The Doctor's Rescue

‘Not to mention the physio you’ll need to stop your muscles atrophying. And remember, no weight on that leg—you don’t want to risk malunion. It’s the most common problem with a fractured tibia.’

He nodded. ‘See? You think like a doctor, Mallory.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Even if it’s only for a month, it’ll take the pressure off my partners,’ Will said.

‘And what will your senior partner have to say about it?’ Mallory persisted.

‘He agrees with me.’

She frowned. ‘But I’m the only one who’s visited you.’

‘I’m the senior partner.’

Mallory stared at him. ‘Either you’re incredibly young to be a senior partner, or you’ve got a picture in your attic.’

Well, of course he was young. He’d thrown himself into his work since the accident. But Mallory had enough on her plate. He wasn’t going to lay his own guilt trip on her. ‘Maybe both. I’m thirty-four.’

‘What will your partners think when you tell them you’ve picked a stranger off the streets to be your locum?’

‘A qualified doctor,’ he corrected, ‘who rescued me from the accident. Siobhan’ll say it’s fate. She and Tom’ll be delighted to have you on board. Nathan—he’s my practice manager—will be only too pleased not to have to go through the list of locums and find someone who wants to do more than one morning a week.’ He paused. ‘Um…you do want to do more than one morning a week?’

‘Yes. I could do three or four surgeries a week—even five—and still get a chance to explore the area.’

She meant ‘climb’. He forced himself to ignore the ache in his heart. ‘So. You’re a qualified GP. Vocational training up to date?’

She nodded. ‘And I’ve got certificates to prove it.’

‘Fully insured?’

‘Yes. I’ve got the papers, too.’

‘You’re MRCGP?’

‘Yes, I’m a Member of the Royal College of General Practitioners.’ She smiled. ‘OK, now I believe you’re an extremely young senior partner.’

‘Huh?’ He didn’t follow.

‘If you can remember to ask all the right screening questions when you’ve been hit by a car, you’ve been in Theatre and you’re on painkillers…’ She spread her hands. ‘You’ll be seriously scary when you’re back on your feet.’

‘I’m not scary in the slightest.’ He gave her a wicked look. ‘Though Marion is.’

‘Marion?’

‘Marion Prentiss, our receptionist—she’s one of the old school and a complete dragon.’

‘Bit stereotypical, isn’t it?’

He shrugged. ‘But it works. Nobody misses an appointment at our practice, believe you me. And God help the doctor who’s late for surgery. Though if you’re ill, the first one to be there offering help is our Marion. She’s a pussycat really—you just have to know how to treat her.’

‘So what’s the secret?’

‘Make sure you’re on time—and make her a cup of coffee when you get in. Then there’s Hayley, our practice nurse, the type who’s everyone’s favourite aunty. They’re a good team.’

‘I need time to think about it,’ she warned.

‘Of course you do.’ But there was still something that could put a major spanner in the works. ‘Are you registered up here?’

Mallory nodded. ‘I registered a while back, when I resigned from my last practice. I knew I wanted to stay in Cumbria for a few months and my savings weren’t going to keep me indefinitely. I had the official acceptance through before Christmas—though I was planning to do some climbing before putting my name down on the lists or joining the local association of non-principals.’

‘So the paperwork’s not going to be a problem.’ Will knew it could take over a month to sort out registration. At least he didn’t have to face that hurdle. ‘Good. Go and think about it. Have a look round the surgery in Darrowthwaite tomorrow, meet the gang, see if you like them—I’m sure they’ll like you. If you agree to join us for a while, Nathan can sort out the contractual side of things and references.’ He paused. ‘But if you’re going climbing, you will tell someone where you’re going and when you’ll be back, won’t you?’

She gave him a withering look. ‘Of course. I’ve been climbing for over twenty years, I’ll have you know.’

‘What was that you were saying about pictures in the attic?’ he teased.

‘I started young. Mum’s always been mountain-mad—I was named after the Everest climber George Mallory,’ she said. ‘My brothers and I were climbing almost before we could walk.’

She didn’t mention her father, he noticed.

‘So I’m perfectly aware of the drill—and that if you have to call the rescue services from your mobile phone, tell them you’re in the Lakes because at the top of Scafell you might get connected to the services in Inverness or the Isle of Man.’

‘OK.’ He lifted his uninjured hand in a gesture of surrender. ‘So I was teaching you to suck eggs.’

‘I just like the challenge of climbing,’ she said. ‘Seeing a rockface, getting to the top and knowing that I’ve beaten all the elements by myself.’

Yeah. Will remembered that feeling. He even missed it. But the last time he’d tried to go climbing, he’d only got as far as pulling his boots on. And then the guilt had slammed in. He couldn’t do it any more. He just couldn’t. ‘Mad.’

Her jaw set and he realised he’d spoken aloud. ‘I don’t take stupid risks,’ she informed him tartly.

He hadn’t meant her. But how could he tell her the truth? ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your intelligence.’

‘No offence taken.’

‘Good.’ He made himself say it, even though the words reopened his wounds. ‘Go climb your mountain, Mallory.’ He couldn’t resist adding, ‘Safely.’

She gave him a speaking look.

He ignored it. ‘And then tell me what you’ve decided tomorrow.’

‘OK. But you need to get some rest.’ She gathered her belongings together again and this time, Will didn’t protest. ‘Is there anyone you want me to ring for you?’

‘Thanks, but it’s OK. The town grapevine’s pretty good. The minute surgery’s over, no doubt Nathan will be here.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

‘Yep.’ He dredged up another smile, though he was starting to hurt again. ‘Have a nice evening.’