The Brooding Doc's Redemption

‘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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