Neurosurgeon . . . and Mum!. Kate Hardy

the muscle tensing in his jaw. ‘Yes.’ Now he’d opened up this far, no doubt Amy would ask questions. If he told her the rest, she’d start pitying him. And he’d had enough pity to last a lifetime.

      To his surprise, Amy uncurled from her chair. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘we need to agree a truce. And some boundaries.’

      ‘A truce.’ That wasn’t half of what he was tempted to do with this woman. But he had a feeling that both of them were too mixed up to cope with any kind of relationship right now—not to mention the fact that Amy might be involved with someone.

      ‘I won’t ask you about whatever’s messed up your past,’ she said, ‘if you don’t ask me about mine.’

      ‘Agreed.’ He paused. ‘And Perdy?’

      She curled up again and wrapped her arms round her legs, resting her chin on her knees. ‘I’ll try not to be so abrupt.’

      ‘Thank you.’ He couldn’t ask any more than that. ‘So do you know how long you’re staying?’

      She shrugged. ‘My plans are flexible. You?’

      ‘Until a week or so after your uncle and aunt get back from Australia.’

      ‘And you’ve settled in OK?’

      He knew she was being polite rather than really wanting to know. ‘Fine.’ He had, at least; he wasn’t so sure about his daughter. Not that he could discuss that with Amy. She’d made her views on children pretty clear. ‘I like it here. Though the village grapevine is pretty effective,’ he said ruefully.

      ‘Grapevine?’

      ‘When I saw Mrs Poole on a house call this afternoon, she knew you were back. Though I didn’t feed her any gossip. I told her you were dog-sitting.’

      The corners of Amy’s mouth quirked. ‘Tomorrow, you can expect to hear that you’re having a hot affair with the wild child from London. So if you have someone in your life who’s going to be bothered by that—except your daughter, who already knows we’re not involved—you’d better warn her now.’

      ‘There’s nobody.’ Tom hadn’t intended to say that much. But the picture she’d just put in his head…Oh, lord, he could just imagine it. A hot affair with Amy Rivers. Her mouth softening under his. Her hands in his hair. Finding out how warm and soft her skin was.

      He just hoped none of that showed in his expression, or she’d run a mile. ‘So were you really a wild child?’ he asked.

      She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Far from it. But since when did truth get in the way of a good story?’

      ‘I’m sorry if sharing the house with me is going to make life difficult for you.’

      ‘It won’t.’ She shrugged. ‘If anyone says anything to you, just laugh and ask them if they know where you can get a few more hours in a day, because with a little girl to look after you really don’t have time for a love life.’

      ‘That,’ Tom said, ‘is absolutely true.’ And he’d do well to remember that. Any fantasies he might entertain about Amy Rivers had to stay exactly that: fantasies.

      

      On Friday afternoon, Tom was in surgery seeing his last patient before he had to pick up Perdy from the after-school club. Max Barton had passed out at work, and when his colleagues had brought him in Max had said that he felt tired all the time and had to get up at night more frequently to go for a wee. He’d put it down to getting older and putting in more hours at work, but the symptoms—together with Max’s ample girth—made Tom suspect something else. He’d also noticed a plaster on Max’s thumb, and Max had eventually admitted that he’d cut his hand several days before but the cut just wasn’t healing properly. Tom had checked his blood pressure and sent off blood samples, and now the results were back.

      ‘Let’s start with the good news, Mr Barton,’ he said. ‘It’s not cancer or heart disease.’

      ‘But?’ Max asked.

      ‘Your blood tests,’ Tom said gently, ‘show that you have type two diabetes. That’s the late-onset type, so we can keep it under control with diet and tablets. The good news there is that you’re not going to have to inject yourself with insulin.’

      Max blew out a breath and relaxed back against the chair. ‘I’m so glad. Dad died from a heart attack and I was scared stupid that it might happen to me and the kids would have to grow up without me.’

      Yeah. Tom knew all about that feeling. Especially now there was only him; and he resented the fact that Eloise hadn’t seemed even to give it a thought before she’d left. Of course saving other people’s children was a good thing to do, but did it have to be at the cost of your own?

      He snapped his attention back. Not now. His patients had to come first. ‘You can put your mind at rest there,’ he said gently, ‘though I’m afraid there will be a few needles for a bit—you’ll need to keep testing your blood sugar levels so we can fine-tune the tablets to suit you. And there are also some things we need to keep an eye on, complications that sometimes come with diabetes, so I’ll book you in for the clinic here once a month. Can you remember the last time you had your eyes tested?’

      Max spread his hands. ‘I’ve never had a problem with my eyes.’

      ‘Sure,’ Tom said, ‘but you need to book yourself in and have eye tests at least once a year now, because diabetes can sometimes cause problems with eyes.’

      Max frowned. ‘So why have I got it? Why me, why now?’

      ‘We don’t know why some people get it and not others,’ Tom said honestly. ‘It’s known as late onset because it tends to happen in your forties. Sometimes it runs in families, but not necessarily. Men are twice as likely as women to get it, and you’re also more likely to get it if you’re overweight and don’t do enough exercise.’

      ‘I’ve always been big,’ Max said. ‘Everyone in my family’s big-boned. But I’ve cut down on the beer and I always have fruit when someone brings cakes in to work.’ He sighed. ‘I know I ought to go to the gym or something, but there’s never enough time, and to be honest I don’t really fancy all that bodybuilding stuff.’

      ‘The fitter you keep yourself,’ Tom said, ‘and the better you control your diabetes, the less likely you are to develop complications. You don’t have to go to the gym. Find something you enjoy doing with your family—that way you’ll all get the benefit, whether it’s going for a walk or a swim or just kicking a ball around in the park.’

      ‘I suppose we could do that,’ Max said.

      Tom ran through what the condition involved, how to take the tablets he was about to prescribe and how Max could take readings of his blood sugar and what they meant he needed to do next. ‘I’m also going give you some leaflets to take home, including how to get in touch with the local diabetes support group,’ Tom said, ‘and I’ll arrange an appointment for you at the diabetic clinic here at the practice. You’re bound to have questions, and we can answer them all there—and your wife’s very welcome to come along too. I’ll get in touch with the dietician, too. It’s a good idea to keep a diary for a week of what you eat, how much and when, and take it along with you to the appointment—it’ll save you some time in working things out.’

      ‘So do I have to eat special diabetic foods?’

      ‘Absolutely not.’ Tom fished out one of the leaflets and handed it to him. ‘It’s all about eating healthily. Regular meals, plenty of fruit and veg and foods with a low GI—that means your body absorbs them more slowly and your blood sugar doesn’t suddenly spike—and cutting down on salt, sugar and fats. You don’t have to eat anything special, and everyone in the family can eat the same as you—it’ll be good for them, too.’ He smiled at the older man. ‘It’s a lot to take in all at once, which is one of the reasons why we have leaflets—they’ll answer the questions you wish you’d thought