Hot-Shot Doc, Christmas Bride / Christmas At Rivercut Manor

by Joanna Neil / Gill Sanderson

  ‘There,’ said Grace, clattering the tray down with a hand that wasn’t quite so steady as normal. ‘A beautiful batch of sausage rolls.’

  Surprisingly, they did smell wonderful. As Bethany and James both bounded in to sample them, Mike hoped his father would put his heightened colour down to the heat from the stove.

  It had been a lovely evening, thought Grace. The moments alone with Mike in the kitchen had been especially lovely. After the baking she’d helped bathe Bethany and agreed with her choice of a pretty pink full-skirted dress for tomorrow’s party. She’d also been shown her ‘Adventure Calendar’—‘Every day I can open a window and there’s a chocolate inside, but I mustn’t open two windows at once and get two chocolates’—and read a bedtime story.

  After that Grace had eaten James’s casserole and drunk another glass of Mike’s Rioja and now Mike was walking her home.

  ‘There’s no need,’ she’d said, but he claimed he wanted a stroll to clear his head so he may as well stroll in the direction of her cottage. Grace wondered what was coming next. She wasn’t at all sure that she wanted things to move too fast.

  They walked side by side, not touching, talking of nothing in particular. Mike had his hands in his pockets. He seemed to have something on his mind that hadn’t been there earlier in the evening. They reached her cottage and stopped. She hadn’t quite decided whether to invite him in for a coffee when he spoke abruptly.

  ‘I’ve got to ask you something, Grace. If I leave it any longer, it’s going to get too difficult and I won’t know how to say it at all.’

  Grace was apprehensive now. What did he mean?

  ‘You know Bethany and I were house hunting over the weekend?’

  ‘Yes. Did you find anything?’

  ‘Sort of. It hadn’t occurred to me at first. But there’s nothing else, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised it would be perfect.’

  ‘Mike, what are you talking about?’

  He slapped his forehead. ‘I am making such a mess of this. Grace, how would you feel about me buying the manor?’

  Grace’s mouth fell open. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

  He groaned. ‘You hate the idea. I don’t blame you. It’s your house—it would be like evicting you.’

  She found her voice. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘No, I don’t hate the idea. I mean, it is for sale. I need the cash, it’s owed to other people. Someone’s got to buy it. And I evicted myself because I couldn’t afford to run it. That central heating just eats money.’

  ‘Yes, but we have to work together. You’ll see me several times a week at close quarters, not just passing in the road. I think what I’m saying is would you mind if I was the new owner? Would you be upset when you saw me driving out of what used to be your drive? Or if I invited you for a cup of tea in what used to be your living room?’

  ‘It would be odd, certainly. But it would be odd with anybody.’ He looked so distressed that she put her hand on his arm to reassure him, still not sure of what she really felt herself. ‘I think you would at least be sympathetic to the renovations it needs. But, Mike, they’ll cost a fortune.’

  He smiled briefly. ‘I’ve got sufficient funds, Grace.’

  ‘If you’re serious…Oh, Mike, I don’t know. I think I’d rather it went to a friend than a complete stranger. And I’d love to think of Bethany growing up there.’

  ‘Then shall I do it? Contact the estate agent in the morning?’

  ‘Yes. If you’re sure.’ And because she didn’t know how to say the next bit, she let her hand slip down to squeeze his wrist. ‘Mike, I won’t invite you in. Not because of you buying the manor. Not because of anything that might have happened earlier, which felt…nice. Just because it’s been a really lovely evening and I don’t want it to get…messy.’

  He smiled. ‘It has been a nice evening, hasn’t it? Thank you.’ He hesitated, then kissed her cheek and left, striding back up the high street.

  Grace went indoors, her thoughts all over the place. Mike at the manor. It was an awfully large house just for him and Bethany. But she recalled he’d been in with a big crowd in London—his partners and their families, his wife’s friends. They’d all pitched in when Sarah had died. Kept him going, looked after Bethany. No doubt they would be coming up to stay from time to time. Sleeping in the guest bedrooms, cooking in the kitchen, having drinks in the hall, their children playing in the gardens with Bethany.

  It would be strange to have the manor full again and her not there. And she wondered if any of those friends were single, just waiting for Mike to stop grieving.

  This was no good! What should have been uppermost in her mind was that soon she would be free of debt, free of responsibility. She could start to plan her life again. But mostly what she was thinking about was Mike’s kiss on her cheek—and the thrilling touch of his hand on her body.

  The waiting room was full when Mike arrived from taking Bethany to school. James always started his appointments at eight-thirty, but Mike had been amazed at how no one—surgery staff and patients alike—expected Mike himself to begin until after he’d got back from Rivercut Primary. Even so, he rang through to Grace’s room before telling the receptionist he was ready.

  ‘I know you’re in the middle of a clinic, but I just wanted to know whether it was still all right for me to go ahead with the manor?’

  ‘It’s still all right.’

  ‘Good. Don’t run away at lunchtime. Have a sandwich with Dad and me. I need to know what else I’m supposed to do for the party.’

  ‘Very well, Dr Curtis.’

  Mike smiled as he buzzed for his first patient. He loved Grace’s ‘official’ voice.

  He was surprised later when she put a small present, wrapped in Christmas paper, on the kitchen table. ‘Is that for thanking me for buying the manor? There ought to be a message for you from the estate agent, by the way.’

  ‘There has been and I said yes. This is to go under the Christmas tree at the party. Each child puts one there and they take a different one home with them.’

  ‘That’s a nice idea. You must tell me how much I owe you.’

  She grinned and pointed to the receipts tucked discreetly under the parcel.

  James bustled in. ‘Tut, tut, no one got the kettle on yet? I’m parched. I’ve had Mrs Carter in talking at me. Says she’s worried about Nina. Seems she’s started getting secretive and hiding things from her and sometimes she giggles for no reason at all and did I think she could be taking drugs?’

  Grace laughed. ‘Oh, dear, what did you say?’

  ‘I said she was a healthy nineteen-year-old with a good job and a refreshingly honest take on life and I didn’t think Mrs Carter needed to worry. I didn’t say that if Mrs Carter herself had taken what I very much hope young Nina is on, there would be rather fewer Carter offspring mopping up the buffet at the Rivercut children’s party this afternoon.’

  It was nice, having Grace there. His dad was obviously fond of her and as she talked over a couple of cases with them, Mike could again see just how good a nurse she was. He wondered if he could make the sharing of lunchtime sandwiches a routine on her surgery days. Then he got a callout, and she looked at her watch in horror and bolted the last of her tea, saying she was late for Mr Blenkinsop’s blood-pressure check and Mike remembered all over again why medical personnel bought more indigestion tablets than any other profession in the country.

  ‘See you at the party,’ she said as she hurried out. ‘Don’t be late.’

  Far from being late, Bethany was so eager to be gone that they were early at the village hall. She was buzzing with excitement. There were fairy lights, a large Christmas tree and a decorated chair all ready for Father Christmas. There were even Christmas songs belting out of the loudspeakers.

  A handful of mothers were busy putting the final touches to the decorations. Mike was surprised to see Grace amongst them, a mound of paper chains in her arms.

  ‘Mike,’ she
said cheerfully, ‘just the man we want.’

  ‘You need a doctor?’

  ‘No, we need someone tall. Could you get the stepladder from under the stage and loop these paper chains round the back of the light fittings and down each side of the hall, please? Then hang the big pictures of Father Christmas underneath the lights.’

  ‘Can do,’ said Mike. ‘Can someone watch—?’ But Bethany was confidently running over to join a couple of little girls from school. No problem there. Other assorted parents were going backwards and forwards, laying out food on the white-covered trestle tables, arranging jugs of squash and plastic cups, counting rows of tiny presents and frowning over lists. The mothers smiled at him briefly. The fathers rolled their eyes. This was obviously not a time for standing around chatting.

  Mike got on with his paper chains. ‘Brilliant,’ said Grace, appearing by his side. ‘Tea’s up, everyone. Grab a cup while it’s hot, the kids will all be arriving in a few minutes. And give yourselves a pat on the back too. The place looks wonderful.’

  ‘Let’s hope the little darlings appreciate it,’ said a passing mother. She gave Mike a friendly smile. ‘Come on, the tea urn is this way.’

  Mike glanced around for Bethany. Grace had moved over to the children and was keeping an eye on them.

  ‘Dr Curtis, isn’t it?’ continued the mother, leading him towards the kitchen behind the stage. ‘I understand there is no Mrs Curtis?’

  ‘No,’ said Mike, ‘not now.’ He marvelled at the efficiency of village gossip.

  ‘Ah, well, we’re a friendly bunch here. Let me introduce you to a few people…’

  He found that he was expected—and that he wanted—to stay. He watched one or two party games and saw that Bethany, as always, was enjoying herself. It struck him that the Rivercut mothers were in essence no different from the ones in his London crowd. They pulled together, looked after solitary males in their midst with kind efficiency, organised themselves to cover all bases. No one person was doing all the work.

  ‘This village is better organised than the Mafia,’ he said to Grace, finding himself standing next to her later.

  ‘Except there’s no vow of silence,’ she said with a laugh.

  She had taken off the apron that had covered her dress—and her dress was wonderful. Simple, in a blue silky material, it did nothing but show off her figure. And that figure was gorgeous. ‘How do you come to be involved in all this?’ he asked, trying to disguise the fact that he was appreciating her body rather more than was seemly.

  ‘We always used to hold the children’s Christmas party up at the manor. The last couple of years…Well, let’s just say it’s been more sensible to move it down here. But everybody has always taken turns to do the games and swap around doling out food and drink. It’s my game next, and then tea.’ She cocked her head at him. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Very much. It’s nice being a dad today, not a doctor. Everybody is making me feel welcome. What game are you doing?’

  She laughed. ‘An incredibly ancient Pin the Tail on the Donkey. We have to have it before tea, otherwise the kids throw up when we spin them round. Would you like to help me?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ he said. And meant it.

  But suddenly there was a shout that was a little louder than the general noise in the hall. People began moving to the far end of the room and a woman’s voice was raised in a terrified wail. ‘Help him, someone, help him!’ There were other confused shouts and even as Mike started running, Grace alongside him, he heard the words, ‘Turn him upside down…No, thump him on the back…’

  ‘Let me through,’ shouted Mike, adding the timehonoured words, ‘I’m a doctor.’

  A hysterical woman was clutching a boy aged about four. She looked up at Mike and sobbed, ‘It was that cake, the big one with the silver balls on top. I told him he wasn’t to touch, but he got one and when I saw he had it he put it in his mouth and now he can’t breathe and I’ve tried banging his back and…’

  ‘Give him to me. What’s his name?’

  ‘Alex.’

  Mike took Alex, turned him for a quick look at his face. It was turning blue, cyanosis already obvious so the blockage must be nearly complete. Alex was pawing weakly at his throat.

  ‘Did anyone try smacking his back?’

  ‘I did,’ a woman volunteered, ‘about ten times. But not too hard.’

  ‘Good.’ The first step when trying to deal with asphyxiation caused by a foreign body in the trachea was a set of blows to the back. An old remedy, sometimes it worked—but not this time.

  Alex was only small, light-boned. Mike turned him around, wrapped his arms round the tiny waist, positioned his hands on the bottom of the diaphragm. The Heimlich manoeuvre. Jerk the hands into the abdomen so the blockage is forced out. But with the weak bones and muscles of a four-year-old child, it was essential not to pull too hard.

  Mike ran his fingers up and down the ribcage, felt the softness of the abdomen, tried to assess just how hard he should pull. Now! No result, not hard enough.

  He had to remain calm, to think the almost unthinkable. If this didn’t work then he might have to perform an emergency tracheotomy. Use whatever knife was handy, cut a hole through the throat into the thorax and use some kind of tube—even a ball point barrel would do—to make an airway. But, please, not yet!

  Try again, a little harder. Now! And this time it was exactly right. A silver ball shot onto the floor, the first great shuddering breath was taken, the blue tinge started to fade at once.

  There was a huge sigh of relief from the collected parents. The hall, which had been eerily silent, burst into life again.

  ‘Result,’ said Mike, feeling the adrenalin in his body die down. ‘Now take him somewhere quiet, give him a drink and let him rest for a few minutes. I’ll come and have another look at him.’

  He turned to the circle of his audience. ‘Everything’s fine, folks. Alex will be as good as new in five minutes. Let’s get on with the party.’

  Alex was led away by his grateful mother, but there was another white-faced woman in the crowd. ‘It was safe,’ she said, her voice getting higher. ‘The bag said they were safe to eat.’ She was clutching Grace’s arm, shaking. ‘What if he’d died…?’

  ‘Of course they’re safe,’ Grace reassured her. ‘Pauline, you’ve been making beautiful village cakes for years and no one’s ever had an accident before. Maybe the silver ball Alex grabbed was a bit bigger than the rest. Maybe it got stuck to a lump of icing. As long as we tell the children to crunch and chew properly when it comes to teatime, there won’t be a problem. Now, I’m going to do Pin the Tail any minute, so can you put the urn on for the parents’ cuppas? Then it will all be ready and people won’t have to wait.’

  As he crossed the room to help hang up the donkey and get the Victorian tails out of their tissue paper, Mike was struck dumb by Grace’s humaneness. Yes, he had saved Alex’s life—but Grace had known who’d made the cake. She’d known how the woman would feel and had been there on the spot to administer sensible comfort and a distraction technique.

  The party continued, but with a difference. During tea and the last few games, most of the parents found a moment to come up to Mike and say what a good job he’d done.

  ‘You aren’t an incomer any more,’ said Grace as they got the children settled down and dimmed the lights to wait for Santa. ‘You’re accepted.’

  Every child got a present from Father Christmas, chose another one from under the Christmas tree and started putting coats on to go home. Bethany wanted a goodbye cuddle from Grace.

  ‘Off you go, poppet,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll see you on Thursday for riding.’ And to Mike, ‘Thanks for your help, even if it was a baptism of fire.’

  ‘I enjoyed it—well, apart from the emergency. Come back with us, if you like. There’s still some of that Rioja left.’

  ‘No, I’ll just finish tidying up here, then go home. I’m a bit shattered.’

  It was
snowing again. Mike lifted Bethany up onto his shoulders for the walk back. She’d had a wonderful time. She had got a fairy wand from Santa—all pink ribbons and glitter—and insisted on waving it around her head, putting magic spells on all the houses they passed. As soon as they got back she had to tell Grandad all about the party.

  James chuckled, but looked at Mike shrewdly. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I had to perform a Heimlich manoeuvre on a little boy.’ He passed a hand over his face. Suddenly he too was shattered. ‘Look, Dad, are you all right to do Bethany’s bedtime? I left Grace tidying up and I just want to have a word with her.’

  ‘She works too hard, that girl. Why don’t you take her to the Coach and Horses for a meal? It does lovely food.’

  ‘Good idea. Thanks, Dad.’

  He found Grace alone when he got back to the village hall. She had moved the trestle tables, was sweeping where they had been. He didn’t say anything, but found a black bag and started to collect the abandoned plastic plates, cutlery and cups that had been left around.

  ‘There’s no need,’ said Grace. ‘A couple of the others are coming back to help.’

  ‘I need to wind down,’ said Mike. ‘Bethany’s reliving the whole party for Dad.’

  ‘That was a great job you did on Alex. You were so fast.’

  ‘Thank God it worked. And you did a good job with the cake-maker too.’

  ‘Poor Pauline. She was horrified.’

  ‘You are one special nurse, you know that? Grace, things are happening fast and I need some time out. Will you come to the pub with me when we’ve finished this? Dad says the food is good there.’

  For a moment he thought she was going to refuse. Then she smiled tiredly at him. ‘Time out? That sounds very restful. Thank you. I’d love to.’

  Chapter Eight

  GRACE felt her tension drain away as soon as they walked through the door of the Coach and Horses. The pub was warm, full, bright with decorations and a welcoming fire and cosy with good cheer. The Christmas spirit was alive and well. As they threaded their way to a corner table, they got nods and greetings. ‘Evening, Grace. Evening, Doctor.’