Discovering Dr Riley. Annie Claydon

agree to it in the first place?’

      ‘That’s the thing, he didn’t. His predecessor, Dr Shah, agreed to it, and now this Dr Riley has got his reservations. I’ve emailed the scheme’s supervisor to ask her why, but she’s now on holiday. And I’m sure Dr Riley’s avoiding me.’

      ‘Is there anyone else you can talk to?’

      ‘Only Maureen, the unit administrator. She’s been really welcoming, but it’s up to Dr Riley to refer specific patients on to me if I’m to do any clinical work. If he doesn’t do that, then all I can do is general art sessions.’

      ‘And you’re taking that personally, eh?’

      ‘How else can it take it? Every time I see him he either rushes off before I can get to talk to him or he says he’s busy and he’ll get back to me.’

      ‘Is he like that with everyone else?’ Ralph frowned as he turned the problem over in his head.

      ‘You saw what he was like with Adrian, he’s fantastic with the kids. They all think he’s the coolest doctor ever.’

      ‘What about the other staff?’

      ‘Everyone says he’s great. That he always listens and is very fair about things. They seem to like him a lot better than Dr Shah. He was apparently pretty autocratic.’

      The frightened child in her, who had blamed herself each time a fostering arrangement had fallen through, had been tugging at Cori’s sleeve for the last three days. Keeping her behind after work, even though her sore ribs were screaming for a hot bath, working to make the best of the room she’d been given.

      She’d succeeded. The children loved the room, and no one had been able to walk across the threshold without being tempted to touch at least something. The problem had been that Tom Riley hadn’t yet found time to walk across the threshold. And that rejection outweighed every other expression of delight.

      Ralph shook the suds from his hands, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. ‘There’s no shame in saying this place isn’t right for you, Cori. You don’t have to prove yourself. They’re the ones who have to be good enough for you.’

      She hugged him tight. ‘Thanks. Spoken like the best dad in the world.’

      Ralph gave a small chuckle of pleasure. ‘So what are you going to do, then? We’re around at the weekend to help you with some more job applications, if you want to come over.’

      It seemed like a plan. Since this job didn’t seem to be going too well, it would be good to keep all her options open. But she wasn’t ready to give up on Dr Riley just yet.

      ‘Thanks. I think I’ll give it another week or so, though. I’ve still got a couple more things up my sleeve.’

      It had been a long and busy week and all Tom wanted to do was go home, fling himself onto the sofa and think about nothing. Heading up the paediatric unit wasn’t as easy as Dr Shah had made it look. But slowly he was cracking it. One problem at a time. One patient. One member of staff.

      The light glimmering on his windscreen hadn’t stood out amongst the other reflections from the overhead strip lighting in the car park. In truth, he’d been thinking hard about something else, and it wasn’t until he’d flipped the central locking that Tom switched his attention to his car.

      Perched on his windscreen wiper was a fairy. Actually, it was a bundle of scrunched-up silver wire, some sparkly fabric and a bit of tinsel. But the whole was a great deal more than its parts, and the resulting fairy leaned as if inspecting the exact spot where he was standing, her head tilted slightly in a questioning pose.

      ‘What do you want?’ Tom shot the creature a glare. It was a little late to start believing in fairies now. Particularly on a cold, wet Friday evening.

      The fairy ignored him. Whatever she was doing here, it was clearly none of his business, even if she was sitting on his windscreen. Tom looked around, and saw that his car was the only one that sported an otherworldly being.

      It was just a bundle of wire and gauze, which had somehow landed here by accident. The significance of its pose was a trick of the light. Tom reached for the fairy and then hesitated, as the bundle of wire and glitter seemed to scowl at him reproachfully. Its outstretched hand held a wand.

      His gaze followed the direction in which the gently glowing tip of the wand was pointing. The passage of car tyres over the concrete floor had scattered it a little, but the trail of glitter was still easy to see.

      There was only one person who could have done this, and he’d been avoiding her all week. Slinging his briefcase into the back of his car, and giving the fairy one last baleful stare before he locked it in the glove compartment, he followed the trail of glitter that Cori had laid.

      As soon as he stepped onto the frosty path outside the car park, Tom could see where he was headed. It was pretty much impossible not to notice the tiny lights, glimmering amongst the spreading branches of the tree that stood by the main entrance to the hospital. A nurse passed him walking in the other direction, holding a fairy in her hand, the little LED light at the tip of its wand glowing in the darkness.

      When he got closer, he saw Cori leaning against the dark shadow of the tree trunk, her face lit up by the twinkle of lights in the branches around her. She did him the courtesy of not pretending to be surprised to see him.

      ‘People usually find that leaving a note on my desk works.’ Tom was trying hard not to be enchanted by this method of catching his attention.

      ‘Do they?’ She grinned up at him, her eyes dark in the shadows. ‘You seemed so very busy.’

      He supposed he deserved that. Each day that he’d transferred his meeting with Cori onto his ‘to do’ list for tomorrow, it had been easier to put it off. When Friday had come, the difficult problem of what exactly he should say to her had seemed quite naturally to fit into next week’s timetable instead of this week’s.

      ‘Okay.’ He was in the wrong and if it had been anyone else Tom would have apologised. But an apology was meaningless unless one intended to change in some way, and right now changing his mind was out of the question. ‘So what’s the point of all this?’

      She folded her arms across her chest, looking up at him. ‘You’re my point.’

      A sudden breathless feeling seemed to spread heat across his chest. ‘How, exactly?’

      Cori shrugged. ‘I know you have your reservations about my effectiveness in the unit …’ A little quiver in her voice told Tom that this mattered to her.

      ‘I have no doubts whatever about your effectiveness.’ Tom glanced at the fairies, cavorting around them in the tree. Some touch of magic had turned them from confections of wire and glitter into personalities, each one thrilling with life. There was a small group obviously arguing about something. Some preened themselves, and others beckoned watchers closer, looking no doubt to cast some kind of spell on them.

      ‘Then … what?’ She stared at him, nonplussed.

      It seemed that she needed to hear him say this. He couldn’t for the life of him think why, but if it would get her off his back, then he was more than happy to oblige. ‘Look, Cori, your CV is very impressive, your work is great and the kids are enjoying it …’

      ‘You haven’t seen any of my work yet.’ She looked ready for a staring match. From somewhere, the craving to respond hit him, the urge to look deep into those violet eyes, and break down all her defences.

      ‘I do take a look around the unit once in a while. And I quite often talk to my patients, as well.’ Tom resisted the temptation to add that talking to children was a damn sight easier than navigating the uneasy waters of adult office politics. ‘I can see that you’ve been making a difference …’

      ‘And making a difference is a good thing, isn’t it?’

      Tom wondered if she was deliberately playing dumb, or she really didn’t