Neurosurgeon . . . and Mum!

‘Look, love, even though we’re not going to be here, you’re welcome to come and spend some time here. How long were you thinking of staying?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘A few days? A week?’ Cassie suggested.

‘I’m, um, taking a sabbatical. Maybe a couple of weeks, if that’s OK?’

‘A fortnight isn’t a sabbatical, it’s a break. But you’re not on holiday, are you?’ Cassie asked perceptively. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I just need a bit of time to think things through,’ Amy prevaricated.

‘All right, love.’

Amy heard the subtext clearly: I won’t push until you’re ready to talk about it.

Bless her.

‘Stay for as long as you like. We’ll be back in six weeks, and you’re more than welcome to stay after we get back,’ Cassie continued. ‘You can house-sit for us while we’re away. And your being here means we won’t have to put Buster in kennels.’

Typical Cassie. Putting it in a way that made Amy feel she wasn’t doing all the taking—and in a way that she couldn’t refuse. ‘Thanks, Cassie. I’d like that. And I’ll make sure I take him for a walk every day.’ The chocolate Labrador was elderly now, but Amy could still remember her aunt and uncle getting him as a pup, when she’d stayed for the summer holidays before her finals.

‘Joe’s locum is staying, too, but there’s plenty of room—he won’t get in your way.’

Joe’s locum was the real house-sitter, Amy guessed. So Cassie probably hadn’t even booked Buster into kennels in the first place. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Of course we don’t, love.’ There was a pause. ‘Amy, why don’t you throw your stuff in a bag, get in the car and come down right now? It sounds as if you could do with a good meal and a chat.’

Amy almost cracked. Unconditional love and support was something she wanted so badly—but something she knew she really didn’t deserve. Not after what she’d done. Besides, Joe and Cassie were so excited about Australia and the new baby. She couldn’t bring herself to worry them with her own problems when they were about to go to the other side of the world. ‘Thanks, but I have a few things I need to sort out in London.’

‘All right, then we’ll talk now.’

Panic made Amy catch her breath. ‘You must be in the middle of packing. Don’t let me hold you up, Cassie. Honestly, I’m fine. I just need a bit of time off. You know how you’re always nagging me about working too hard.’

Cassie didn’t sound so sure about it, but to Amy’s relief she didn’t push it. ‘Well, we’ll leave the key in the usual place. And I’ll text you when we get to Australia. You know you can me call any time—though remember we’re nine hours ahead of you, in Melbourne.’

‘I will. And thanks, Cassie.’ For the bolthole. For the breathing space. For not pushing her.

‘Any time, love.’

‘Give my love to Beth. I hope she gets an easy de-livery—and I want to see a picture of the baby as soon as you’re allowed to take one, OK?’

‘You can count on it, love,’ Cassie said. ‘Drive safely.’

‘I will,’ Amy promised. ‘Have a good trip.’

Chapter Two

ON Thursday morning, just as the rush hour ended, Amy left London for Norfolk. By lunchtime, she’d reached the large seaside town where her uncle had lived ever since Amy was tiny. The place where she’d spent many happy summers. The place that might just help her to sort her head out.

She parked on the gravelled area in front of Marsh End House; there was no other car there, so she assumed that the locum was on duty at the surgery, unless maybe he didn’t have a car. She went to the fifth large cobble stone in the flower border to the right of the front door and lifted it; as she expected, the front door key sat underneath it. She let herself in and heard a volley of excited barks from the kitchen; as soon as she opened the door, Buster nearly knocked her flying.

She knelt down on the floor and made a fuss of him. ‘You’re meant to be a staid old dog, not a bouncy pup,’ she admonished him with a smile. ‘Look at all the grey in your face. And you’re still just like you were twelve years ago.’

Buster responded by resting his front paws on her shoulders and licking her face enthusiastically.

‘You big old softie,’ she said. ‘OK, let me bring my stuff in and have a cup of tea and then I’ll take you for a run.’

His tail thumped madly, and she grinned. ‘It’s so good to be home.’ Funny, Cassie and Joe’s place had always been home to her—more so than her parents’ house in London or her own flat, even. Marsh End House was a Victorian Gothic masterpiece, built of red brick with arched windows, lots of pointed gables and an elaborate turret that had been the centre of the games she’d played with Beth and her two younger brothers in those long, hot summers. Games of wizards and princesses and magic castle—followed by sandcastle competitions on the beach, games of cricket and football and exploring the rockpools at low tide. Here was where she’d always been happiest.

And best of all was the kitchen, right in the heart of the house. Where scraped knees had been washed, kissed better and covered with a dressing; the cake tin had always been full; and, as they had grown older, the kettle had always been hot and Cassie always there to listen and not judge.

So many wonderful memories.

Would they be enough to heal her now?

There was an envelope with her name on it propped against the biscuit tin in the middle of the kitchen table. Recognising her aunt’s handwriting, Amy opened it.

Have made a bed for you in your old room.

In the turret. Fabulous. She’d be overlooking the marshes towards the sea, her favourite view in the world, and the sun would wake her every morning. And maybe here she wouldn’t have the nightmares.

Tom will introduce himself and Perdy to you at some point.

So the locum was married? Well, that wasn’t a problem; the house was big enough for them not to get in each other’s way.

Make sure you eat properly.

She couldn’t help smiling. The first thing Cassie did to everyone was to feed them. Though Amy knew her aunt had a point; she hadn’t been able to summon up the energy to make a proper meal for months. She’d been living on sandwiches and canteen food, and picking even at those. Maybe the sea air would help to bring back her appetite.

There was a postscript in Joe’s atrocious handwriting: if she found herself at a loose end, there was a box in his study with some of Joseph Rivers’s casebooks. She might want to take a look through them and put them in some sort of order. There were more in a box in the attic, if she wanted to bring them down.

Joseph had been the first surgeon in the family, back in the late 1820s; for years both Joe and her father had talked of sorting out his papers and doing something with the casebooks. But her father had been offered a professorship in cardiac surgery in the States and Joe had been busy with his GP practice, so it had never happened. Once or twice Carrie had suggested that maybe the next generation would like to do it but, the last time the subject had been raised, Beth had been busy carving out a career in computing, Joey and Martin had been studying for their finals and Amy had just switched specialties to neurosurgery, which had absorbed every second of her time. And so nothing had ever happened with Joseph’s papers.

Maybe looking through his papers might help her remember why she’d become a doctor in the first place, Amy thought. Or give her a clue as to where her path led now. Because, right now, she had no idea what was going to happen with the rest of her life. It was like staring into a tunnel without even a pinprick of light at the end. Even thinking about it made her feel as if she were suffocating in blackness. And she felt so very, very alone.

She lugged her suitcase upstairs to her room and left it at the end of the bed before heading back to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She was halfway through a cup of tea, a sandwich and the cryptic crossword in the newspaper she’d bought on impulse that morning when the front door opened.

Buster gave a sharp bark to warn her that someone was there, and then a warmer, more welcoming woof, and skidded up the hallway to greet the person who’d just walked in.

‘Hey, Buster. Go find your Frisbee and we’ll have ten minutes in the garden.’

This must be Tom, the locum, Amy thought. He had a nice voice, deep and calm with the slightest trace of a London accent.

Just as she registered it, he walked into the kitchen. ‘Hello. You must be Amy. I’m Tom Ashby.’

He was in his early thirties, she’d guess, around her own age; he had a shock of dark wavy hair that he’d brushed back from his forehead, very fair skin, and hazel eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses. His smile was polite enough, but there was a seriousness to him and an intensity that made her wonder what he’d look like if he let himself relax and laughed. Whether his mouth would soften into a sexy grin and his eyes would crinkle at the corners.

Not that it was any of her business. She already knew that Tom was unavailable; in any case, relationships weren’t her thing. Since the wreckage of her engagement to Colin, ten years before, she’d kept all dates light and very, very casual; she was just fine and dandy on her own.