Cole was the only one who had no photo and his paragraph was missing. There was just his name and a list of his qualifications.
Dr Cole Branagh, BM, MRCGP, DGM, DFFP, DRCOG
Such an impressive array of letters. She’d had to look them up to see what they meant. Bachelor of Medicine. Member of the Royal College of General Practitioners. Diploma in Geriatric Medicine. Diploma of the Faculty of Family Planning. Diploma of the Royal College of Obstetrics and Gynaecologists...
She’d laughed cynically at those last two. This man who knew so much about the best way to have a baby, was a man who had no idea he had an eight-month-old daughter. Wasn’t that ironic?
Sighing with irritation, she folded Skye’s letter and slipped it back into her bag as she stared once more at the surgery building, delaying for just a few more moments. It looked quite nice, as surgeries went. Modern. Redbrick. It even had hanging baskets filled with flowers in glorious pinks and greens.
She’d been lucky they’d needed a temporary healthcare assistant. Lane had registered with an agency in order to get the post there and her mum had stepped in to babysit Tori whilst she discovered if this Dr Branagh could be trusted to know that he had a child.
She flipped down the visor to see the photo she’d tucked there. It was of her and Skye. Tori’s mother was blowing out the candles on a birthday cake, with one arm around Lane, wearing a silly paper party hat. It had been taken just one year away from a diagnosis that would change everything.
‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this, Skye,’ she said out loud. ‘Who am I to be judge and jury?’
You’re Tori’s legal guardian, that’s who. It was as if Skye’s voice came to her. You made me a promise. On my deathbed. You can’t break it! She could almost hear the devilish chuckle in her friend’s voice.
No. She wouldn’t break it. She’d sworn it, holding Skye’s hands, squeezing them tight as her best friend in the whole wide world had taken her final breaths.
She’d almost lost herself afterwards. The intense grief had pulled her towards an unimaginable darkness.
She and Skye had been friends for ever. Since infants’ school. Skye had seemed strange to Lane at first. Someone without a mum? Or a dad? But they had bonded instantly and stuck by each other’s side through everything.
Until the very end.
Only baby Tori had kept Lane going. Going through the courts to get official guardianship. The little girl laughed and smiled just like her mummy! Tori was all she had left of Skye. And now she had to decide if some man—whom she didn’t even know!—could be a father to that precious little girl. That some sleazeball from a bar would have to be in their lives.
It wasn’t fair.
She hated him already. But Skye, bless her heart, had thought that he deserved a chance to know his daughter. That he deserved a chance to show that he could be a good man and a good father.
‘He’d better be some kind of unbelievable saint,’ she said out loud to the photo. ‘That’s all I’m saying.’
Five minutes later, she was walking inside the surgery, headache brewing, with her backpack over her shoulder, trying to look as if she wasn’t an undercover spy on a secret mission, but just an ordinary agency healthcare assistant, ready to start her new posting.
But when she got inside, she saw a crowd of people huddled around a person lying on the floor, and her instincts immediately kicked in.
She dropped her bag. ‘Let me through! I can help!’ she said as she barged her way through, pushing and shoving, desperate to give assistance.
Only she burst through to the front of them to see a woman lying on the floor, looking up at her with curiosity, whilst kneeling beside her was a very handsome man who had clearly been in the middle of some kind of demonstration.
‘Hi,’ he said, one eyebrow raised in question.
Lane glanced again at the ‘patient’. A woman who seemed to be totally unhurt, with a big smile on her face. A woman who was conscious. Breathing. Absolutely fine.
She could only blush as around her one or two people chuckled. ‘What—what’s going on?’ she stammered.
The man smiled. ‘First aid demo. I’m showing our patients how to put someone into the recovery position.’ He pointed at one of the walls. ‘There are posters.’
She followed his finger and noticed that every wall, and even the door through which she’d walked, had a large poster on it, stating that all were welcome to attend an emergency first aid demo to be held at the surgery today. A demo that would be run by Dr Cole Branagh.
How had she not noticed? Had she been so absorbed in trying to look normal?
Lane swallowed hard and turned back to face the man who had now taken the hand of the ‘patient’ and was helping her gently to her feet.
Tori has his eyes.
He didn’t look anything like the charming Lothario weasel she’d pictured in her head. Annoyingly, he had the audacity to be extremely handsome, and she could understand how Skye might have fallen for his charms. The females all around him seemed to be gazing at him with appreciative eyes and he clearly thrived on their attention. Their adulation.
He was probably used to having women throw themselves at his feet.
Well, not me, Dr Branagh.
‘Right. Okay. Sorry I interrupted.’ She grimaced and turned away, trying to control the heat flaming in her cheeks, and pushed back through the assembled throng to get to the reception desk, where she introduced herself in a low, embarrassed voice. ‘Lane Carter...agency HCA.’
The woman on Reception was Mary, knitter of preemie hats—she recognised her from her research—and she smiled at her. ‘Oh, yes, we’ve been expecting you. You’re in Treatment Room Two. This is your card for the computer.’ She passed over a temporary locum ID card that hung from an NHS lanyard. ‘Let me show you where everything is.’
* * *
Cole stood in the small staff kitchenette, making himself a cup of tea. He was feeling great. The first aid demo had produced a great turn-out, with more people attending than he’d expected. He’d taught them how to deal with choking, adult CPR and baby CPR, and putting a person into the simple recovery position.
He smiled as he remembered the young woman who had interrupted his demonstration. He liked it that she’d been eager. Keen to help. And the look on her face when she’d realised it was a demo had been priceless!
As if his thoughts had summoned her, she suddenly appeared in the doorway of the kitchenette. She stopped when she saw him standing there. Just briefly. Then she came in to grab a mug out of the cupboard.
‘Hello, again,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘We didn’t get to introduce ourselves earlier. The name’s Branagh—Cole Branagh.’
Weirdly, she seemed to hesitate, as if she didn’t want to shake his hand, but then she did, and smiled a greeting that wasn’t quite genuine.
‘Lane Carter,’ she said.
He felt a little puzzled. Was she upset at being so embarrassed that morning? He didn’t want her to be. Anyone could have made the same mistake.
‘You’re our agency HCA?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank God. We certainly need you after Shelby’s mad dash to Scotland to be with her father. Heart attack,’ he added, just to clarify. ‘Your being here will lighten the load for the nurses.’
It really would. They’d been overwhelmed since Shelby had left, having to take on her workload, too. It had been causing some real problems for the poor receptionists, who were taking the flak from disgruntled patients, because they couldn’t get an appointment for weeks.
She grabbed a decaffeinated teabag from the box and popped it in her mug. ‘Good. I hope I’ll be of some real help.’
He smiled, assuming she was referring to that morning’s mishap. ‘I’m sure you will be. You certainly seem raring to go, and we need that around here.’
She turned from him and poured hot water into her mug. ‘I always do my best.’
‘Good. Well, maybe I’ll see you later?’
Lane nodded. ‘Definitely.’
He grabbed his own tea and left the kitchenette, feeling a little odd. Something hadn’t been quite right with their conversation, and for the life of him he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Lane Carter had seemed...tense. Which was odd, because normally he was great at putting people at their ease.
Perhaps it was first day nerves and she just needed some time to feel comfortable?
Yes. That had to be it. She’d be fine.
He had no doubt that she would fit in very well once she got comfortable with her surroundings. And perhaps, someday, they’d find themselves hoping that she’d never leave at all.
* * *
‘The name’s Branagh—Cole Branagh.’
My God, did the man think he was James Bond? Did he lean on bars, drink in hand, twinkle in eye, as he said that? Charming women with his suave introduction, his bespoke suit and those twinkling blue eyes? He probably had a sports car in the car park.
He had no cares in the world at all! Here he was, living his best life, women at his feet, whilst she had been through the worst loss ever, had had to turn her entire life around and was now caring for his child, whilst he swanned about in his expensive tailored clothes and shiny shoes?
It was unfair. It was wrong.
Lane put her mug of tea down on the desk and noticed that on the screen it told her she had a patient waiting for a blood test. She pressed the button to call her in, and whilst she waited for her to arrive got out the equipment she’d need. Just a turquoise vial for the warfarin test. A needle, vacutainer, swab and tourniquet.
The patient arrived and sat down. ‘You’re new.’
‘Yes, my name’s Lane, Mrs Downing. Can you confirm your date of birth for me, please?’
Mrs Downing confirmed it, and even added her address.
‘Thank you. Now, you’re here to have a blood test. Do you have your yellow slip?’
The yellow slip came from the anti-coagulation clinic at the hospital, so that it would go back with the blood sample to Pathology.
‘Yes, lovey, here you go. You might have a bit of a hard time of it, though. My veins aren’t very good.’
Lane smiled and grabbed the tourniquet. ‘Let’s take a look, shall we?’
She cast her gaze over both her patient’s arms and decided to pick the left, which looked more likely to give her a successful blood draw. She tied the tourniquet.
‘How does that feel? Not too tight?’
‘No, it’s fine—you go ahead. I won’t look, though.’
‘As long as one of us does, hey?’
Lane smiled and palpated the patient’s arm, finding the median cubital vein almost immediately. She swabbed the area and let it dry.
‘Sharp scratch coming...’ She inserted the needle, added the vial to the vacutainer and the blood began to flow. ‘There you go. No problem.’
Mrs Downing still wasn’t looking. ‘Have you done it?’
‘Yes. Got it first go.’ She removed the needle and added a cotton swab. ‘Press here for me.’
‘It’s done? Oh, you are good! You can do that again; I’ll have to ask for you next time. I like all the nurses here, but the one I saw two weeks ago gave me some horrible bruises trying to find my veins. I was black and blue!’
Lane tried to give a sympathetic look but didn’t want to say anything detrimental about nurses—it just wasn’t right. No one tried to hurt a patient on purpose. It would have been no one’s fault.
She scribbled Mrs Downing’s details onto the vial and popped it into the bag with the yellow slip, then checked to make sure her patient’s arm had stopped bleeding before she put on some tape to hold the wadding in place.
‘Leave that on for an hour or two. No heavy lifting, okay?’
Mrs Downing smiled and winked. ‘I’ll give the gym a miss today, then, lovey. Am I all done?’
‘You are. Have a nice day, Mrs Downing.’
‘You too, lovey.’
Lane popped the blood sample into the collection box and cleaned down, ready for her next patient. He hadn’t arrived yet, so she took a sip of her tea, thinking about the chick magnet in the next room.
Dr Branagh’s consulting room was right next to hers. He was mere feet away. Just a wall between them. And she held a secret that would bring his well-ordered life crashing down in an instant.
Tori’s arrival had made Lane change her entire life, so she wondered if she ought to feel sorry for him? But then she decided not to. No one had ever felt sorry for her. Simon hadn’t even considered her feelings. All he’d been able to think about was himself. His own happiness.
Well, Lane had to consider Tori’s happiness. That poor little girl had lost her mother for ever, and she would not introduce her father into her life until she knew she could trust him not to ruin it even further. Simon, and even her own father, had taught her that when the going got tough or complicated, most men bailed out.
What if Cole was no good?
What if he was reckless?
What if he had no idea how to look after a child?
What if he walked out on Tori after only a few weeks?
What if he’s married already?
That thought made her chew on a fingernail.
What if Dr Branagh had a wife? Lane would be causing problems for her, too. What if he already had kids? They’d have a new half-sister...
And suddenly, as if her thoughts had summoned him to her room, there he was in her doorway, stethoscope draped casually around his neck, smiling his charming disarming smile and looking at her with those gorgeous baby blues.
‘Hey, do you have a moment? I need a chaperon.’
She blinked. Nodded. Looked to see if he had a ring on his left hand. He didn’t.
‘Of course. I’ll be right in.’
* * *
‘Miss Thomas? I’ve brought Lane in as chaperon. She’s our new HCA. So if you’d like to go behind the curtain and remove everything above the waist and let us know when you’re ready...?’
Cole’s patient nodded and stepped behind the curtain, pulling it closed behind her. As he waited, he took a moment to re-read the notes from his patient’s last few consultations, then he smiled at Lane.
‘How are you settling in?’
She still looked a little uncomfortable. First day nerves again?
‘I’m all right. Trying to remember how to use the computer system.’
‘Have you been away from general practice for a while, then?’
She didn’t get to respond as his patient was calling out from behind the curtain. ‘I’m ready.’
He indicated that Lane should go first and then he stepped behind the curtain with her, pulling it closed behind them.
Miss Thomas was here because she’d had a double mastectomy and was worried about the healing of her wounds. From what he could see, the left incision was healing nicely, but the right one appeared to be weeping, and it hadn’t adhered the way it ought to.
He donned gloves and took a closer look. ‘Any pain?’
‘A little. But I was told that would be normal anyway.’
He palpated the skin around the wound. It didn’t feel hot, but there was still some residual swelling from the procedure.
‘I think we ought to take a swab to be on the safe side, and I’ll put you on some antibiotics in the meantime—just in case. Lane, could you pass me a swab from over there, please?’
Lane rummaged in a drawer and pulled out what he needed before passing it over.
‘This shouldn’t hurt, but let me know if it does.’
He gently touched the end of the swab to the weeping wound, trying to make sure he got a good sample t
o send off to the lab. He capped it off when he was done.
‘There you go. You can get dressed now.’
He held back the curtain for Lane to pass through and then closed it again, so that his patient could get dressed in privacy.
‘Do you need me for anything else?’ Lane asked, not really looking at him, but at some point just over his right shoulder.
Why did he get the feeling Lane was keen to get away from him? Had he embarrassed her this morning? Thinking back, he didn’t think he’d said anything terrible to her. Perhaps he should take a moment to apologise to her when he could? Because he really didn’t want there to be an atmosphere between them. She seemed uncomfortable, and there was something about her discomfort that made him feel he wanted to take it away. People normally felt relaxed and easy-going with him.
Lane had soulful eyes. A deep, mesmerising blue. Almost sorrowful—as if she’d been through a terrible loss. And, having been through a dreadful loss himself, he wanted to make her feel better. Give her a reason to smile.
‘If you wouldn’t mind taking the swab to the sample collection box in the foyer...?’
It was all he could think of to say. Any other words stuck in his throat. Now was not the right time. He had a patient and they were both professionals.
‘And if you could add a note to the patient’s file to say that you chaperoned?’
She nodded and took the swab. ‘Of course.’
And then she was gone, just as Miss Thomas threw back the curtain and emerged fully clothed once again.
Did the room seem a little dimmer with Lane gone?
How ridiculous! It’s probably just the morning light.
Cole smiled at his patient and began tapping at his keyboard to request a prescription for her. He was back in work mode and he’d stay that way until lunch.
* * *
Lane dropped the swab into the sample box and took a moment to breathe in the fresh air coming through the open front doors of the practice. That poor woman... A double mastectomy! Had she had preventative surgery? Or had she actually had breast cancer? She’d seemed so young. Her own age. But whatever had happened she was surviving. Perhaps it had been caught early and the doctors had had time to do something about it and save her life?
Family for the Children's Doc Page 17
