Practically Perfect

by Caroline Anderson

  He would probably be sick, she thought, wedging the pan in the fridge, but there you go.

  ‘Right, while that gets chilled we need to do some clearing up, OK? If you wipe the floor, I’ll wipe the table. Sound fair?’

  He nodded, and she gave him a cloth and watched as he squirmed around under the table, blotting up crispies that the dogs had missed. She wiped the table, washed out the cloth and squeezed it out with her left hand, then looked round to see how Edward was doing.

  He was scrubbing at a spot on his knee with the cloth, a worried frown on his face, and she took the cloth from him and smiled. ‘All done now.’

  ‘My trousers,’ he said in a stage whisper.

  ‘Look like ordinary trousers to me,’ she said. ‘They’ll wash.’

  ‘Mummy gets cross if I get dirty.’

  Connie struggled for diplomacy. ‘Well, we’re in the country now,’ she explained, ‘and with all the dogs and cows and fishing and stuff, it’s hard to keep clean for long so we don’t tend to worry so much as they might in town.’

  ‘So it’s all right to get dirty?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, of course—especially if they aren’t your best clothes. Even in the country we try to keep them clean.’

  He seemed to relax then, and Connie heaved an inward sigh of relief and put the cloth in the sink. ‘I tell you what, why don’t we take the dogs for a little walk up to the shop, buy the paper and come back? By then the crispy bars should be ready to eat.’

  So they did, not worrying about coats because it was such a lovely warm September day. She let Edward take Toby because he was such a softy, and she took Rolo who was younger and more inclined to rush after cats, and they wandered up the village street and back.

  The dogs thought it was a bit of a sorry walk, but she didn’t want to overtire Edward, and she hadn’t told anyone she was going out. As it was they were gone nearly half an hour, and when they arrived back Patrick was pacing in the kitchen.

  ‘Hello, sproglet,’ he said with artificial calm. ‘Been for a walk?’

  ‘We took the dogs and bought the paper—and, look, we made crispy cake bars!’ He pulled the fridge door open and the pan of crispy cake slid out and headed for the floor.

  Connie fielded it in the nick of time, but Edward looked horrified. Connie just laughed. ‘Good job I caught it or we would have had squashy cakes instead,’ she joked.

  The tension eased, and suddenly, to her relief and amazement, he started to giggle. ‘Squashy cakes,’ he said, and doubled up, laughing.

  Connie’s eyes filled with tears and she turned away, but not before Patrick had seen her. He made tea, and they sat down round the table with tea or squash and not-quite-chilled crispy bars, and Edward chattered happily about what they’d been doing that morning.

  Then he ran to the cloakroom, and Patrick caught her eye.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said fervently. ‘There have been times when I thought he’d never laugh again.’

  She swallowed. ‘Anytime. Jokes we do for free.’

  ‘Connie, did you mean it last night when you offered to look after him?’

  She opened her mouth to say she was still thinking about it, but her heart got there first again. ‘Of course,’ she said, and discovered she meant it.

  ‘Good. Because, if you could bear to do it, I’d like you to look after him, at least for the immediate future. I need to find somewhere to live, and goodness knows where that will be, but it’s pointless trying to find anyone permanent until we have more idea.’

  She nodded. ‘OK. I’ll do whatever you want. As you know, I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs—or, at least, my thumb. The right one doesn’t seem to want to twiddle to order.’

  ‘How about that sling?’ Patrick suggested. ‘You really ought to rest it more.’

  ‘While I’m housekeeping? I hardly think so.’

  ‘It’s only cooking. We can have instant meals. I’ll pay you, even just to nuke them in the microwave, if it means I don’t have to worry about Edward. And all your food’s thrown in, of course.’

  ‘Fine. Sounds like a good deal. I like the thought of being paid just to fire up the microwave.’

  ‘And make chocolate crispy cakes.’

  ‘And make chocolate crispy cakes.’

  ‘And wear your sling.’

  Connie grinned. ‘OK. And wear my sling. It’s a deal.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CONNIE tried to wear her sling. She really did try, but it got in the way and she found it difficult to do things with Edward—like dress him, and bath him, and hug him.

  At first he wouldn’t let her hug him, but after a few days he would snuggle up to her side to look at a book, and if her arm crept round him, he’d allow it.

  And that, for Connie, was so precious that she wasn’t letting some old sling get in the way.

  Her father was progressing well, but her parents had decided that, rather than come home, they’d go to a special convalescent hotel on the south coast for a couple of weeks when the time came. She took Edward to Cambridge to meet them, and told them that he was staying in Anthony’s room, and to her relief they seemed genuinely pleased.

  He had Teddy Edward with him, and her mother’s eyes filled a little when she saw the ragged little bear.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Connie asked her softly, and she shook her head and smiled and blinked the tears away.

  ‘No, of course not. It just brings back a lot of lovely memories.’

  Connie nodded. She could understand that perfectly. She’d found the same thing, spending so much time in Anthony’s room. It had brought back much of her childhood, and the memories were bitter sweet.

  Anthony would have adored Edward, Connie knew. He’d had a girlfriend with a little boy at the time he was killed, and he’d been wonderful with him.

  ‘How’s Patrick getting on? Still coping all right?’ her father asked with a thread of concern.

  ‘He’s fine. He’s doing a great job. The receptionists all love him, and the patients think he’s marvellous—you’ll have your work cut out when you come home,’ she teased, and intercepted a glance between her parents.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing, darling. We’re just wondering how long it will be before your father feels up to it. He’ll probably go back part time at first, and get another locum to fill in. I don’t suppose Patrick will want half time.’

  So he’ll leave, Connie thought, and take Edward. She glanced down at the little tow-coloured head bent earnestly over a puzzle on the floor, and felt a huge pang of loss.

  No. That was silly. Of course Patrick was going—she’d always known that. He was looking at a place at the moment, up in Yorkshire, and wouldn’t be back until late that night.

  Yorkshire was so far…

  ‘Still, I expect it will be a couple of months, at least, before I’m well enough to do even that much,’ her father was saying, ‘so I hope Patrick’s happy to stay until then. I’d hate to lose him.’

  ‘I’m sure that will be all right,’ she said, crossing her fingers surreptitiously under the edge of the bedclothes.

  ‘Now, young lady, how about your arm?’ her father asked.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Connie lied.

  ‘Let me see.’

  ‘Daddy, stop fussing. You’re off duty.’

  ‘You’re my daughter. Let me see it. Thank you. Right, now wiggle your fingers.’

  She tried to wiggle, but they were slow and unresponsive and vague.

  ‘Hmm. Grip my finger.’

  She tried. She really did try very, very hard to squeeze, but her thumb and the first couple of fingers were very weak still. ‘It’s taking a long time to recover,’ she told him. ‘It still hurts a bit. I expect if they take the plates out in a few months it will improve.’

  Tom Wright met his daughter’s eyes and smiled gently. ‘I expect so,’ he said, with that comforting note that meant he was lying.

  Oh, God. She couldn’t even bear to think about wh
at might happen to her if it didn’t recover. If she couldn’t go back to surgery, whatever would she do? Paediatric medicine, of course, which was what she’d started training for, but they didn’t like it if you weren’t single-minded, and it could mess up your career prospects. Just when she’d been getting on so well, too.

  Oh, hell.

  Her mother was bent over, helping Edward with the last piece of the puzzle, and when it was in she clapped and cheered. ‘Clever boy! Well done. Now, pick all the pieces up and put them back in the toy box, and we’ll see if there’s anything else you want to play with.’

  Connie felt a lump in her throat. Her mother would have been so good with grandchildren, but Anthony was dead and there was no one in Connie’s life at the moment even remotely interested in her.

  Except Patrick, a little voice said, and she dismissed it because she simply didn’t think it was true.

  Which was a great shame, because it suddenly registered like a clap of thunder that she’d fallen for Patrick and his adorable little son, and losing them in a few weeks or months or whatever it would be was going to tear her apart…

  It was no good. The practice was run down, old-fashioned and it seemed everyone liked it that way. Certainly Patrick with his new ideas and driving energy wasn’t what they were looking for, and so he set off on the long road back to Essex with a heavy heart.

  The hills gave way to the flat land of the fens, and then the gently rolling fields of Suffolk. He headed south from Ipswich, turned left before Colchester and wound down the now-familiar little lanes to Great Ashley.

  This, of course, was his perfect practice, but Tom Wright was hoping to hang on for a few more years and there was no way Patrick could wait that long, especially not with Edward now in his care.

  He sighed. He was using Connie, he knew it, but she and the boy seemed so genuinely contented together, and she tried so hard to keep everything lowkey and not overface the child.

  She encouraged him to get dirty, to puggle about in the mud, to stamp in puddles, to do all the awful things little boys did, and bit by bit, inch by inch, he was starting to flourish.

  There was colour in his cheeks, and laughter every now and then, though not as often as Patrick would like, and he was sleeping better now. For the last week he’d been in his own bed, without crossing the landing more than a couple of times for a cuddle and some reassurance.

  That had to mean something.

  He turned onto the drive, parked the car and went in. It was late, almost ten, and he could hear soft music from the sitting room. He hung up his jacket on the bottom of the banisters, put his head round the door—and smiled.

  Connie was curled up on the sofa, lashes down against her peach-soft skin, fast asleep. She looked about as old as Edward, and a funny, protective surge ran through him.

  He made tea and poked about in the fridge for something to eat. He was starving, and he wondered if she’d left him anything, but he couldn’t see an obvious plate or whatever.

  ‘Hi.’

  He straightened and turned, just as she smiled and lifted up her hair, tunnelling her fingers through it and tossing it back off her shoulders with a little shake of the head. She looked warm and sleepy and unbelievably desirable, and he forgot about being tired and hungry. Well, that sort of hungry, anyway.

  The other sort—that was more difficult to forget, with Connie padding softly round the kitchen in her little bare feet with those astonishingly erotic toes tipped with siren red, and that damned perfume of hers curling round his insides and turning them to fire. As young as Edward? Not by light years!

  ‘Are you hungry? I thought you might have eaten on the way, but there’s some bacon in the fridge if you want a sandwich.’

  She tipped her head up, just a foot or so away from him, and his breath stopped in his throat. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted it so badly he thought he’d choke on it so he went over to the kettle and busied himself at the sink.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ he murmured gruffly. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘I had something with Edward, but that was hours ago. I could manage a bacon sandwich, I’m sure.’

  She bustled about, struggling with one hand, and he forced himself to leave her to it and made a pot of tea.

  ‘How did you get on?’ she asked as she worked. ‘Any good?’

  ‘No. They’re pre-NHS, almost. It was hopeless. I’d fit in like a naked female mud-wrestler in a monastery.’

  ‘That good, eh?’ she said with a chuckle, and drifted past him to get plates. Her perfume curled round him again, and he gritted his teeth and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from grabbing her.

  ‘So, what have you two done today?’ he asked, pouring the tea and sitting down out of the way once she’d gone back to the stove.

  ‘Oh, we went to see my parents. They thought Edward was lovely, and they’re quite happy about the room, which I knew they would be, and Dad wondered if you’d be able to stay on another couple of months until he’s well enough to come back part time.’

  ‘And what then?’

  She shrugged. ‘I think he thought you’d want to move on to something more permanent by then so he was talking about a part-time locum, perhaps halftime.’

  Patrick nodded thoughtfully, his mind whirling. Two months to find a place and settle Edward with a new nanny, and break into a new community, and start all over again.

  Just in time for the new millennium, he thought. A fresh start for us both.

  The thought was curiously lonely.

  ‘I expect that would be all right,’ he said, biting into his sandwich. ‘How about you? Are you OK for the next two months?’

  There was a slightly haunted look to her eyes, he thought, or was he imagining it? ‘Should be fine. My arm’s taking its time to heal, so I might as well do this as sit about and do nothing. Edward’s a love, anyway, so it’s not exactly a hardship.’

  He dropped his eyes to her fingers, sticking out of the end of her cast like pale, slender sausages. ‘How is the arm? Really?’

  She shifted it, tucking it into her lap. ‘OK. Pain seems better. I hardly take any of those pills. The sling seems to be helping it.’

  ‘When you remember to wear it. You’re a bad girl—that was part of our deal.’

  ‘So sue me,’ she said, taking a huge bite of her sandwich and meeting his eyes defiantly.

  God, she was lovely! He felt his mouth tip up at the corners but was powerless to prevent it. He wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless. He had another bite of sandwich instead, and let it all wash over him.

  Life was complicated enough without him making it worse.

  ‘Can I tack Mr Ray on the end of your list?’ Tanya asked Patrick, popping her head round the door between patients. ‘He rang up just now, and he sounds awful. He wanted to see you tonight, but he sounded so bad I told him we were too busy and could he possibly come now. Is that OK?’

  Patrick nodded. ‘Thanks. That’s fine. What sort of awful? Does he need a visit?’

  She laughed. ‘Probably. He’s got a dreadful cough and he sounds very breathless, but he wouldn’t call you out unless it was to write his death certificate.’

  Patrick smiled. ‘Another one of those tough old boys. Yeah, sure, tack him on. Good idea.’

  He saw the next two patients, and then heard Mr Ray arrive through the closed door. His cough was harsh and continuous, and Patrick was immediately concerned. He led him through to the consulting room, sat him in the chair and listened to his chest, then sat back and tutted.

  ‘Mr Ray, how long have you been like this?’

  ‘What, this bit of a cough?’ he asked, breaking off to cough again. ‘Couple of days—maybe more. Thought it was getting a bit troublesome—must have caught a chill that wet day we had last week.’

  Patrick sighed and shook his head imperceptibly. ‘Mr Ray, you’ve got more than a bit of a cough. I’m afraid you’ve got pneumonia. You’re going to have to go to hospital
.’

  ‘Hospital? Never been to hospital in my life. Been fit as a flea.’

  ‘I’m sure, but you aren’t now. I’m sorry, I really can’t let you stay at home. You need some serious antibiotics and oxygen to help you get better.’

  ‘Oh. Well. I suppose if I have to, I have to. What about my animals?’

  ‘Are you a stock farmer?’

  ‘No—just a few chickens and the dog and cats. I suppose my neighbours could do it—they’re good people. They’d go in and feed them, if I asked. Got the dog in the car, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘You drove here?’ Patrick asked, horrified.

  ‘How d’you think I got here, then? Walked? It’s five miles, boy!’

  Patrick thought for a moment, then had an idea. ‘What’s the dog like? Civilised? House-trained?’

  ‘It’s a lovely dog. Sleeps with me, matter of fact.’

  ‘Spoilt to death, then,’ Patrick said with a grin. ‘I was wondering if he’d be all right with Dr Wright’s two dogs.’

  ‘Should be. He’s used to other dogs. What did you have in mind?’

  Patrick shrugged. ‘Well, he could always stay here until lunchtime and we could run him back later and talk to your neighbour. You’d only be in hospital for a few days, a week at the most. We could make sure your neighbour was happy about it, and give him a key, to save you going back there.’

  ‘Sounds grand. His name’s Killer. He’s in the back of the pickup—’ Another fit of coughing had Patrick reaching for the phone. He rang the hospital, arranged for Mr Ray’s admission and then went and broke the glad tidings to Connie.

  ‘But I can’t drive with the cast on!’ she protested.

  ‘Nonsense. You can drive my car, it’s an automatic. I’m sure you can manage it with one and a half hands. I’ll drive the pickup.’

  ‘But what if the dog’s awful? What if Toby and Rolo want to kill it?’

  Patrick looked down in amazement at the two dogs lying each side of Connie’s feet like bookends. ‘Is that a serious suggestion?’ he said comically.

  Connie’s eyes followed his, and she shrugged. ‘So they look quiet and peaceful. Even tigers have to sleep.’