Healing Her Emergency Doc

by Caroline Anderson

  He kissed her tenderly, then rolled away and got out of bed, heading for the bathroom again, and she lay on her back staring at the ceiling and wondering how she’d let herself fall in love with him so hard, so far, so fast.

  She needed to go on the Pill again if this was going to keep happening, because one of these days his wallet wouldn’t come up with the goods and the last thing either of them needed was an unplanned pregnancy.

  Assuming it did keep happening, because he’d told her in no uncertain terms that they weren’t going anywhere, so there was no point building dreams on it. He was just in a bad place because of his eyes, and he needed the comfort and distraction she could provide. Nothing more. He’d probably still shut her out when the going got tougher.

  He was gone a while, and when he came back it was with two mugs and a happy dog, who jumped up on the end of the bed and left wet pawprints on the duvet cover.

  ‘Oh, Millie, you’ll get me in trouble,’ he said, getting back into bed and propping himself up. ‘Sorry, somebody wanted to go out but I thought I’d wiped her feet better than that. It must have rained in the night.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, it happens all the time, it’ll wash. What’s in the mugs?’

  ‘Tea.’

  She sat herself up and he passed it to her, and she frowned as she took it. ‘What have you done to your hand?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ he said, sounding cross and frustrated. ‘I tripped over the front doorstep last night in the dark and smacked it into the doorframe. I dug the keys into the palm, as well, so it’s a bit tetchy today. You’d think by now I’d know there’s a step there. Apparently not.’

  She put her tea down and picked up his hand, turning it over to reveal a dark purple bruise spreading over his palm, to match the purple across two of his knuckles.

  ‘Wiggle your fingers?’

  ‘It’s not broken, Laura. It’s fine. It’s just a bit sore if you poke it like that!’ he added, his voice rising slightly in pitch as he snatched it back.

  ‘Hmm. You ought to be more careful.’

  ‘No, I ought to have an outside light that sees me coming and turns on automatically instead of the porch light that I never remember to put on, but that means an electrician.’

  ‘Or you could have a dusk-to-dawn bulb in the porch light. You leave it on all the time, and it comes on when it gets dark and goes off when it gets light.’

  ‘There’s such a thing?’

  ‘Yup.’ And it was something she could do for him to make life easier and safer. Goodness knows there was precious little else she could do to help him. She picked up her phone, typed in her search, and with a couple of clicks she put her phone down and smiled at him. ‘Sorted. I’ve ordered you one. It’ll be here in a couple of days.’

  He grinned at her. ‘You’re a star. I didn’t even know they existed.’ He leant over and kissed her, then settled back against the pillows with a contented sigh. ‘So, I start work at twelve again today. Do you have any plans for the morning?’

  ‘No. Well, walking Millie, but otherwise no. Why?’

  ‘I just thought we could go out for breakfast.’

  ‘Well, there’s a lovely idea. Anywhere in mind?’

  He shrugged. ‘You’re the local. You tell me.’

  ‘They do a mean brunch at the Harbour Inn down by the river mouth. We can take Millie with us and sit outside if it stays sunny, and if not they allow dogs in the bar. Or there’s a boutique hotel on the prom with a sea view and seats outside? That’s closer if the weather stays OK.’

  It did, and they went to the hotel and sat in the sunshine with Millie at their feet, wet and sandy from romping in the surf, and ate fat juicy BLT baps washed down with buckets of coffee before walking back to hers.

  ‘I need to head straight off, really,’ he said, and she nodded and went up on tiptoe and kissed him.

  ‘I hope it’s better than yesterday.’

  He gave a short laugh and shook his head. ‘I’m not holding my breath.’ He brushed his bruised knuckles lightly over her cheek. ‘Have a lovely day. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time are you on?’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘Six.’

  ‘In which case I won’t come over after my shift, because it’ll just disturb us both, but I’ll see you later. I’m on nine to nine tomorrow.’

  ‘OK. And be careful when you get home. Or put the porch light on before you leave!’

  He grinned. ‘I will. You take care.’

  He dropped another kiss on her lips, lingering for just a fraction, then got into his car and drove away, and she went inside with Millie, humming to herself as she pottered round the house, and then realised what Livvy had seen in her eyes.

  Happiness—but she was deluding herself, playing happy families, and it was dangerous because it was based on nothing. He’d told her clearly that this was going nowhere, that he had nothing to offer her, that he wanted her to be free. It was the last thing she wanted, but if he was told for sure that he had RP, would he want her then, or would he try and drive her away?

  She had no idea, but she’d do her damnedest to support him, and if he wouldn’t let her, well then he wouldn’t. But for now she had him, and even if it only lasted a few weeks she’d take it, and just hope she’d survive when it all went wrong.

  Time to toughen up.

  She went into the bedroom, stripped the bed and held the bedding to her nose. It smelt of him, warm and musky and delicious, and it made her want to cry. She put it in the washing machine, shut the door firmly and took Millie for a walk.

  * * *

  Over the course of the next week they fell into a sort of pattern.

  Sometimes they worked together, sometimes not, but usually they saw each other in the department at some point during the day. If they finished at a reasonable hour, they’d eat together. If one of them was held up, they wouldn’t.

  But almost always, they’d end up together at the end of the day, most often at Laura’s because of Millie.

  And Millie was besotted by him.

  Laura was, too, but she was a bit more discreet than Millie, who lay at his feet or on the sofa at his side, eyes fixed on him adoringly or slightly glazed if he rested a hand on her and stroked her gently in the special way he seemed to have.

  She could have been jealous of the dog, but she knew her turn would come later, when they’d go into her bedroom and close the door and his hands would be on her.

  He didn’t stay the night again, though, after that first time, partly because of their conflicting shift patterns, but also maybe because she suspected he didn’t want it to become a habit, a custom, a way of drifting into something he didn’t want. And always at the back of her mind was his comment about the girls who’d leave a toothbrush next to his, or underwear in his drawer, and the last thing she wanted was to make assumptions.

  Like she had with Pete. She’d moved in with him, and just assumed he felt the same about her as she did about him. She’d expected him to understand when she had to drop everything and come home to look after Grumps, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t understood at all, and the first weekend she didn’t go back, he turned up at his door with her things. All of them.

  ‘You’ll need these,’ he said, and unloaded his car and drove away without a backward glance, leaving her in no doubt about how little she’d meant to him.

  So she wasn’t in a hurry to put herself in that position again, and neither was Tom after his experience with Karen, and adding his eyes into the mix just made it worse, but it didn’t stop them making love at every opportunity, and it didn’t stop her loving him even though she knew it was doomed to failure.

  He was away the next weekend, visiting his parents, and she missed him ridiculously. He didn’t ring, and even when she knew he was back because she’d seen his car while she was walking Millie on Sunday evening, she still heard noth
ing from him. She had Monday off, so she didn’t see him at work, and still he didn’t ring her.

  Why? Was he avoiding her? What had they told him? She could only guess, and her stomach was in knots.

  * * *

  The weekend with his parents had already been scheduled to fit in with their busy timetables, but as it turned out he almost wished it hadn’t.

  He drove up on Saturday morning, and they spent the rest of the day working on the garden while they talked, and on Sunday it rained so he showed them photos of the house. ‘Just so you know what I’ve taken on,’ he said with a rueful grin.

  ‘Darling, you must be mad! I thought you wanted an easier life?’ his mother said, handing the phone back, and he thought about what might be ahead of him and laughed. If you could call it that. He passed the phone to his father.

  ‘Oh, dear. Did you realise it was that bad?’ he said, scrolling through the photos, and Tom gave another hollow laugh.

  ‘Not really, but it’s getting better. At least the front door doesn’t stick any more. I managed to borrow some tools from Laura—you probably won’t remember her, I was at college with her.’

  ‘I remember her name—you talked about her rather a lot,’ his mother said pointedly.

  ‘Well, we were good friends, so I would. Actually, you’d be really interested. She lived with her grandfather in Yoxburgh, and he’s died and she’s got all his books. They’re amazing, and she really needs a valuation. I think she said there are ten thousand?’

  ‘Good grief. Anything old?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You’d be in heaven. There were some beautiful books, and she talked about some very old first editions.’

  ‘Oh, I’d love to see them. Maybe when we come down to stay. So—are you together now?’

  ‘No,’ he said, maybe a little too hastily. ‘No, Mum, we’re not, and certainly not so soon after Karen. I think I’ve learned my lesson. We’re just friends, which is a miracle as I got the job she’d also applied for, but hey. That’s life.’

  And hers was infinitely more complicated since he’d rocked up, but there was nothing he could do about that—apart from not complicate it any further, which he was failing at miserably. And on the subject of failing miserably, he still hadn’t asked them about family history, but he didn’t want to worry them and he knew they weren’t stupid. How to raise it?

  He didn’t need to, in the end, because his mother raised it quite by accident. ‘So what time are you heading home, darling?’ she asked. ‘Are you staying for supper or will you want to head off? You don’t want to drive in the dark, especially when it’s raining. Well, I wouldn’t.’

  And then it dawned on him that she’d never driven at night, and he’d never really known why. Was it connected?

  ‘Yeah, why is that?’ he asked, trying to sound casual although his heart was starting to thud.

  ‘Oh, the glare. If anything comes towards me, I just can’t see—especially on wet roads. You know what it’s like.’

  ‘Well, we’re all like that,’ he said, feeling relieved for a moment until his father chipped in.

  ‘‘Speak for yourselves,’ he said. ‘I’m all right. It can be tricky sometimes, of course, but I’m not like your mother. She really can’t seem to see at night.’ And then he tilted his head on one side. ‘Are you having the same problem?’

  Damn. Try to sound casual.

  ‘Yeah, I might be. I went to the optician the other day for a routine check-up and mentioned that my night vision’s been a bit off recently because I’ve been working so much in artificial light, and she asked if there was any family history, but I couldn’t think of anything. I’d forgotten about your driving, Mum. It just didn’t occur to me. Do you know if anyone else had anything like that?’

  His mother shook her head. ‘No, not that I can think of. Mike?’

  ‘No. Nobody on my side.’

  He felt a wave of relief. ‘Oh, well, that’s good. It doesn’t sound like it if neither of you can think of anyone, so it’s probably just coincidence. I expect I need to eat more carrots or something.’

  ‘Oh, no, wait,’ his mother said suddenly, and his heart sank. ‘Your Great-Uncle George, perhaps, my mother’s brother.’

  ‘Did he have trouble with his eyes?’

  ‘Not as far as I knew, and I know he used to read an awful lot, but he died in a freak car accident in his thirties. I seem to remember he’d been driving along a twisty country lane on a very sunny day and crashed into a tree on the edge of a wood. The person following behind said it was as if he hadn’t seen the junction. It was in deep shade from the trees, but my mother always thought it might have been deliberate. I’ll ask her about his sight, though. She might know more than me. So how bad is your night vision?’ she added, getting to the nub of it in that way she had.

  ‘Oh, it’s not that bad,’ he lied, feeling a little sick because he really, really hadn’t wanted to hear any of that. ‘It’s probably just too much screen time. Everything we do now involves screens. My eyes are probably just tired.’

  Or else it was the X-linked hereditary form of RP, which scarcely affected the female carrier but was passed down in spades to her sons. Damn.

  ‘Hmm. Well, get it checked out properly if it doesn’t get better, and I’ll ask your grandparents. There certainly isn’t anyone else I’ve ever heard of.’

  He shrugged, trying to make light of it, not wanting to worry them. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve probably just got rubbish night vision like you, Mum, and Uncle George’s accident was probably exactly that, or else Grandma’s right and it was deliberate. Anyway, I’d better get back. I’ve got lots of stuff to do at home, and I’m on duty at six tomorrow,’ he said, and made his escape.

  Not that he had anything pressing to do at home, but he really didn’t want to push his luck and drive at night in the lashing rain, because he hadn’t been lying about that.

  He got home as the light was fading, to find his porch light had come on. Laura’s initiative purchase, which was working like a charm.

  Hell, he’d missed her. He wanted nothing more than to go round to hers, but he wasn’t going to, not after what he’d just found out. He went in, shut the door and opened his laptop. Time to do some research into X-linked sight loss...

  * * *

  He stuck it out until Monday evening, and then he cracked and called her.

  ‘Hi. I didn’t see you at work today. Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, of course I’m OK,’ she said lightly. ‘I just had a day off. How was your weekend?’

  Not helpful, because he’d discovered things he would rather not have known and researching further into it just made it worse. ‘It was fine,’ he lied. ‘Are you busy?’

  There was a tiny hesitation, then she said, ‘No, not really. Why?’

  ‘I just wondered if you’d eaten.’

  ‘No. I was about to, I’ve made a casserole, but there’s plenty. Want to join me?’

  He was desperate to join her. ‘That would be lovely,’ he said, and drove round a few minutes later, armed with a bottle of wine and a fistful of excuses.

  He didn’t need them, because she didn’t ask any awkward questions. Didn’t ask anything at all, really, just smiled up at him and hugged him when he walked through the door.

  He wrapped her in his arms and held her close, and she squeezed him tight.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ she said softly. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘I’m sorry, I was busy last night. I’ve been neglecting things.’

  Things like the fact that he hadn’t got his eyes checked out when he’d first started noticing his night vision had deteriorated, because he’d assumed it was tiredness, eyestrain, working under artificial light, lack of beta-carotene—anything other than the truth. Hours of online research had reinforced that, and now to put the cherry on the cak
e there was the late Great-Uncle George, and a mother with slightly dodgy night vision who could be a barely symptomatic carrier of the faulty X-linked gene...

  ‘Well, it’s nice to have you back,’ she murmured, and kissed him gently, her mouth soft and inviting under his, and her tenderness unravelled him.

  They ended up in bed, the food forgotten. He lost himself completely in the comfort of her arms, buried himself in the warmth of her body, her passion and gentleness undoing him as he cradled her against his heart and hung on for dear life while wave after wave of sensation crashed over him, leaving him boneless and drained.

  And then he realised he’d broken his golden rule, and fear swamped him. What if he’d made her pregnant? If he had RP, and he was increasingly convinced that he did, there was a fifty-fifty chance of him passing it on, and there was no way he’d wish this on anyone, least of all his own child.

  ‘Laura, I’m useless. We didn’t use anything, I just forgot—’

  ‘Hey, it’s OK. I’m on the Pill now,’ she murmured reassuringly.

  He studied her face, his panic receding a little. ‘Are you sure?’

  She laughed softly and leant over and kissed him, and he could taste her smile.

  ‘Yes, Tom, I’m absolutely sure. I take it every day without fail.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant, are you absolutely sure it’s all right? How long have you been on it?

  ‘Oh—just over two weeks? So we should be OK.’

  ‘Good, because I don’t want to take any chances.’

  ‘That’s why I’m taking it, so we don’t,’ she said with another smile, and he heaved a sigh of relief, pulled her back into his arms and stopped worrying.

  ‘Supper?’ she said after a moment, and he nodded.

  ‘That would be amazing. I’ve had another hellish busy day. I think I need IV lunch. I never seem to get time to stop.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got time now. I’ll go and dish up while you get dressed.’

  * * *