His Perfect Bride?. Louisa Heaton

rundown of their personal details—name, address, date of birth, current age—and also their current medication, if any, details of their last few appointments and what they’d been diagnosed with. She could take a quick glance at the screen and get a pretty general idea about a patient before they came into the room to tell her their new problem.

      Lula sat to one side of Olly and observed as he began to see patients.

      First a mother brought her eight-year-old son in. He’d got a tummy ache, and his mother reported that he always got them before school. They had a little chat with the boy who told them that he didn’t like school, or the other boys there, and so it was put down to stress and anxiety rather than any sort of bug or infection—or something more dramatic like appendicitis.

      Next they saw another mother, much younger this time, with three-month-old twin girls. Basically, she wasn’t coping. The twins fed erratically, she’d had to give up on breastfeeding and she felt a failure. They kept crying, and they wouldn’t sleep, so neither could she. It was all getting a bit too much.

      Olly gave her some information about a twins group over at South Wold, and a short prescription for antidepressants at a low dosage to see how she got on. He also told her that he would contact her local health visitor and ask her to call in and give her some advice on coping with the babies. She seemed happy with that and off she went, pushing her buggy with the two screaming babies in it. The surgery was much quieter after she left.

      Then they saw a woman in her fifties called Eleanor Lomax. Lula sat up straighter when this woman came in, and studied her hard.

      Eleanor was fifty-six. On her fiftieth birthday she had found a lump in her breast which had turned out to be cancer. She’d fought the disease and beaten it, but now she was having issues over her health again.

      ‘Every night, Doctor, I lie in my bed and feel a twinge here or there, or a niggle somewhere else, and I keep thinking, Is this it? Is it back? I can’t sleep for the worry that the cancer will return.’

      Eleanor was sitting in her chair very upright, straight-backed and erect. Her hair was already silver, but beautifully cut and styled. She had large brown eyes, shaped like almonds, and a long, thin, aquiline nose in her perfectly made-up face. Her clothes were expensive and she looked like a woman who had refined tastes. Lula could only look at her and wonder …

      Olly, meanwhile, was unaware of Lula’s assessment and was doing his best to reassure his patient. ‘It’s perfectly natural to feel this way, Eleanor, after what you’ve been through. Have you tried talking to your cancer nurse about it?’

      ‘She’s so busy. I don’t like to bother her.’

      ‘You’re not bothering her. It’s what she’s there for. Have you been to counselling since your recovery? A support group?’

      She shook her head. ‘That’s not my thing.’

      ‘What is your thing?’ asked Lula.

      Olly glanced at her sideways, surprised by her interruption.

      Miss Lomax turned to Lula and shrugged. ‘I’ve always taken care of things myself. Supported myself. I don’t like to lean on others.’

      Lula said nothing more as Olly put Miss Lomax in touch with a support group and gave her a few leaflets about counselling and cognitive behaviour therapy before she went on her way.

      When Eleanor had left Olly turned in his chair. ‘You okay?’

      She nodded. ‘Fine.’ She didn’t want to tell him that she was wondering if Eleanor Lomax was her mother. The mystery ‘EL’ she’d been searching for lately.

      They saw an old man suffering with diarrhoea, a young man with a sore knee who’d played football with his work colleagues the day before, a baby with a cold, and a woman who’d come in to talk about her daughter.

      ‘She’s been very withdrawn lately.’

      ‘And she’s how old?’

      ‘Thirteen. It could be puberty starting—I don’t know. They get flooded with hormones at this age, don’t they? But she’s not herself and she hides away in her room all the time and doesn’t eat.’

      Olly was reluctant to diagnose anyone without actually seeing her. ‘Perhaps you could get Ruby to come in? Do you think you could get her here? Then we could weigh her and allay any fears you may have about her eating.’

      ‘I could try, but she’s not very cooperative at the moment. Always arguing with us when we do see her.’

      ‘Well, I can’t do anything unless I examine her.’

      ‘Could you come out to us?’ she asked.

      ‘I only really do home visits if it’s impossible for my patients to get to me.’

      Lula was surprised by this. She thought that it might be better if Olly did try to go and see Ruby at home and she suggested it. Especially after what had happened that morning with the baby. They were looking for a teenage girl. But Olly wasn’t too happy about having his methods contradicted, although he tried his best not to show it.

      For the rest of the day they saw a standard mix of patients—a lady who wanted a repeat prescription, another lady who had a chest infection and a man who’d come in to discuss his blood test results and was quite anaemic.

      A typical day for a GP. Lula even saw some patients of her own.

      When the clinic was over, and with only two house visits left to do, they stopped for a cup of tea and a bite to eat.

      ‘Mary might have brought in one of her delicious cakes for us to eat,’ Olly said, and smiled.

      Mary was the receptionist, and she had indeed brought in a coffee liqueur cake that was rich and moist and devilishly moreish.

      ‘Mary, you must give me the recipe!’ Lula said.

      ‘I can’t do that—it’s a family secret! ’

      ‘What if I promise not to tell anyone?’

      ‘We’ll see, Dr Chance. Perhaps if you stay on then I might give it to you.’

      Lula agreed that it was a deal, knowing she would never get the recipe. She had no plans to stay here in Atlee Wold. She was here to do two things. One was to work as a doctor, and the second … Well, Olly was about to find that out.

      He sat down in the chair next to hers in the staff lounge. ‘Well, how did you enjoy your first clinic here?’

      ‘It was good. Interesting. There’s a real community feel to a small village practice that you just don’t get in a large city.’

      ‘That’s the truth. You can build relationships with people here that go on for years. Not that you can’t do that in the city or in towns, but when you live amongst the people you treat, shop in their store, post your mail in their post office, you develop friendships, too.’

      ‘Don’t you find it sometimes restricts the amount of privacy you have?’ Lula asked.

      ‘Not at all. I don’t mind that everyone knows I’m a doctor, and that my father was before me, and that I got the big scar on my leg from falling out of a tree in Mrs Macabee’s orchard.’

      ‘Ooh, let’s see!’

      Lula was always fascinated to see scars and hear the story behind them. She guessed it was part of being a doctor. She had a thing about noticing people’s veins, too. Whether or not they had good juicy veins, ripe for a blood test. You developed an odd sense of humour, being a medical professional.

      Olly put his tea down and rolled up his right trouser leg to reveal a slightly jagged scar running down the front of his shin. ‘Broke my tib and fib. Open fracture.’

      ‘Nasty.’ She could imagine the bones sticking out through the skin. The pain, the blood. The panic. She ignored the fact that he had a beautifully muscular