends who had children. But right now it didn’t look as if he had much choice in the matter. Given that Laurie had already explained why she didn’t want to ask her mum, he’d feel mean if he pushed her into getting a babysitter. And he didn’t want to explain why children were difficult for him, outside work. That was his business. His burden.

‘If it’s a problem for your partner,’ she added, misreading his silence, ‘then she—or he—is very welcome to join us. We won’t be discussing individual patients, so we wouldn’t be breaking any confidentiality.’

His partner was welcome to join them.

Marc just about managed not to flinch.

‘I don’t have a partner,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice even. It was something he’d just about come to terms with over the last two years. But he still couldn’t forgive himself for Ginny’s death.

Laurie grimaced. ‘Sorry. You must think I’m being horribly nosey. I guess that’s the problem with growing up in a small town—you know everyone and everyone knows you, and if you don’t know something you tend to come straight out and ask. It wasn’t meant maliciously.’

He understood that—he’d already worked out that Laurie Grant was warm, bubbly and incredibly enthusiastic—but he didn’t want people knowing too much about him. If they knew the truth about his past, they’d despise him as much as he despised himself. ‘Uh-huh,’ he said neutrally.

‘How about this evening?’ she suggested.

‘That’s fine. What time’s good for you?’

‘Izzy goes to bed at seven. So any time after that.’ She shrugged. ‘Unless you’d like to come for dinner? It’s nothing fancy, just pasta and garlic bread and salad, but there’s more than enough if you’d like to join us.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check if you don’t mind.’ He didn’t want to be rude to his new colleague; but he was also guiltily aware that in other circumstances he would’ve loved to share a meal with her. There was something about Laurie that drew him; she wasn’t a conventional beauty, but there was a warmth and brightness about her, and her smile made the room feel as if it had just lit up. Though, for his own peace of mind, he knew he needed to keep himself separate. And in any case he’d guess that, as a single parent, her life would be complicated enough without adding someone like him to the mix.

‘No problem.’ She scribbled down her address on a piece of paper, added her phone number and handed it to him. ‘Just in case you get held up. See you later.’ She smiled. ‘Enjoy your first morning, and welcome to Pond Lane Surgery.’

The rest of the morning surgery went fine. Marc went home for a sandwich and ate it in the kitchen. He stayed out of the dining room, because it contained a stack of boxes he hadn’t been able to face unpacking. Boxes full of memories he couldn’t handle.

Maybe he should’ve taken up his sister’s offer of help, instead of being too proud and telling Yvonne that he was fine and he’d be able to sort it out. Because he wasn’t fine. And he couldn’t sort it out.

Still, he’d brushed her offer aside, so he’d have to live with his choice. The boxes couldn’t stay there for ever, so he’d have to make himself do it room by room.

One step at a time.




CHAPTER TWO


MARC wasn’t in the mood for cooking when he got home from an afternoon of house calls. He made himself a salad and ate it listlessly—food nowadays was fuel, rather than a pleasure—then looked up Laurie’s address on his satnav. Her house was totally the other side of the town from his, far enough to justify using the car rather than walking.

When he parked his car outside and walked up the path to her front door, he wished he’d thought to bring her some flowers or something. OK, so this was a work meeting rather than a social event, but it was still being held at her house, and he felt uncomfortable turning up without anything. Then again, would flowers be making the wrong kind of statement?

He shook himself. Oh, for pity’s sake. He needed to be professional about this. But he was horribly aware that this whole situation was throwing him. He was about to walk into just the kind of home he could’ve had if the accident hadn’t happened. A family home. One with children.

But the accident had happened. He had a bachelor pad, not a family home. And he only had himself to blame.

He knocked on the front door. There a brief woof and a ‘Shh!’, and then Laurie opened the door. A chocolate Labrador with a wagging blur of a tail was desperately trying to barge past her. There was a smudge of flour on Laurie’s face and several of her dark corkscrew curls had escaped from the scrunchie she used to hold her hair back. The whole effect was unbelievably cute, and he found himself wanting to tuck the stray curls into place and brush that smudge of flour from her skin.

Which was incredibly dangerous. He didn’t need that kind of contact. Didn’t want it. His heart had been broken, he was still trying to patch it up, and no way was he ever risking any kind of relationship again, other than on a strictly colleagues basis. He even kept his family at a distance nowadays, because it was easier. If he didn’t let himself feel, he wouldn’t hurt.

Misinterpreting his sudden stillness, she pushed the dog back behind her. ‘Sorry, Cocoa’s a bit over-friendly.’ Within a nanosecond, the dog was trying to push past her again. ‘I forgot to ask if you’re OK with dogs. I can put him in the utility room, if you’d rather.’

‘No, it’s fine. I like dogs.’ It had even been part of his and Ginny’s plans. A baby, and then a dog. A house with a garden.

Ginny would’ve loved the old cottage he’d found to rent in the small Norfolk town. She would’ve loved the duck pond on the green, the ancient flint church with its round tower, the gentle undulations of the countryside around them. But because of his own stupidity he had nobody to share it with. Nobody to love. Nobody to love him back.

He pushed the thoughts away and held out his hand for the dog to sniff, then scratched the top of the dog’s head. There was a look of sheer bliss on Cocoa’s face and he leaned towards Marc.

‘He’ll be demanding a fuss from you all night,’ Laurie warned with a smile. ‘Come in. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m waiting for some stuff to come out of the oven, so we need to stay in the kitchen. Can I get you a coffee, or maybe a glass of wine?’

Definitely not wine. That had been one of the causes of his downfall, and he hadn’t touched a drop since the funeral. ‘Coffee would be lovely, thanks,’ he said politely.

‘Come in and sit down.’

It was clearly a family kitchen. There were several paintings held on the fridge with magnets, obviously the work of a young child. And if that wasn’t enough proof, there was a cork board on one wall covered with school notices and photographs of a little girl, varying from babyhood to what looked like about five years old.

Marc couldn’t help thinking how his own child would’ve been eighteen months old now, toddling everywhere and starting to chatter away. A boy or a girl? It had been too soon to tell.

He dug his fingernails into his palms, and the slight pain was just enough to stop him thinking and ripping the scars off his heart.

On the worktop, there was a plate full of cupcakes covered in very pink icing, along with lots of sparkly sprinkles—and there were almost as many on the worktop as there were on the cakes. A pile of washing-up was stacked up next to the sink and a batch of cookies sat on a cooling wire rack next to the oven. Clearly Laurie was in the middle of a baking session.

She followed his gaze when she turned round from the kettle and winced. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit untidy. I meant to clear up properly before you got here, but then Izzy wanted me to read her bedtime story a second time, and—’ She spread her hands. ‘Well, you know how it is with kids.’

Not personally. And he never would now. He didn’t deserve to have a family. ‘Yes,’ he said, as neutrally as he could.

Cocoa sat at Marc’s feet and rested his chin on Marc’s knee; absently, Marc rubbed the top of the dog’s head.

‘Would you like a cookie with your coffee?’ Laurie asked.

‘Thank you. But I hope you didn’t go to all this trouble for me.’

‘No, of course n—’ She winced, cutting the word off as she put a couple of cookies onto a plate. ‘Sorry, that came out the wrong way. I didn’t mean you weren’t worth taking any trouble over. I’m baking because it’s the PTA coffee morning tomorrow. Izzy decorated the cakes.’

Laurie’s little girl. Which explained the sprinkles, and probably most of the mess.

‘Obviously I don’t get a chance to actually go to the coffee morning because I need to be at the surgery for my shift, but I try to do my bit to help. I always make them some cakes to sell, give them a raffle prize and leave them money for some tickets. If they draw my name out, they choose something for me and send the prize home with Izzy.’

Laurie was clearly very involved with village life. Not only was she a GP, she was also a mum who did things to support the local school. Would Ginny have been like that? he wondered. Probably. As a teacher, she would’ve been involved with the school, either because she worked there or because their child went there. Though she would’ve been a bit less chaotic than Laurie. Their house in London had never been as untidy as this.

‘So did you enjoy your first day at the practice?’ she asked.

Work. He could talk about work, he thought gratefully. Not personal stuff. That was good. ‘Fine.’

‘Good.’ Laurie put a mug of coffee in front of him, along with the cookies, then added milk to her own coffee and sat down opposite him. ‘I’ve been thinking about the easiest way to tackle this. I thought we could maybe brainstorm all the different kinds of exercise we can think of, then I’ll list all the people within a five-mile radius who can offer each one, and we can divvy up the calls between us and ask them if they’d be prepared to do a taster session for us.’

‘Sure. That sounds reasonable.’

She looked relieved. ‘Great. One tiny thing: would you mind if I asked you to deal with Neil Peascod? He owns the gym and swim place at the other end of the town.’

‘Do I take it he’s likely to be difficult?’ Marc asked, wondering why she didn’t want to deal with the guy.

‘Not exactly.’ She flushed. ‘He was a bit, um, persistent with me last year. I guess he didn’t like to think that someone might actually say no to him.’

‘He asked you out?’ Then Marc realised how rude that sounded. ‘I apologise. I didn’t meant it to come out like that.’

Laurie didn’t look in the slightest bit offended. She simply laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’m under no illusions that I’m the next supermodel. I’m thirty years old, I’m a mum, I have lumpy bits, and I have days when my hair needs stuffing under a hat so nobody can see how frizzy it looks.’ She smiled. ‘And I also have days when I look utterly fabulous. But they’re the rare ones. Dog-walking isn’t exactly the time or place to wear a little black dress and high heels.’

At the W-word, the Labrador deserted his post at Marc’s feet, rushed over to Laurie, put his paws on her knee and licked her face hopefully. She rolled her eyes and petted him. ‘No, Cocoa, I didn’t mean now. You know as well as I do that walkies is when I get home from work and before I collect Izzy from school.’

Marc couldn’t help smiling. He liked Laurie. She was warm and bubbly, yet at the same time she was very down-to-earth.

‘Sorry about that.’ When she switched her attention back to him, he noticed just how blue her eyes were. Almost as bright as the forget-me-nots in his garden. ‘Neil. No, he’s not difficult. He just thinks that he’s the answer to a desperate single mum’s problems.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Yes, I’m a single mum but, no, I’m not desperate, I don’t necessarily need a man in my life to make it complete, and I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.’

She didn’t sound bitter, but as if she was simply stating the facts. Or was that a gentle warning to him? Marc wondered. He’d told her that he was single. Perhaps this was her way of telling him that even if he might be interested, she wasn’t.

‘Noted,’ he said drily. He took a bite of the still-warm cookie. ‘This is very nice.’

‘Thank you. And please don’t let Cocoa con you into sharing with him. They’re bad for his teeth, and he’s very far from being a poor, starving hound.’

The dog looked up at him with mournful eyes, and Marc couldn’t help smiling. ‘Not according to him.’

‘He’s an old fraud.’ She smiled back. ‘Sam said you were interested in sports medicine. Is that what you did in your last job?’

‘It was more of a spare-time thing, really. I worked with the local rugby club.’

‘Oh. Do you play?’ she asked.

‘Not any more.’ Marc found himself volunteering information; he hadn’t expected that and it unnerved him slightly. ‘I was injured.’

‘Knee?’ she guessed.

‘Shoulder. Dislocation, then a rotator cuff tear.’

‘Ouch.’ She looked sympathetic. ‘I’m not surprised you stopped playing. In your shoes, I wouldn’t want to risk doing that again.’

‘Believe me, after three months of doing nothing but triage calls because my arm was out of action, I’d never risk it again.’ And he wished with all his heart that he hadn’t given in to the frustration he’d felt at having to give up the game he loved. Because then maybe he could’ve stopped the chain of events that had wrecked his life and robbed him of everything else he loved.

‘I guess rugby and football probably wouldn’t be the best kind of exercise for our group anyway,’ she said.

‘I’d say no to squash as well,’ he said.

‘Very sensible. And we’ll ban them from jogging. We’re trying to improve their circulation, not give them shin splints.’

‘Or overdoing it in the first flush of enthusiasm and giving themselves a heart attack.’ He looked thoughtfully at her. ‘Badminton’s a possible.’

‘And swimming. As well as low-impact exercise classes and circuit training,’ she suggested.

‘Maybe martial arts—kick-boxing doesn’t have to be fast and furious.’

She smiled. ‘I’ve always fancied trying that one myself.’ She took a laptop from a drawer in the huge pine dresser. ‘Let’s start getting this down.’ The computer whirred and made a couple of protesting noises, and she rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry, this is a bit old. I’m afraid it takes ages to boot up.’

His own was state of the art and would’ve been ready to go by now. As a single mum, Laurie would have to juggle her finances, and a new computer probably wasn’t top of her priorities, Marc thought.

They made a list together. Halfway through it, the timer on the oven beeped.

‘Sorry, do you mind if I sort this out?’ she asked. ‘The topping works best if you do it when the cake’s hot.’

‘I take it that’s for school?’ He grinned.

‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘But, if you’re good, I’ll make a cake for the surgery later in the week.’

It smelled wonderful, and Marc ignored the fact that this was the first time he’d been interested in food in a very, very long time. ‘I’m good,’ he said. ‘If you can talk at the same time as you do whatever it is you’re doing to the cake, I’ll take over the typing.’

‘Excellent. Thanks.’

Marc surreptitiously watched her as she took the cake out of the oven, pierced the top with a skewer and spooned the contents of a bowl over it. She looked up and caught him looking at her. ‘It’s lemon and sugar.’

The citrus scent made his mouth water. ‘Is this the one Sam told me about?’

‘Yes. It’s his favourite. So, are you going to do some typing or just hoping for cake, like Cocoa is?’

He couldn’t help smiling. ‘I’m typing. Start talking.’

Within twenty minutes they had a good list. They worked through it again and weeded out some of the more unlikely suggestions they’d come up with.

‘This looks good to me. I’ll work my way through it and put in the contacts, and then give you your half of the list tomorrow,’ Laurie said.

‘That’s fine,’ Marc said. ‘And I guess I’d better let you get on.’ Especially as he felt way too comfortable here. And that unnerved him.

She smiled at him. ‘Thanks. Sadly, the washing-up won’t do itself, and it’d be a bit self-indulgent to have a dishwasher when there’s only Izzy and me living here. Are you sure you don’t want another coffee before you go?’

‘I’m sure, but thanks for the offer. See you tomorrow.’

There was something lost about the expression in Marc’s eyes, Laurie thought when Marc had gone. Had he been through a bad divorce? That might explain why he’d come here from London. Maybe she could find a tactful way of talking to him and help him understand that it did get better eventually.

OK, so she hadn’t actually been married to Dean, but the break-up and then sorting out everything afterwards had been tough. The only thing missing had been the fight in court; the rest of the acrimony and guilt had been there.

Just as Marc had left, she’d wanted to put her arms round him, hold him close and tell him not to worry because everything was going to work out just fine. Which was crazy. She barely knew the man. And she certainly wasn’t looking for any complications in her own life.

Then again, she’d been lucky. She’d had people there for her when her own life had hit the skids. And she had the strongest feeling that Marc didn’t. He was a stranger to the area. He could do with a friend. OK, so when she’d come home she’d been far from a stranger—but she knew what that felt like, to need a friend. So it would be mean of her to back off and ignore him … Wouldn’t it?




CHAPTER THREE


ON WEDNESDAY morning, Marc walked into his surgery to find a plate on his desk containing a cupcake exactly like the ones he’d seen in Laurie’s kitchen the previous night, along with a printed copy of the table he and Laurie had made together, detailing the different exercise providers and which of them was going to call each one, with space to scribble notes.

That cake gave him an odd feeling. Was this the sort of thing his own child would’ve done with Ginny, making cakes and decorating them haphazardly and sending him off to work with one? A little thing, made with such love …

He shook himself as he heard a rap on the door, a nanosecond before it opened. Sam, the senior partner, leaned round the door. ‘Morning, Marc. How are you settling in?’

‘Fine, thanks.’ Marc summoned up a professional smile, not wanting Sam to see how much the cupcake had thrown him.

‘I meant to say yesterday, Ruth said you’re very welcome to come to ours for lunch on Sunday. It’s not much fun having weekends on your own and it takes a while to settle into a small country town, especially when you’re used to the city.’

Marc appreciated the overture of friendship but he’d learned that, once people knew about his past, any friendship tended to come tempered with pity. He had quite enough pity for himself without needing it from others. ‘Thanks. That’s really kind of you, but I have a few things to sort out.’

‘Sure. Well, you know where we are if you change your mind. Just turn up.’

‘Thanks. I will.’ Though Marc had no intention of doing so. He didn’t deserve such kindness. Not after the way he’d messed up.

Sam glanced at the cupcake and smiled. ‘Oh, good. I hoped we’d get some of the leftovers from the PTA baking session. Laurie’s cakes are wonderful.’ He laughed. ‘Even if Izzy does put half a ton of sprinkles on every single one.’

Marc carefully sidestepped the subject of children. ‘Laurie and I brainstormed the project last night.’ He waved the table at Sam. ‘She’s added the contact details, and we’re splitting the calls between us.’

‘Excellent.’ Sam looked pleased. ‘I can see you’re going to fit right in. We definitely made the right choice, asking you to join us.’

‘Thank you. I hope I live up to that.’

Marc didn’t get the chance to see Laurie during surgery as she was busy on house calls and, because she worked part time, she finished earlier than he did. After he’d seen his last patient for the day, he looked at his watch. Laurie’s place was on his way home from the surgery. He knew he probably ought to call her first and make arrangements to discuss the project, but he couldn’t resist the impulse to drop in and see her.

And he didn’t want to analyse the reason too closely.

‘Oh, Marc.’ She looked flustered when she opened the front door.

‘Sorry, is this a bad time?’

‘No, but my house is chaos city at this time of day, so I’ll have to ask you to ignore the mess. Izzy’s drawing pictures at the kitchen table. Come in, and I’ll put the kettle on.’ Her smile brightened back into a welcome.

And that was half the reason he was here.

Because that smile drew him. Made him feel that the world was a better place.

Marc followed Laurie into the kitchen, where a little girl was sitting at the kitchen table. Cocoa was sitting patiently by the child’s feet, clearly hoping for a share in the cake that sat on the plate beside her. He wagged his tail at Marc, but didn’t leave his position or break his eyeline from the table.

‘Izzy, this is Dr Bailey. He’s come to work with me at the surgery and he’s just popped in to see me about a project we’re working on together.’

The little girl looked up at him. ‘Hello, Dr Bailey,’ she said shyly.

‘Marc, this is Izzy, my daughter.’

‘Hello, Izzy.’ He looked at Laurie. ‘She’s very like you.’ She had the same wild dark curls, though they weren’t tied back neatly like Laurie’s hair was; and Izzy’s eyes were a deep brown rather than a piercing blue.

‘I’ve got a new friend at school,’ Izzy said. ‘Her name’s Molly. She moved here last week and she only started in our class yesterday. I said she could play with me and Georgia at playtime so she won’t be lonely.’

Taking the new girl under her wing—just as Laurie was taking him under her wing, Marc thought. Like mother, like daughter. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said.

‘Me and Mummy made some cakes. Would you like one?’ Izzy asked.

‘No, thank you.’

She nodded sagely. ‘Because you don’t want to spoil your dinner.’

Marc was torn between wanting to smile—he’d just bet that particular phrase came from Laurie—and panicking. He wasn’t used to this. He’d kept himself separate for so long; contact with a child, outside work, spooked him slightly.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘But your mum brought some of your cakes into work this morning and I had one then. It was very nice.’

She beamed at him. ‘Did you like the sprinkles?’

No. He’d scraped them off, along with most of the icing; it had been a little too sweet for his taste. ‘They were delicious,’ he said, not wanting to spoil it for her.

‘I like sprinkles.’

He couldn’t help smiling. He’d already worked that one out for himself.

‘Would you like a glass of milk?’

She really was her mother’s daughter—warm, sweet and generous. And it scared the hell out of him.

‘Thank you for the offer but I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Grown-ups normally have coffee or tea, Iz,’ Laurie said, putting her arms round her daughter’s shoulders and resting her face against her little girl’s.

It was just how Marc had imagined Ginny would be with their child, and it sent a shockwave through him. He really, really wished he hadn’t given in to that impulse to call in and see her. If only he’d waited until this evening, or had called her first to arrange a time when Izzy would be in bed …

‘But I’m not allowed to use the kettle. I’m too little,’ Izzy pointed out.

‘I know, sweetheart.’ Laurie kissed her. ‘Do you want to do another drawing for me? I need to talk to Dr Bailey about work. We won’t be long, I promise.’

He was eating into Laurie’s family time, and that wasn’t fair. And seeing Izzy, the love between parent and child—something he’d wanted so badly and would never have now—made him want to back away. Fast.

‘Did you want a coffee, Marc?’ Laurie asked.

‘No, thanks, I’m fine. I only called in because I was passing and I thought it’d be just as quick to drop in as it would be to ring you later.’

He looked nervous, and Laurie didn’t have a clue why. ‘Good idea,’ she said.

‘I wanted to let you know that I’ve had a good response already from the calls I’ve made. But do you have a slot booked on a regular basis in a hall or something, or will our patients need to go to a different place each week?’

‘I thought we’d try and keep everything in the same place, because then there’s less chance of any confusion and also no excuses for not turning up,’ Laurie said. ‘I’m waiting for a phone call to confirm it, but I’m pretty sure we’ve got the village hall on Wednesdays at eight. Sam says we can use the surgery’s waiting room for the talks from the cardiologist, diabetic specialist and nutritionist, if we need to, but obviously it’s not a suitable space for an exercise class. Even a small one.’

‘Great. I’ll call my contacts back to pencil in some dates, then. Oh, and I hope I haven’t stomped all over your toes, but I drafted a letter to the patient group over lunchtime. Do you want me to email it to you, so you can see if I’ve missed anything or there’s something you think needs changing?’

‘That’d be great, thanks. It’s probably easier to send it here than to the surgery. Do you have my email address?’

‘No.’

She scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it to him. For a second, their fingers touched, and awareness surged through her; she damped it down swiftly. This wasn’t appropriate. Wrong time, wrong place. And probably wrong man; she didn’t exactly have a good track record in that department.

‘Thanks. I’ll, um, see you tomorrow. And I’ll email you that letter when I get home.’

‘OK.’

‘Bye, Izzy.’ Though he didn’t go over to the little girl or so much as look at her drawing, let alone comment on it.

Not that Izzy seemed upset by it. She was too busy colouring in her picture. ‘Bye bye, Dr Bailey.’ She smiled at him, and Laurie’s heart clenched with love for her daughter.

Was it her imagination, or had Marc gone very, very still?

Imagination, she decided, and saw him out.

But over the rest of the evening, she wondered. Did Marc have children and his divorce had been so acrimonious that he didn’t have access to them? Then again, she had a fairly good instinct about people, and she didn’t think Marc was the unreasonable type that would make any solicitor wary of allowing him access. Maybe it was something else, she thought. Something sadder, because Marc had definite shadows in his eyes.

Just before afternoon surgery the next day, there was a rap on Marc’s consulting-room door. Expecting it to be Sam, he looked up with a smile, and felt his eyes widen as he saw Laurie.

Which was ridiculous. She was his colleague; she’d made it clear that she was perfectly fine being single; and, even if she had been in the market for a relationship, Marc knew he was too damaged to be able to offer her anything.

‘Hi. You OK?’ she asked.

‘Sure.’

She waited, and he sighed. ‘No.’

‘Tough morning?’

He nodded. ‘Something like that.’

She came into the room and sat on the chair his patients used. ‘Want to talk about it?’

‘I can’t dump it on you. Anyway, it’s nearly time for us to see our next patients.’

‘True.’ She looked at him. ‘If you’re not busy tonight, you could come over and tell me then.’

‘Dr Fixit?’ he asked.

‘That’s what I do,’ she said lightly. ‘What you do, too.’

‘Not in this case.’

She reached over to squeeze his hand, and the contact made his skin tingle. ‘Marc, we all get patients where we can’t make everything all right for them. Nobody else would be able to fix it either, so don’t blame yourself.’

Easier said than done. He blamed himself for a lot of things.

And then she gave him that light-up-the-room smile. ‘I could give you my trainee pep talk. Which would be immensely cheeky of me, given that you’re more experienced than I am.’

‘It would,’ he agreed. But that smile had done a lot to ease his soul.

‘Up to you. I’m not busy tonight—well, once I’ve read Izzy a bedtime story or six. So if you want to talk about it, come over.’

‘Why are you asking me?’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry. That was ungracious.’

‘But a fair comment. I’m asking you because I do the same job as you. Unless you have family or friends who do, too, they won’t really get what you’re feeling right now and why. Plus you’re new around here, and could maybe do with a local friend.’

Friendship. That was what she was offering. ‘Thank you.’ He felt incredibly humbled.

She smiled at him. ‘I actually came to say that letter you wrote was perfect. I’ll do a mail merge and send them all off today,’ she said.

‘Great.’ And how ridiculous that her approval pleased him so much. She was his colleague. He knew he was good at his job. He didn’t need approval from her. But it still warmed him. ‘Your daughter’s very like you.’

And why on earth had he said that?

‘The spit of me at that age, but with brown eyes,’ Laurie agreed with a smile.

‘I didn’t mean just in looks. It’s the way she is. Warm and open.’

Oh, now, he really hadn’t meant to come out with that. He didn’t want her thinking that he was pursuing her, the way the gym guy had last year. Because he wasn’t pursuing her. Was he?

Her smile widened. ‘Thanks. I’m trying to give her the best view of life and other people—and I don’t want her to think it matters that she doesn’t have a dad.’

‘Of course it doesn’t.’

Though Marc couldn’t help wondering what had gone wrong with the marriage. He couldn’t imagine anyone being daft enough to let Laurie go.

And that was an even more dangerous thought. Laurie Grant was sweet and warm and chaotic, and she most definitely didn’t need any more complications in her life. Especially a complication like him. ‘My patient’s here,’ he said, gesturing to the screen on his desk. ‘Better not keep him waiting.’

‘No.’ She got up and walked to the door. ‘See you later, maybe.’

Marc couldn’t stop thinking about Laurie all afternoon. And he found himself going over to her place later that evening. Izzy was in bed, to his relief, and Laurie had tidied up. He wondered if she’d done it specially.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I did tidy up in case you came over.’

He groaned. ‘I’m sorry. Did I say that aloud?’

‘No, but it was written all over your face.’

He felt the colour seep into his cheeks. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t criticising you.’

‘I know, but it was chaos city here and it’d gone beyond even my mess tolerance levels.’

She made coffee, and ushered them through to her living room. There were pictures everywhere, more even than he could remember Ginny having in their house. ‘So tell me about your patient.’

‘She’s about our age, and had cysts on both ovaries. The surgeon couldn’t save them. And now she wants a baby and can’t have one without help.’ He sighed. ‘I really feel for her.’ Especially as it had ripped the top off his own scars. Elaine Kirby had said how much she wished she’d starting thinking about a baby earlier, instead of leaving it until her career was settled and she’d saved up enough to extend her maternity leave. And how Marc wished he and Ginny hadn’t waited so long either …

‘IVF?’

‘Her husband isn’t keen—it’s not the money, it’s the emotional upheaval and what she’d have to go through physically. And she’s not sure about adoption—even though it’s the being there that makes you a parent, not the biology.’

‘That’s very true.’

He grimaced. ‘Sorry. That wasn’t meant to be a pop at you.’

‘I know.’ She brushed it aside. ‘Poor woman. That’s a tough situation. But you can’t fix everything, Marc.’

‘You try,’ he pointed out.

‘Yes, and I always will. But you have to be realistic. Some things you can’t fix.’

‘I’m sending her for counselling.’

‘Which is exactly what I would’ve done, too.’

‘It doesn’t feel like enough.’

He sounded so miserable. And Laurie wanted to cheer him up. ‘Maybe not now, but these things take time.’ She looked at him. ‘I have an idea. Something that will make you feel better.’

‘Dr Fixit again?’

‘Absolutely.’ And the fact that Marc Bailey was utterly gorgeous … well, that had nothing to do with this. A relationship wouldn’t be a good idea for either of them. But friends she could do. ‘Are you busy on Sunday?’

‘Why?’ he asked, sounding wary.

‘Because,’ she said, ‘you’re new to the area and there’s something special you probably don’t know about but you need to see, and it really has to be this weekend.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What does?’

‘Something,’ she said softly, ‘that I always came home for at this time of year. Even when we were really busy at the practice in London.’

He blinked. ‘You lived in London?’ He sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t expected that.

‘I haven’t always worked in a small town.’ She smiled to take the sting from her words. ‘I trained in London, and I worked as a GP there after I qualified. I decided to come back home when Izzy was born. It was probably a bit selfish of me, but I needed my family’s support, and I’m glad I made that decision. So, shall I pick you up at nine on Sunday?’

‘You don’t know where I live.’

‘No, but you’re going to give me your address.’

Marc could say no, but he had a feeling that Laurie wouldn’t accept it. What was it she’d said about the gym guy not taking no for an answer? She could give the man a real run for his money. Knowing he was beaten, he gave in and scribbled his address on a piece of scrap paper.

She stuffed it in the pocket of her trousers. ‘Great. By the way, depending on how much rain we get over the next couple of days, you might need wellies. It can get a bit boggy. If you don’t have any, I can borrow Joe’s.’

Joe—was that Izzy’s father? he wondered.

The question must have been written over his face, because she explained, ‘Joe’s my big brother.’

‘The computer expert?’

She looked pleased that he’d remembered. ‘That’s him.’

‘I have wellies.’

‘Good. I probably won’t see you before the end of surgery, so have a nice day.’ She smiled. ‘See you on Sunday.’

Marc had no idea what he’d agreed to. And he really wasn’t sure whether he was more intrigued or terrified. Whatever, Sunday was going to be interesting …




CHAPTER FOUR


ON SUNDAY morning, Marc was half expecting Laurie to be late, given how chaotic her house was. But she was dead on time, pulling up outside his house in an estate car—which was chaotic inside—with a child seat in the back containing Izzy, and a dog guard behind that so Cocoa could sit in the very back of the car without wriggling over into the back seat next to Izzy.

The little girl beamed at him as he opened the passenger door. ‘Hello, Dr Bailey.’

Formality didn’t sit easily with him. ‘You can call me Marc, if you like,’ he offered.

‘Marc.’ Her smile widened; she clearly loved the thought of having a grown-up friend. And Marc was torn between being charmed and wanting to back away.

‘So where are we going?’ he asked.

‘You’ll see,’ Laurie said, at the same time as Izzy burst out, ‘To see the bluebells!’

‘Bluebells?’ Marc asked.

‘Just outside the next village is one of the last patches of the ancient woods of England,’ Laurie explained. ‘And this weekend of the year is when the bluebell carpet in the woods is at its best. They’re proper English bluebells, with a scent, not the hybrids you get in stately homes and what have you. It’s always packed, so we come to see them early, before the crowds get there.’

She smiled at him, and his heart actually skipped a beat. Oh, help. He didn’t trust himself to say a word; all he could do was hope that she didn’t think he was being rude.

‘And you definitely don’t get this in London, I can tell you,’ she said.

When they got there, the car park, to his eyes, looked more like a bog. No wonder she’d said to bring wellington boots. But Laurie didn’t seem to be bothered by the mud. She simply changed Izzy’s shoes for a pair of bright red wellies, then changed her own for bright purple boots covered with large white polka dots.

Marc hid a smile. He’d known Laurie Grant for a week, but he already had a fair idea of what made her tick and he wasn’t in the slightest bit surprised that she’d picked something so exuberant. They suited her right down to the ground. His own wellies were much more boring, plain and black. Which he supposed suited him, too: dull and boring.

Laurie clipped the lead onto Cocoa’s collar, and the dog jumped out of the car, wagging his tail. Izzy held onto Laurie’s free hand, then looked at him with a slight frown. ‘This is the first time you’ve been here, so you might be a bit scared.’

She gave him a bright smile; she was definitely her mother’s daughter, he thought.

‘You can hold my other hand, if you like,’ she suggested. ‘That’ll make you feel brave.’

Marc’s first instinct was to say no. The idea of holding the little girl’s hand, looking as if they were out together on a family outing—when he knew damn well he didn’t deserve a family—made him feel slightly sick.

But then Izzy smiled at him again and something felt as if it had cracked inside him. ‘Thank you. I’d love to hold your hand.’ To his ears, his voice sounded rusty. He glanced at Laurie for direction—was he doing the right thing?—but she was behaving as if absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary.

Together, hand in hand, they walked through coppiced woodlands. Marc could see the odd patch of primroses, and some white flowers he vaguely recognised but didn’t have a clue what their names were, but there were no bluebells.

Then Marc caught his breath as they turned the corner and he could see bluebells absolutely everywhere. He’d never seen anything like it before. Deeper into the wood, in dappled sunlight, there were more patches of deep blue. ‘That’s stunning,’ he said. ‘A real bluebell carpet.’

‘Isn’t it just?’ Laurie said softly. ‘Though I always think they look more like drifts of bluebells at the side of the path. Like blue snow. Wait until we get there and you can catch the scent.’

Marc had never seen anything so lovely—and it was so different from London. Instead of the noise of traffic, all he could hear was birds singing. He didn’t have a clue what birds they were, but their songs sounded beautiful.

And then, as they drew closer, he caught the scent of the bluebells. Delicate and sweet, like a slightly softer version of a hyacinth. The epitome of a late English spring.

‘So, are you glad I nagged you into this?’ Laurie asked softly.

‘Very,’ he admitted. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’

‘I told you it was special.’

Yes. And so, Marc was beginning to realise, was she.

‘Would you mind holding Cocoa while I take some pictures of Izzy for her grandparents?’ she asked.

‘Sure.’ He loosened his hand from the little girl’s so he could take the dog’s lead from Laurie, and wasn’t sure whether he felt more relieved or bereft. This whole thing was stirring up memories and dreams for him, the good mixed up with the bad and the unthinkable, all blurring into one.

‘Izzy, darling, come and stand here so I can take your picture for Nanna and Granddad—remember not to squash the bluebells, so other people who come to see them can enjoy them, too,’ Laurie said. She took a camera from her handbag and crouched down so she could take pictures of her daughter with the bluebells in the background. ‘My parents used to do this with my brother and me every year,’ she said, ‘and it’s lovely to look back on the pictures and see how we change from year to year.’

How his own parents would’ve loved a picture of their first grandchild among the bluebells, Marc thought. A little girl or a little boy in red wellington boots, just like Izzy was. He had to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. To distract himself, as much as anything else, he suggested, ‘Why don’t I take some pictures of you both with Cocoa?’

‘Would you mind? Oh, that’d be lovely. Thank you, Marc.’ Laurie’s smile was sweet and piercing, widening the crack round his heart.

Marc had to hide a smile when he heard Izzy tell the dog very solemnly to be careful not to tread on the bluebells—she really was a carbon copy of her mother—but the Labrador was on his best behaviour and sat perfectly still, his mouth open as if he were smiling.




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