The Brooding Doc's Redemption

‘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.’