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Saving The Single Dad Doc
Louisa Heaton


Dare she dream of a future……with Cameron and his little girl?Returning to her Scottish hometown, GP Bethan Monroe has no idea the handsome single father she’s replacing, Dr Cameron Brodie, hides a serious illness. Bethan’s healing from her own heartache, but the gorgeous doc and his young daughter bring light back into her life. Does she have the courage to give them her heart and grasp the happiness life still has in store.







Dare she dream of a future...

With Cameron and his little girl?

Returning to her Scottish hometown, GP Bethan Monroe has no idea the handsome single father she’s replacing, Dr. Cameron Brodie, hides a serious illness. Bethan’s healing from her own heartache, but the gorgeous doc and his young daughter bring light back into her life. Does she have the courage to give them her heart and grasp the happiness life still has in store?


LOUISA HEATON lives on Hayling Island, Hampshire, with her husband, four children and a small zoo. She has worked in various roles in the health industry—most recently four years as a Community First Responder, answering 999 calls. When not writing Louisa enjoys other creative pursuits, including reading, quilting and patchwork—usually instead of the things she ought to be doing!


Also by Louisa Heaton

The Baby That Changed Her Life

His Perfect Bride?

A Father This Christmas?

One Life-Changing Night

Seven Nights with Her Ex

Christmas with the Single Dad

Reunited by Their Pregnancy Surprise

Their Double Baby Gift

Pregnant with His Royal Twins

A Child to Heal Them

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Saving the Single Dad Doc

Louisa Heaton






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


ISBN: 978-1-474-07516-9

SAVING THE SINGLE DAD DOC

© 2018 Louisa Heaton

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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


To Nan and Grandad,

whom we lost within weeks of each other.

It was way too soon and no one was ready.

This is for you.


Contents

Cover (#u6115d741-2642-5820-beb9-f7efed677cd0)

Back Cover Text (#u3e73465e-b6ef-5ef7-8013-a0c94bc94145)

About the Author (#u32ca9af5-c963-5c4e-9463-2ae4db585a54)

Booklist (#u6a05c108-b5c9-5871-91c3-dad7df6c5590)

Title Page (#u0c2dd17a-d870-52bd-9236-06c0d6a6bfbf)

Copyright (#u956994cc-11e6-5593-9eec-a21d81a08335)

Dedication (#u4ef01c22-cfbe-59c5-8e42-0ed1423ed71f)

CHAPTER ONE (#uf17fbbda-1d29-57c7-b664-df4fe42e57bb)

CHAPTER TWO (#u325e535f-a688-5013-abcb-2f66f0f5d9ae)

CHAPTER THREE (#u232bd376-4910-5192-8e57-35e080060646)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u855df94a-238d-53ee-9d91-3cff78dce338)

‘SO...YOU’RE GOING after all, then?’

Dr Bethan Monroe didn’t need to look at her grandmother to know she was disappointed. She’d heard it in her voice. But what was she to do?

‘I have to, Nanna.’

‘No, you don’t. Not with him. Not with a Brodie.’

Bethan groaned out loud. It really was quite childish, this feud her nanna had against that family. Okay, maybe not the whole family, but most definitely against one of them in particular. Thankfully the one she was seeing today was not her nanna’s arch-nemesis—rather, he was his grandson.

‘I do!’ She stepped over to the kitchen table, snatched up the not insignificant pile of final demands in her fist and waved them about. ‘Because if I don’t then you lose the house. We had the phone cut off last week for a whole day!’

Her exasperation wore off instantly when she noted the discomfort on her beloved grandmother’s face.

She softened her tone. ‘Grace is in school now. I can work again and pay my way.’

She’d missed it. Incredibly so. Being a doctor was her calling and, though she’d loved being a stay-at-home mum whilst her daughter grew to school age, she felt a real yearning to get back into the consulting room. It had always been the plan that she would take this break, but she’d not known how difficult it would be alone.

‘But surely there must be other posts you could apply for? Somewhere further afield? In Glencoe or Fort William?’

Perhaps there were. But they lived here now. In Gilloch. And she didn’t want to be that far away from her loved ones. Not any more. Grace was growing up fast, and she didn’t want her nanna to miss any of it. Commuting for hours each day simply wasn’t on her agenda.

Living in Cornwall had been wonderful, but that was in the past now. She’d returned to her proper home three years after Ashley had died. Back to the place she had been born. And it felt right. Coming home.

‘This job—right here in the village—it’s a gift in itself! I’ll be able to get home whenever I’m needed. Say, if there was an emergency.’

She couldn’t help but feel guilty once again as she thought back to when Ashley had died. For weeks she’d sat by his bed—keeping him company, holding his hand, reading to him, never missing a minute—and then one day she’d been called into work. There’d been an emergency—a train derailment—and all hands had been needed on deck.

And Ashley had died alone. She’d received the call at work, from a neighbour who’d had a key and had promised to keep an eye out. She’d not been able to get home quickly enough. Had got caught in endless traffic jams, delayed by lights and drivers who hadn’t seemed to know which pedal the accelerator was.

She’d just wanted to get back to Grace. Pick her up from the childminder and hold her close against her heart before making that final walk into their bedroom, where Ashley had lain. She’d vowed never to be that far away ever again.

‘It’ll be okay, Nanna.’

Mhairi sank shakily into a seat by the table, adjusting the woven scarf at her neck. ‘You have more faith than I. What that Angus Brodie put me through...’

‘I know.’

‘He ruined my life. I don’t want to see another Brodie man ruin yours.’

‘I might not even get the job.’

But she hoped she would. ‘Brodie man’ or not. They needed this! She’d only been back a few months and their financial situation was getting more dire. They couldn’t live off Ashley’s life insurance for ever.

This was about a job. Employment. That was all. It was a business transaction—not an affair of the heart. It wasn’t going to be anything like what had happened between her nanna and Angus Brodie. Those had been different times back then. It was the past. And Bethan didn’t feel she was ready for another relationship yet. She was over the raw pain of Ashley’s death, yes, and she worried something rotten about raising Grace without a father figure around, but did that mean her heart was on the open market?

No. Not yet.

She kissed her nanna’s soft, downy cheek and sat beside her at the kitchen table, one eye on the clock. ‘We’ll be okay.’

Nanna covered Bethan’s hand with her own, more gnarly, liver-spotted one. ‘I’m just so used to having you here now. I worry he’ll hurt you, like Angus did me. But I’m just being a worry-wart, that’s all.’

‘It’s in the past. Where it should belong. Let’s look positively to the future. I’m a strong woman. I can handle myself and any Brodie male who even tries to cause me trouble.’

‘Even handsome ones? That grandson of his... I’ve seen him about. I’ve seen how the young women of this village look at him. Like they could eat him alive!’ Nanna smiled with reluctance.

‘Even the good-looking ones.’ She held her nanna’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

Her grandmother smiled. ‘I suppose I can’t persuade you to become a sheep farmer instead?’

Bethan pretended to consider it. ‘I’m not sure I’m an open-air kind of girl. Besides, wouldn’t that be a waste of all my education?’

Nanna mock-doffed her cap. ‘I don’t know where you get it from. Your father loved to fish before he became a stablehand, and your mother enjoyed to sew...’

Bethan nodded. ‘I do enjoy suturing.’

‘Och, it’s not the same and you know it!’

She got up from the table again and took the red bills from where Bethan had left them and went to switch on the kettle. She let out a heavy sigh, as if resigning herself to the fact that she was going to lose this battle of wills today.

‘Okay...let’s take a look at you.’

Bethan stood up, straightening her navy trouser suit and making sure her cream blouse was crease-free. ‘Will I do?’

‘He’d be a dunderheid to turn you down, lass.’

‘Good.’ She checked her watch. ‘I’ll be late. Will you be all right?’

‘’Course I will. I’ve looked after myself for nearly twenty years—I think I can probably manage the next hour or so. Besides, I’ve had a few orders come in for the shop, so I need to get those bagged up.’

‘Okay. Well...wish me luck?’

‘Good luck, lassie.’

Bethan gave her a quick hug and one last look that she hoped conveyed that everything would be all right, and then she picked up her briefcase and headed out of the door.

Nanna wasn’t the only one who was doubtful about expecting a Brodie to take her on. She’d probably been the most surprised when a letter had arrived, inviting her for an interview with a Dr Cameron Brodie. But the past was the past and she herself had no argument with the Brodies. Clearly Dr Cameron Brodie didn’t have a grudge either, or she wouldn’t have been invited for the interview.

Nanna’s part-time job—dying her own rare wool skeins to sell in an online shop—barely covered the bills, and in the last three months sales hadn’t been good. They’d struggled—and struggled hard. But now, with Grace having started school full-time, Bethan had become free to get herself a proper job again.

She’d really missed work. She’d come home to start their lives afresh, and nothing could beat being a mother, but her whole heart had always wanted to care for others. There was something about being a GP that spoke to her. The way you could build a relationship with patients over years,so they wouldn’t be strangers. It was a privilege to be a friend as well as a doctor, and although sometimes that was a difficult line to walk she did it anyway.

Helping people—healing them, curing them of their ailments—was a magical thing and something that she treasured. But the most she’d done over the last few years with Grace had been to patch scuffed knees, wipe snotty noses and nurse Grace through a particularly scratchy episode of chicken pox. The closest she’d got to medication was calamine lotion.

And what she’d been through prior to that, with Ashley, that had been... Well,I don’t regret a day of that.

But he’d not been a patient, nor a friend. He’d been her husband. Grace’s father. Their relationship had been all-consuming in that last year, and she’d been bereft when he’d died. Quite unable to believe that she would still be able to get up and carry on each day without him.

But I did. For Grace.

She’d made the decision to move away from Cornwall three years afterwards, and coming back to Gilloch—to Nanna—had seemed the right thing. Mhairi was alone, too. She knew what the pain of losing a husband—and, sadly, a child—felt like. They were comrades in grief to start with.

But that was the past and now the future beckoned—and with it a fresh sense of purpose for Bethan. She felt it in her bones. This job—this interview—was the way forward for all of them.

As she strode through the streets of Gilloch, her head high and the strong breeze blowing her hair from her shoulders, she remembered Ashley’s last words—‘You’ll go on without me and you’ll be absolutely fine.’

She’d doubted it back then. That she would get through life without him. But time, as they said, was a great healer, and now she often found herself yearning for that kind of closeness again.

But she was absolutely sure—no matter how good-looking Dr Cameron Brodie was—that she would keep her work relationships on a different level from her personal ones.

* * *

Dr Cameron Brodie swallowed the tablets with a glass of water and hoped that his headache would pass. He’d woken with it pounding away in his skull and it had been a real struggle to open his eyes to the bright light of the early morning, to get up and get dressed to face the day. If it hadn’t been for Rosie then he would no doubt have pulled the quilt over his head and gone back to sleep.

But it wasn’t just Rosie. He had someone to interview today. Someone he hoped would take his place permanently at the Gilloch surgery. Not that she would realise that at first. He’d advertised it as a year’s post. Twelve months—start to finish. But he knew that before those twelve months were up the people he left behind would have to rearrange their aspirations.

He had a ticking time bomb in his head. An inoperable glioma. And Dr Bethan Monroe had been the only applicant for the post. Beggars can’t be choosers. Wasn’t that what they said?

He made it to the surgery and opened up, having driven there wearing the strongest pair of sunglasses he owned. Sometimes in the early mornings the sunlight in Scotland could be so bright, so fierce, it would make your eyes water. The sun so low in the sky, its light reflecting off the wet road, was almost blinding.

The headache would ease soon. He knew that. The tablets his consultant had prescribed were excellent at doing their job.

And they allowed him to do his.

For a little while longer anyway.

He hoped that this Bethan character was a strong applicant. Her CV was impressive.

By all accounts in her last post she had started up a support group for people with anxiety and panic attacks. Somewhere for them to get together and share stories and ideas in the hope that they could learn that they were not alone in the fight. She had also put together a volunteer ‘buddy system’, for older people who were lonely to be paired up with a younger person who could be a friend and check in on them whenever it was needed.

Her references were glowing. Her previous colleagues and partners all sang her praises and had been sad to see her go. For ‘personal reasons’, whatever that meant.

He checked the time. If she was as punctual as she said she was in her CV, no doubt she would be arriving in the next ten minutes.

There was a small mirror above the sink in his room, and he quickly checked his reflection to make sure that he didn’t look too rough—that there was some colour in his normally pale cheeks. That was the problem with being a redhead—he had such pale skin that when he was actually sick he looked deathly.

He rubbed his jawline, ruffling the short red bristles, and figured he’d have to do. There were some dark shadows beneath his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about those.

Cameron sat down in his chair and his gaze fell upon the one small picture of his daughter Rosie which he allowed on his desk. In it she sat on a beach, with the sun setting behind her and her long red hair over one shoulder as she smiled at him behind the camera. She’d put a flower behind her ear and begged him to take a picture.

She’d looked so much like her mother at that moment he’d almost been unable to do so. For a moment it had been as if Holly was looking back at him, smiling. She had simply taken his breath away that day. He had almost put the camera down.

‘Daddy! Take my picture!’

He was doing this for her. It was all for Rosie now. They didn’t have long left together and he wanted whatever time they had to be spent together, having fun and making memories, so that she remembered him long after he was gone. His voice, his laughter, how much he’d loved her, how much he’d wanted to spend time with her. He wanted her to know that she had been cherished and adored.

So it didn’t matter if this Dr Bethan Monroe was a three-headed monster from Mars—he needed someone to take his place at the surgery and soon. If she was qualified, and didn’t have a death sentence of her own, then she was going to be perfect for the job.

His phone buzzed. Janet from Reception. ‘Aye?’

‘Dr Bethan Monroe is here to see you.’ Janet had put on her ‘customer service’voice. It always made him smile when he heard it, because she somehow lost most of her Scottish brogue and sounded more English than anything.

‘Thank you. Could you send her through?’

‘Certainly, Doctor.’

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Everything seemed so much easier when he took a moment to do that. Took a moment to meditate. To calm the body. Concentrate on his breathing.

Perhaps I ought to take up yoga? he thought with amusement.

There was a slight tap at the door.

He opened his eyes and stood up. ‘Come in!’

Janet came in first, smiling, her bonny cheeks rosy-red. ‘Dr Bethan Monroe for you. Can I get you both a pot of tea? Or coffee?’

He lifted his hand to demur, but then he caught sight of the tall, willowy woman who had walked into his room behind his receptionist, her long, chocolatey locks of wavy hair flowing either side of her beautiful face, and he found himself unable to speak any words.

She was beautiful. Elegant. Elfin bone structure.

For a moment she looked startled, then she gathered her composure after seeing his no doubt deathly pale face and walked towards him and held out her hand. ‘Very pleased to meet you.’

Now, she did have an English accent. A real one.

He suddenly became aware of his throat. His tongue. Had the temperature of the room increased? He felt hot, his mouth dry, but so he didn’t give Janet too much fodder for the village grapevine he managed to force a smile himself and shake her hand. ‘Hello, there.’

‘Did you want tea, Doctors?’ Janet persisted, looking from one to the other with wry amusement.

He hadn’t wanted any before, but with his mouth this dry it might be a good idea. ‘Er...aye...thank you, that would be great.’

Bethan Monroe nodded agreement. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll be back in a moment, then.’ And Janet hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.

He couldn’t get over Bethan’s eyes. As chocolate-brown as her hair, if not more so. She also had beautiful, creamy skin, with a hint of the English rose on her cheekbones and a wide, full-lipped mouth. She looked nothing like her grandmother, whom he knew well—even though she’d refused to be his patient for years and saw Dr McKellen instead, over in the next village.

You couldn’t help but see the same faces out and about in Gilloch, and her grandmother, Mhairi, was well-known to him because of the upset between her and his grandfather years back, that probably no one except them ever talked about any more. He often saw her. She took long walks down to the wool mill, or along the front of the bay to sit outside the coffee shop, wrapped up in swathes of knitted garments and watching the fishermen come in with their catch.

‘I’m Cameron. Very pleased to meet you.’

‘Bethan. Likewise.’

‘Please take a seat.’

She was long-limbed but graceful as she sank into the seat opposite and laid her briefcase neatly against her chair. ‘Thank you.’

‘You found us all right?’

Clearly, or she wouldn’t be here, idiot!

‘I did. It’s not far from my nanna’s house. Well, my house, too, now, I guess.’

‘You’ve been back in the area for a short while?’

‘A few months, yes. I moved here from Cornwall.’

He nodded. Good. That was all good.

You’re staring.

Cameron cleared his throat and stared down at her paperwork. The only application on his desk.

‘So, we’re here to discuss the vacancy of general practitioner here in Gilloch.’

He needed time to think. Time to reorganise his thoughts. He picked up her CV and read it through as if it were the first time.

‘You’re looking for a full-time post?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve spent the last few years as a full-time mother? That’s correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re aware that this post is very demanding? Long hours—frequently past school pick-up time—sometimes evening work, call-outs, home visits, that kind of thing?’

Are you trying to scare her away?

She seemed to bristle slightly. Had he implied that she wouldn’t be able to cope because she had a child? He hadn’t meant to.

‘What I mean is, it’ll be an abrupt change from what you’re used to.’

‘I don’t think so at all. Being a mother is about having demands made on you all the time—all day long and sometimes through the night. There are no days off. You can’t go sick or take a holiday. You’re always on call.’ She smiled.

He nodded, seemingly unable to tear his gaze away from her. There was something so vibrant about her. So intriguing.

‘You’re absolutely right. I have a child myself. Same age as...’ he quickly scanned her personal statement again ‘...Grace, is it?’

Bethan smiled. ‘Yes. She’s just started at Gilloch Infants’ School.’

‘So has Rosie. My daughter.’

She looked surprised. ‘Which teacher does she have?’

‘Mrs Carlisle.’

‘Oh! They’re in the same class, then.’

‘I’m sure they’ll become good friends.’

She smiled at him—a beautiful smile. ‘Let’s hope so.’

He considered her, enjoying her optimistic outlook. It had been a long time since he’d felt optimistic about anything, and it was just fascinating to see someone who shone so brightly with it. Surely there had to be shadows somewhere?

‘It says here that you left your last post for personal reasons?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Not because of the job itself?’

‘No. I loved working as a GP, but my husband got sick and needed someone to look after him.’

‘Oh. I’m very sorry to hear that. I hope he’s better now?’

She looked down at the ground for a brief moment, her smile faltering, before she met his gaze again. ‘He died. Of pancreatic cancer.’

He was shocked. And a little embarrassed at having pushed her to explain. ‘I’m very sorry.’

‘You weren’t to know.’

‘I lost my wife when Rosie was born. It’s difficult being a single parent, isn’t it?’

‘I’m sorry, too. It can be, if you’re truly on your own. That’s why it’s good to have family around.’

‘Is that why you moved to Gilloch?’

‘Yes, I was born here. Lived here in Gilloch until about the age of three or four, when my parents moved to Cornwall. My father was looking for better job prospects—my mother for better weather!’

She laughed at the personal memory and he loved the way her eyes lit up as she spoke of her parents.

‘It was in Cornwall that I met my husband. He was a doctor, too. When he died I felt incredibly alone. My parents were gone by then, and I just felt a yearning to be with family. It’s important, that connection. More than any other. We’d always kept in touch with my grandmother, speaking online and on the phone, and I wanted Grace to know her properly instead of just being a voice...an image. So I decided to move back here so we could look after each other.’

‘Mhairi?’

She nodded.

Cameron put down her paperwork. ‘Tell me what you think you can bring to this post.’

But at that moment there was another knock on the door and Janet was there, carefully balancing a tray with cups, saucers, a teapot and a small plate of biscuits.

‘Thank you, Janet.’ He dismissed her and waited for her to leave the room before turning his attention back to Bethan.

‘I’m punctual, committed, hard-working. I’m good with patients and I know how to build a rapport with them. I believe myself to be very efficient, and I have a good talent for hearing what people aren’t saying.’

Is that right?

‘What would you say are your weaknesses?’

She shifted in her seat. ‘I get attached. I care too much, too quickly, and don’t always control my emotions.’

He frowned. That was a red flag. He didn’t need anyone getting attached to him! Even if it was just as a friend or a trusted colleague. He didn’t need anyone to be hurt by his passing. It was going to be bad enough for Rosie. He needed strong people around to be there for her, not crying a river for their own pain.

‘How do you mean?’

‘It’s the human element. I find it hard to create a professional distance sometimes. Especially with people that I feel I know well. I care for them. Feel for them. When they’re hurting, so am I.’

She leaned forward, planted her elbows on his desk.

‘What I mean is, if I’ve been looking after someone and then I have to deliver a shocking diagnosis that’s going to affect their lives then I’m going to feel that pain with them. It will make me cry. Not whilst I’m with them,’ she clarified. ‘I’m not that unprofessional. But sometimes it can get a little bit too much.’

She looked at him with concern, as if she were worried she’d said too much.

‘Actually, I’m not sure if that is a weakness.’ She smiled. ‘I think it just makes me human, and I think people like having doctors who aren’t made of steel.’

She jutted out her chin, but didn’t meet his gaze.

He suspected she thought she’d blown it.

She hadn’t. Not at all. But she didn’t know she was the only applicant, and she didn’t know just how much he needed her. He had to employ her. No matter what. His time was running out. He would just keep his distance. As much as he could.

‘I need someone who can take over my role completely. I’m leaving the practice for a year’s sabbatical, to spend time with my wee girl, but obviously there will be a short transition period during which I will sit in with the new doctor and observe until they feel able to fly solo. How would you feel about that? Me looking over your shoulder?’

She nodded, smiling. ‘That sounds fine.’ Then she frowned. ‘You’re leaving? Completely?’

Cameron smiled. ‘Completely. For a year,’ he lied.

‘Oh.’

Was she using that special skill of hers right now? Trying to work out what it was that he wasn’t saying? Perhaps she was. He watched her observing him, looking for clues, trying to work out why a fully trained doctor would just leave like this, but he knew she wouldn’t find the answer.

There were no outward signs of his death sentence. Just paleness and bags under his eyes, which lots of people had, and a slowly fading headache that she couldn’t see. No one else knew either. Except family. He’d had to tell them. But everyone else just thought he’d been sick for a while and was now over it.

Cameron leaned forward and poured them both a cup of tea, standing up to pass her a cup and saucer.

‘Thank you.’

‘This practice has always worked well. There’s a good team here. How would you make sure you’d fit in?’

She sipped from the teacup. ‘I’m a local girl who’s come home. I’m sure there will be lots of questions, which I’ll do my best to answer honestly. You can’t be a GP without having good people skills.’

He smiled. Good. ‘Do you have any questions you’d like to ask me?’

Surely there had to be. All good interviewees were taught to ask something at this stage. To sound interested in the post, if nothing else.

Bethan stirred her drink and he noticed what fine hands she had. Lithe fingers, short nails with clear polish. He was struck by a sense of admiration for this woman. Her husband had died and she was a widow. A single parent like himself.

‘There is one.’

‘Aye?’ He sipped his own tea, wincing at the heat of it upon his tongue.

‘I’d like to know if I’d have full autonomy from day one? I know you’d be observing, but how long would you observe me for?’

He smiled. He liked this woman. She had spirit. And enthusiasm. And that mattered to him most of all. He was going to be leaving his patients in the care of someone else. Patients he had looked after for a good few years. He needed to know they were in good hands. She seemed a steady, comforting individual. Someone who—if he hadn’t had this death sentence hanging over him—he could imagine becoming great friends with.

And for that reason he’d have to keep her at arm’s length whilst they worked together. Keep everything brief and to the point.

‘You’ll have autonomy. And I’d like to observe for two weeks.’

We won’t get close.

‘Two weeks...’

‘Two weeks of me sitting in the corner and saying nothing. Unless you need me to, of course.’

She nodded. Smiled. ‘That’s okay by me.’

‘Good.’

He decided to shock her. See how she dealt with surprises.

‘When would you like to start?’

* * *

She stood outside in the bright morning sun, a little stunned.

I got the job!

Her first job application after a long break away!

Dr Brodie had seemed a very likeable man. Handsome, tall, broad-shouldered... A typical Scot, if there was one, with that beautiful head of red hair. And his eyes... Such a piercing blue against those dark shadows that lurked beneath them.

Clearly he had not been sleeping well recently. Or he was worried about something. Was it his decision to take a year off? Was he concerned about leaving his patients with someone he didn’t know? Perhaps there was something else. Something she didn’t know yet.

It’s none of my business.

What was her business, though, was the fact that she could start her new job next Monday! Cameron had said that Mondays were appointment days at the surgery. Tuesdays were for home visits, Wednesday was procedure day, when they’d perform small surgeries such as skin tag removal, wound care, that sort of thing, and Thursdays were for more appointments, as were Fridays.

Weekends and evenings were usually spent on call, but they shared the on-call with the practice over in the next village, so that they did actually get some time off on alternate weekends, and he’d said they didn’t often get lots of call-outs.

Gilloch was a small coastal village in the Highlands. She could smell the brine in the air from wherever she stood. No more than a thousand people lived here and they were of sturdy stock. And now she would be their doctor.

Smiling, she set off back to her nanna’s, to tell her the good news. She had no doubt at all that her grandmother would be suspicious about Cameron Brodie’s motives, but Bethan was determined not to be!

I’m going to make this work.I’m going to make Cameron Brodie see that I am a brilliant doctor and that I will be able to care for all his patients as if he were still doing it himself! If not better!

She needed this. Wanted this.

And now it was in her grasp.

Life was changing now that she was back.

Just as she’d hoped it would.


CHAPTER TWO (#u855df94a-238d-53ee-9d91-3cff78dce338)

‘YOU’VE GOT YOUR phone in case I need you?’

‘Yes, Nanna.’

‘Your purse?’

‘Of course.’

‘You’ll call me if anything goes wrong?’

Bethan laughed at her nanna’s fussing. ‘Why would anything go wrong?’

Nanna fiddled with the pendant at her neck. ‘I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling about this.’

Bethan held out her arms and scooped her grandmother into a hug. She needed one. She’d been nervous these last few days as her starting day had got closer. And Nanna was still utterly convinced it was all a great big trick to humiliate her further.

‘It’ll be okay. Dr Brodie is a very nice man.’

‘Impossible! Brodie men are the worst.’

‘Not this one. He’s different.’

Nanna pulled back to look at her. ‘You believe that?’

She smiled. ‘I do. What happened between you and old Angus Brodie is ancient news.’

‘Maybe to you.’

Bethan picked up her briefcase. ‘You’re all right getting Grace to school?’

Nanna smiled. ‘Of course.’

‘And picking her up at three?’

‘Aye. I’ve a few orders to dye up today, but I’ll remember. I’m not senile, you know.’

‘I’ve told the school you’ll be picking her up from now on.’

Nanna leaned against the kitchen sink. ‘You’re stalling.’

‘I’m nervous.’

‘You’ll be absolutely fine. You’re a wonderful doctor, lassie. The people here in Gilloch are lucky to have you.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box tied with ribbon. ‘I want you to have this.’

‘What is it?’

‘They were your mother’s.’

Bethan opened the lid of the box and found inside a small pair of diamond earrings, sitting on a bed of red velvet. ‘They’re beautiful!’

‘Your father gave them to your mother after she had you. I should have given them to you long ago, after you had Grace, but they’re yours now.’

Bethan was touched. Such a wonderful gesture! She put them in and went to look in the mirror. Perfect.

‘Thank you, Nanna.’

Mhairi smiled. ‘Now, you go and show that Brodie boy who’s boss!’

* * *

Bethan felt a little odd, knowing that she was in his seat and he was in a smaller chair right next to her as he showed her the ins and outs of the computer system.

She’d not said much to her nanna over the weekend, but Dr Brodie had been in her thoughts more than she’d let on.

Nanna was right. He was a handsome man, and when she’d first walked into that interview room she’d almost stalled, her mouth drying upon her first sight of him—this tall Scottish hunk, unfolding his long, rangy figure from behind the desk and stretching out a hand for her to shake. She’d felt sure he would notice the tremble that had begun in her body in response to him.

And now he kept reaching across the desk to point things out on the computer and he smelt so good! It had been a long time since she had felt aware of another man, and having one who smelt so great sitting right beside her was throwing her concentration slightly. Irritating her as she tried to fight it.

‘So, if you want to print off some information about a condition, click on this box here, next to the diagnosis, and it links to a medical database. You see?’

He brought up an information sheet on scoliosis as an example.

She snapped back into professional mode. ‘Perfect. And if I want to look up information on medication...?’

‘Well, we have books, but if you click on that question mark next to the prescription box you can usually find what you need regarding the pharmacology.’

‘That’s wonderful. Thank you. It’s pretty similar to the last system I used.’

‘Any telephone calls with patients, any advice or queries, you mark them down in the patient notes—no matter how trivial. See the notepad icon? It all has to be logged. I find that helps with any possible discrepancies down the line, if they query anything.’

‘Well, I hope there won’t be any discrepancies. Not from me.’

‘Excellent. Well, I think you’re ready! Feel like meeting your first patient?’

She turned to look into his face, at those warm crystal-blue eyes of his that twinkled in his pale face, and felt a rush of heat hit her in the solar plexus.

Oh, boy, I’m in trouble!

‘I am.’

‘Well, just push that button there to call her in. Her name will come up on the screen in the waiting room.’

Bethan smiled, nervousness suddenly flooding her system. She adjusted her chair and let out a breath. Then pushed the button.

* * *

Mrs Percy was a sweet old lady who used a walker that she’d jazzed up with some fake flowers and pretty ribbons. She shuffled her way into the room and sat down with a satisfied sigh and a smile as she took in the two doctors facing her.

‘Two for the price of one, eh? Lucky me.’

Bethan smiled. She liked her already. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Percy?’

She’d already checked her screen and observed that apart from some arthritis in her hips and knees, Mrs Percy didn’t have much wrong with her. Blood pressure had been good on her last check and her cholesterol levels were low.

‘I want to do the Edinburgh Half-Marathon,’ she said, giving one firm nod as she delivered her surprising statement.

‘You do?’ Nothing could have surprised Bethan more. She’d maybe expected My knees are giving me some gip or I’m not sleeping well at night. Anything but what she’d actually said.

‘Aye, I do. And they tell you, don’t they—on the television and whatnot—that if you’re about to embark on a new training regime or exercise you should consult your doctor? So that’s why I’m here. Thought you’d better check me out so I don’t drop dead halfway around.’

Cameron laughed beside her. ‘Mrs Percy is our resident adrenaline junkie.’

Mrs Percy winked at him. ‘Well, adrenaline keeps you going, doesn’t it? I’ve seen those medical shows on TV, when someone’s about to cork it and they give them a shot of adrenaline. Brenda, I tell myself, you need some of that every day.’

Bethan nodded. Fair enough! ‘Okay...well, I guess we need to check you over, then. We’ll need to take your blood pressure, listen to your heart, take your pulse. All right?’

‘Aye, dear. You go for it.’ Mrs Percy rolled up the sleeve of her vast knitted cardigan to reveal a scrawny arm. ‘But I want a good answer, mind. I’ve got lots more living in me, and I haven’t abseiled down a building yet—or swam with sharks.’

‘You want to swim with sharks?’

‘Great white sharks! The meanest buggers of them all! Oh, aye!’

Mrs Percy’s blood pressure was normal. Which was impressive, seeing as she was talking about one of the greatest predators of all time and being stuck in a tiny cage next to one.

‘Well, you’re braver than me, Mrs Percy. I’m quite happy to keep my feet on solid ground.’

‘Och, that’s no way to live, dear. You have to be scared every day. Keeps you fresh. Keeps the blood pumping! You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Dr Brodie? What with your little foray into illness?’

Cameron gave a polite smile and nodded.

‘Illness is a mean old beast—we all know that—but it’s also the biggest wake-up call.’

‘Well, your BP and heart-rate are good. I think as long as you train sensibly and take your time there’s no reason why you shouldn’t enter the half-marathon if it’s really what you want to do.’

‘Och, that’s brilliant, Doctor. Thank you very much. This your first day, is it?’

Bethan glanced at Cameron and smiled. ‘It is. And you’re my first patient.’

‘Och, really? Do I get a prize?’

‘Just the prize of continued good health, Mrs Percy.’

Mrs Percy nodded. ‘Aye. ’tis a gift not given to all, but I’m taking full advantage of mine whilst I’ve got it. How are you feeling now, Dr Brodie?’

Cameron’s face seemed to flush slightly before he answered, and he wasn’t even looking at Bethan. ‘Much better, thank you.’

Bethan wondered what Cameron had been ill with. Probably a cold, or something. Maybe the flu? If he was back after a brief illness that might explain the dark circles.

She got up to walk Mrs Percy to the door and held it open for her.

Mrs Percy thanked her. ‘Reckon I’ll get myself a gold medal one day. Beat the clock.’

‘You win if you cross the line at the end, Mrs Percy. That should be your goal. Don’t worry about the clock.’

‘But the clock’s the whole point, Doctor. Time’s always against us.’

Bethan closed the door and turned to look at Cameron.

He smiled at her casually, guilelessly, as if he had nothing to hide, and she shrugged her worries away.

It had probably just been man-flu.

Nothing to worry about at all.

* * *

How many of his patients might give the game away?

That had been a close-run thing with Mrs Percy. She liked to talk...liked to gossip. Oddly, the people who talked non-stop never seemed to come to his surgery with sore throats or laryngitis. But a lot of people in Gilloch knew he’d had a run-in with cancer. They didn’t know all the details—he’d only shared those with direct family—but gossip and rumour were rife in a small place such as this.

He’d told everyone else it was over. He’d beaten it. Why upset them? Why put himself in a position of having everyone look at him with sympathy and pity? A dead man walking. They’d be throwing flowers at him before he was six feet under, and who wanted that?

His father had not taken the news of his prognosis well. Why would he? No one wanted to hear things like that. No parent wanted to hear that they would outlive their child, and that was exactly what he’d had to tell his own father.

‘They estimate I maybe have a year left.’

He’d almost not told him. The very idea of sitting down in the living room and having to utter those words had made him feel physically sick. He didn’t ever want to remind himself of the look on his father’s face when he had, silently wiping away his tears, his mouth grim as he looked away and gave one solitary sniff.

‘I’m going to leave the practice. I’m going to spend my time with Rosie and you, as much as I can.’

He could appreciate Mrs Percy’s outlook on life. You did have to grab every second of it. You didn’t realise how precious it was until someone told you there wasn’t as much left as you thought there was.

Everyone has a limited time. It’s just that some have more sand in their hourglass than others.

Bethan sat beside him, typing in the notes about Mrs Percy’s consultation, oblivious to his torment and secrets. Her fine fingers were flitting across the keyboard, and he noticed the way she gently bit her lower lip as she concentrated.

She’s pretty.

There was no point in telling anyone else the bad news. Sitting down and telling his family had been bad enough—he didn’t want to have to keep on repeating it. Seeing people he cared about breaking down and crying and having to be the one to comfort them. He needed his strength for himself.

So he’d lied. Told them the chemo had worked. The tumour was gone. It was all over. Life could carry on. Except he’d quite like a year’s sabbatical. Just to spend some time with Rosie. It had been a hard few months for her, watching her dad lose his hair and his strength.

Everyone at the practice had understood. They thought it was a marvellous idea, though they’d be sad not to see him every day.

He cleared the dark thoughts from his head. He didn’t need to linger on the thought of everyone else’s pain. He had a new mantra—make it all about Rosie. He wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t being selfish. But he needed to create distance from people now. They were all too close, all too friendly. He knew what it felt like to lose someone close, and it was horrible. Best to make it easier for everyone by being a little standoffish.

He liked what he’d seen of Bethan so far and she’d been right. But she did exude warmth and an easy-going nature, and he had no doubt he would have a problem keeping her away if she knew the truth. Bethan’s ease at being able to chat with her patient as if she’d known her for a long time took skill. If she found out about his glioma he just knew she wouldn’t let it go.

And hadn’t she been through this before? With her husband? What kind of cruel person would put someone as nice as her through that again?

He hated lying, but he needed to. It was self-preservation.

Cameron thought of all those people in his waiting room—all those familiar faces, all those people he had come to care for. People who would still be here after his time had come and gone.

Part of him didn’t want to go. Part of him was still rebelling at his diagnosis—physician, heal thyself—and part of him just wanted to lie down and have it all be done with.

He knew that was the depressive side of things. He had tablets for that. For the depression. His consultant had said they would help him come to terms with it. Be less of a shock to the system.

He wasn’t sure they were working. He spent far more time than he should wallowing in dark thoughts.

But who wouldn’t with a terminal diagnosis?

And why put other people through it when they didn’t have to?

It was best to just go quietly.

Let them sort it out after he was gone.

* * *

Her first morning of seeing patients was the usual kind of mix. Some were simply curious. Some turned up to see her about some spurious sore throat or trifling cough, just so they could go home and tell everyone else that they’d met Mhairi’s prodigal granddaughter.

She treated housemaid’s knee, an actual chest infection that needed antibiotics, a suspected urine infection and a clear case of pompholyx—which was an itchy, painful rash that appeared on the hands and feet. She examined two men complaining of bad backs—one with a shoulder injury after a fall in the garden onto a wooden picnic bench—and diagnosed a case of cellulitis.

She was enjoying herself immensely. Back in the job she loved. Seeing new people—people who would come to mean a lot to her.

She felt Cam’s presence behind her like a guardian angel, and he was being as good as his word, letting her be autonomous and get on with everything herself, only butting in when he had to—when there was something she wasn’t sure of on the computer, or to tell her where various equipment was stored in the consulting room.

At lunchtime, they stopped for something to eat.

‘Well, I think that was a successful morning!’ she said, smiling, happy at what she’d achieved. Happy at having been able to help people.

It had been so long since she’d had the experience of feeling she was actually curing someone instead of just obscuring their pain. She felt as if she was exactly where she needed to be.

‘Aye. You did well,’ Cameron said, before gathering up his jacket and bits and pieces.

Bethan followed him through to the staffroom. It wasn’t overly large. They were, after all, a small community with a tiny doctor surgery, but it was enough for everyone there. Cosy, comfortable. Apart from Janet, there was an office manager and two nurses. It was enough.

Someone had made a cake—coffee and walnut—and they each took a small slice.

‘So, how are you finding it, Doctor?’ asked Sarah, the senior nurse.

‘It’s been good, thank you. Everyone’s been so nice. And it’s good to feel useful again. Like I’m actually doing something. It’s great being a mum and staying at home, but after years of watching children’s television I was really beginning to feel like my brain was turning into mush.’

There was an odd silence then, and she wasn’t sure why. The staff seemed to look at Cameron, then at each other, before looking away and suddenly finding their cake extremely interesting, or sipping from a mug of tea.

What had she said? Was it what she’d said about staying at home to be a parent? Did they think she was implying that it wouldn’t be good for Cameron to do it? That he’d somehow stagnate at being at home? Perhaps they didn’t agree with his choice to leave them?

Okay. Tough crowd. But loyal to their boss, which I guess is nice.

‘You’re from Cornwall—is that right?’ asked Sarah, changing the subject.

Bethan smiled, thankful to the nurse for breaking the weird, awkward silence. ‘Yes, but I was born here in Gilloch. We moved away when I was a child.’

‘What’s it like to return home?’

It was odd. Because she hadn’t been able to return with her parents. They’d passed away just before her husband had. Being dealt three deaths in quick succession had almost destroyed her. But she’d had to remain strong after her parents had died because Ashley had been sick and deteriorating fast. He’d needed her, needed her strength. She wasn’t sure she’d ever grieved properly for her mum and dad. And then there’d been Grace to look after, too.

She’d become a ‘coper’ because there’d been no other way to be. These last few years it had been like living on autopilot—locked into her routine with Grace each day, because routine was secure and familiar. It made her feel safe. But then, when her grandmother Mhairi had got in touch, she’d realised just how lonely her grandmother was. Nanna had lost her only son, and Bethan and Grace were all she had left.

That yearning for family had increased with every passing day, so Bethan had sold her home in St Austell and moved back to live in Gilloch just a few short months ago. She hadn’t resented doing so. Hadn’t resented being neededagain. It had been so good to see Nanna and Grace’s relationship flourish. And she hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed having someone love her back. Someone watching out for her.

‘It’s good to be back with family. You never know how long you have left with someone, do you?’

‘No.’ Sarah smiled at her and bit into her cake.

Being reminded of family made her think of Nanna. She’d no doubt be busy dyeing her wool, but she would be worrying about Bethan’s first day at work and would probably appreciate an update.

‘Excuse me—I need to make a phone call.’ She put down her cake and grabbed her mobile from her handbag, then headed outside.

As she stood outside the surgery, shivering slightly in the cool breeze, she found a bright smile filling her face. She was pleased with how well everything was going. Cameron Brodie was not the tyrant her grandmother believed. In fact he was quite polite. Reserved... Kept his distance...

Smelt great...

‘Hey, it’s me.’

‘Hello, my lovely, how’s your first day going?’

Mhairi sounded genuinely interested. Also concerned and fretful. Here, at last, was someone who was worried about her feelings.

‘It’s good.’

‘Really? Och, I’m so pleased for you.’

‘How’s Ye Olde Dyeworks?’ That was the name of Nanna’s wool business.

‘I’m up to my armpits in aubergine and turquoise dye, but it’s coming out well. What about you? Had to lance any boils today?’

‘No, not yet. They’re probably saving that for procedure day. They don’t want to scare me off too soon.’

‘Well, of course they don’t. I was thinking of making your old favourite—custard tarts—for dessert tonight. Fancy that?’

Bethan smiled, remembering the small round tarts her nanna had made for her when she was a little girl. Sprinkled with nutmeg and melting in the mouth with soft, buttery pastry.

‘I haven’t had those since I was little. They sound great. Thank you.’

‘Anything for you, lassie.’

‘I’d do anything for you, too.’

* * *

Cameron helped clear up the lunch mess, put a cover over the rest of the cake and then headed back to his room to await afternoon surgery.

He was surprised to see Bethan already there. ‘I didn’t know you’d come back in. Have you had time to eat?’

‘I’m not that hungry. Running on adrenaline.’

He wanted to make a comment about her looking after herself better, but held it in. She wasn’t his concern. He had his own health to worry about. But he felt awkward enough to say something.

‘Everything all right?’

She smiled brightly. ‘Of course!’

‘Good. I’m glad to hear that.’

His mind raced to think about who she might have called. Mhairi? Her daughter’s school?

‘Gilloch Infants’ School is very good.’

She seemed puzzled by his comment, so he guessed she hadn’t called the school, after all.

‘Yes, it seemed to be when we did the tour.’

He nodded, studying her. Then he looked away. She was one of those beautiful women men couldn’t help but stare at. But she was so beautiful it was difficult to tear his eyes away. He could easily get lost in the soft curves of her face. Her lips, her cheekbones, the downward slope of her nose. The way her hair fell in waves.

Everything about her said soft.

His headache began to return—probably because he was allowing himself to become irritated by the track of his thought-processes.

She looks soft, but she had to be strong, right?

She’d nursed her husband through terminal cancer. This was a new start in her life. A new chapter. She looked capable, bright and optimistic. Where had she found that strength?

She told me in her interview that she gets attached quickly, that she gets emotional, but that to her it’s a strength, not a weakness.

Perhaps she turned all her supposed weaknesses into strengths? Put a positive spin on everything?

He knew it would be best if he just oversaw these next two weeks and then slipped away quietly to live the rest of his life with Rosie. That was what he wanted now. An uncomplicated life. Living with his daughter and bringing her joy whilst he still could. That was who should be his focus. Rosie. Not Bethan.

‘Ready for the afternoon?’ he asked.

She nodded, her eyes bright and gleaming. ‘I am!’

Her beauty struck him again. How noble-looking she was. Even though she’d been through some terrible times, had lost her parents and her husband, she still managed to emit kindness and positivity.

Cam looked out through the window, seeing the heather-covered hills behind the surgery, the dark mountains beyond those. In the slightly grey sky he saw birds circling, their wings buffeted by the wind. Life was beautiful. He should take a page out of Bethan’s book and remain optimistic. See the good stuff in life rather than focusing on the bad.

The headaches weren’t too bad right now—the painkillers controlled them—and he was able to sleep. The tumour hadn’t yet encroached into his optic nerve, so he still had time to see that beauty. To remember it for when the time came that his sight was taken from him towards the end.

He sat in his chair as the next patient came in. Caitriona MacDonald. She’d been born deaf and had learnt how to lip-read.

He sat back and observed Bethan checking out Caitriona. She did everything he would have done. She was thorough, and caring, and once again it made him see that even though she had been his only candidate for the post Bethan was absolutely the one he would have chosen even if there’d been a choice of hundreds.

She was a people person and, yes, everyone did matter to her. She wanted to do her very best for everyone she saw. Leaving no stone unturned, she checked everything she needed to. There was no slacking. No shortcuts. She did it all.

He felt a sudden need to tell her everything. To just blurt it all out.

To have her look at me like that—the way she’s looking and listening to Caitriona.

But then she’d treat him as a patient, wouldn’t she? And he didn’t want to be the weak one here.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.

He didn’t want her to care for him as he slowly deteriorated. He didn’t want her to feel that she was failing again—because doctors always hoped to cheat death if they could.

She’d had enough death in her short life, and she had real patients to care for. Patients who could be cured. Let her concentrate all her efforts on them. She could actually do something for them.

Bethan was concluding that Caitriona might have an inner ear infection, and she prescribed some antibiotics and got a promise that Caitriona would return in three weeks to let her know how she’d got on.

They waved their patient goodbye and he watched, fascinated, as Bethan inputted her notes and observations. Her head was bent over the keyboard, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips gently parted as she bit her bottom lip.

He smiled at the already familiar gesture and felt a pang. Of something. As he looked at her, studied her whilst he could, he realised something else that was disturbing.

I’m attracted to her.

The thought made him smile. He almost chuckled.

The human body was an amazing thing.

The laws of attraction never stopped working. Not until the heart itself ceased beating.


CHAPTER THREE (#u855df94a-238d-53ee-9d91-3cff78dce338)

CAMERON LEFT FOR home exhausted. He’d had no idea just how tiring it was to sit in a chair all day and do nothing except observe someone. And, because he knew how specifically aware he was to Bethan’s presence, he’d been determined not to observe her too closely. Noticing her beautiful eyes and her smile was not the kind of observation he wanted to make.

He was glad to make it to the end of the day and go and collect Rosie from her after-school club. His daughter brought joy into his heart every time he saw her, and renewed his strength and determination.

‘How was school?’

‘Great! I played with my new friend Grace today.’

Bethan’s daughter.

‘Really?’

‘And, look—I made a caterpillar!’

She ran to fetch her creation from the Art Corner. She had indeed made a caterpillar, from the remains of green cardboard egg cartons, stuck together in a line and painted garish colours.

‘Wow! That’s fabulous!’

‘We’re learning about bugs.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Not the bugs that you have to heal people from.’

He smiled. ‘Ah...’

They went home and he made her some dinner. And once she’d had a bath he settled into his favourite part of the day with his daughter. Storytime.

There was nothing he loved more than being able to sit and read with her, making up silly voices and discussing the characters and what they thought was going to happen. Rosie never ceased to amaze him with the insight she had for such a young girl. And his time with her was precious.

How many more stories would he get to read for her? Would they even finish this long book? What if the tumour damaged his optic nerve soon and he could no longer read? Would she sit upstairs alone? Trying to read by herself?

She’ll be alone someday.

That thought almost did him in daily. Rosie was so young. She’d already lost her mother, and now she was going to lose her father, too. Life wasn’t fair. But he knew he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the injustice of it all. That way madness lay. His time was short—he couldn’t waste it on self-pity. It wasn’t how he wanted his daughter to remember him.

He knew that at some point he would have to start letting her stay with his father a bit more, in preparation for when she’d have to live there permanently—after he was gone.

His dad was already trying to make up a room for her to stay in. His old bedroom was being converted from his father’s home office. The walls had recently been stripped of the old blue wallpaper and Rosie had picked out a pretty peaches-and-cream pattern she wanted.

He wasn’t sure that Rosie understood what was going to happen eventually. Talking to his child about his death was impossible. How much could she truly understand? And was it right to burden her in advance? Instead he’d pretended that he was going to ‘go away’. They were trying to make the transition as easy for her as they could, making her new room at his father’s a fun thing.

He pointed at the book they were reading. ‘You know how in the story Harry lives with his aunt and uncle?’

Rosie nodded.

‘Because his own parents aren’t around any more?’

Another nod. ‘They’re dead,’ said Rosie.

‘Well, you’ll be doing that one day. Living with Grandpa Doug?’

She seemed to think about it. ‘But I won’t be in the cupboard under the stairs, will I? I’m having my own room.’

‘That’s right.’ He smiled.

‘And Grandpa Doug is nice to me. Not like Harry’s family.’

‘Grandpa Doug is very nice. And he loves you loads.’

‘And you’ll be gone away?’

He swallowed hard. ‘That’s right. I won’t be able to come back, but you’ll be able to see me in here.’ He touched the side of her head. ‘And in here.’ He pointed at where her heart was.

Rosie seemed to think about this for a while. Then, ‘Who’ll read to me at night?’

‘Grandpa Doug will.’

‘But he doesn’t do the voices.’

Cameron kissed the top of her head and smiled to himself, loving it that her greatest concern was the right voices for her story. If that was her greatest worry, then it would be fine. He was happy with that. He could carry all the other worries by himself.

That was how it should be anyway. She was too young to be burdened by the world. And he didn’t want to tell his daughter he was going to die. How could he?

‘Right—hush, now. One more chapter and then it’s sleepy time, okay?’

‘Okay, Daddy.’

And she snuggled into his side and listened until she fell fast asleep.

* * *

It was raining, and the roads were slick with water and puddles. Beneath the endless grey sky Bethan parked her car, right outside the surgery door, ready to do a day of home visits after she’d collected the medical files and any equipment she might need.

She liked it that the practice had a whole day to do home visits. Not every practice offered this service any more, but she’d always enjoyed doing them. You didn’t always get to understand a person’s home-life and true situation from an eight-minute consultation in the surgery, so it was good to see people in their own environment. And there were quite a few people who couldn’t get to the surgery, so it was a worthwhile opportunity for them all.

She merrily chirped a hello to Janet on Reception.

‘Good morning, Dr Monroe! How are you today?’

‘Good, thank you. How are you?’

‘Bonny, Doctor, always bonny.’

She smiled and passed on through to the office to collect her schedule.

Cameron was already there, checking the files off against a list. He looked up when he saw her and she was struck by how pale he looked today. He was pale anyway—the standard complexion for someone with such beautiful red hair—but today that paleness had an ashen quality to it. And the shadows beneath his eyes looked darker than they had before.

Had he had a bad night’s sleep? Was he still recovering from that bout of flu?

‘Morning, Dr Brodie.’

‘Cam, please.’ He smiled. ‘We’ve got time for a brief cuppa before we head out. Can I make you one?’

‘Oh, thank you. That would be lovely.’

She’d managed to make a cup of tea first thing that morning, but she’d only had a couple of sips, in her rush to get Grace ready for school, and then her nanna had asked her to help bring down some wool skeins from the spare room she used as a dye room—she needed to get them off in the post. She’d spent so much time running around her tea had gone cold and there hadn’t been time to make a fresh one.

She sighed with delight as he passed her a hot, steaming mug. ‘Perfect.’

‘We’ve got twelve house calls to make today—which doesn’t sound much, but a lot of these patients can talk for ever, so we’ll need to keep an eye on the time.’

‘All right. Anything in particular I should know about?’

He raised an eyebrow and looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, one of the patients is my grandfather, Angus Brodie. He can be a bit of a...a curmudgeon.’




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