Bethan was concluding that Caitriona might have an inner ear infection, and she prescribed some antibiotics and got a promise that Caitriona would return in three weeks to let her know how she’d got on.
They waved their patient goodbye and he watched, fascinated, as Bethan inputted her notes and observations. Her head was bent over the keyboard, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips gently parted as she bit her bottom lip.
He smiled at the already familiar gesture and felt a pang. Of something. As he looked at her, studied her whilst he could, he realised something else that was disturbing.
I’m attracted to her.
The thought made him smile. He almost chuckled.
The human body was an amazing thing.
The laws of attraction never stopped working. Not until the heart itself ceased beating.
CAMERON LEFT FOR home exhausted. He’d had no idea just how tiring it was to sit in a chair all day and do nothing except observe someone. And, because he knew how specifically aware he was to Bethan’s presence, he’d been determined not to observe her too closely. Noticing her beautiful eyes and her smile was not the kind of observation he wanted to make.
He was glad to make it to the end of the day and go and collect Rosie from her after-school club. His daughter brought joy into his heart every time he saw her, and renewed his strength and determination.
‘How was school?’
‘Great! I played with my new friend Grace today.’
Bethan’s daughter.
‘Really?’
‘And, look—I made a caterpillar!’
She ran to fetch her creation from the Art Corner. She had indeed made a caterpillar, from the remains of green cardboard egg cartons, stuck together in a line and painted garish colours.
‘Wow! That’s fabulous!’
‘We’re learning about bugs.’
‘I can see that.’
‘Not the bugs that you have to heal people from.’
He smiled. ‘Ah...’
They went home and he made her some dinner. And once she’d had a bath he settled into his favourite part of the day with his daughter. Storytime.
There was nothing he loved more than being able to sit and read with her, making up silly voices and discussing the characters and what they thought was going to happen. Rosie never ceased to amaze him with the insight she had for such a young girl. And his time with her was precious.
How many more stories would he get to read for her? Would they even finish this long book? What if the tumour damaged his optic nerve soon and he could no longer read? Would she sit upstairs alone? Trying to read by herself?
She’ll be alone someday.
That thought almost did him in daily. Rosie was so young. She’d already lost her mother, and now she was going to lose her father, too. Life wasn’t fair. But he knew he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in the injustice of it all. That way madness lay. His time was short—he couldn’t waste it on self-pity. It wasn’t how he wanted his daughter to remember him.
He knew that at some point he would have to start letting her stay with his father a bit more, in preparation for when she’d have to live there permanently—after he was gone.
His dad was already trying to make up a room for her to stay in. His old bedroom was being converted from his father’s home office. The walls had recently been stripped of the old blue wallpaper and Rosie had picked out a pretty peaches-and-cream pattern she wanted.
He wasn’t sure that Rosie understood what was going to happen eventually. Talking to his child about his death was impossible. How much could she truly understand? And was it right to burden her in advance? Instead he’d pretended that he was going to ‘go away’. They were trying to make the transition as easy for her as they could, making her new room at his father’s a fun thing.
He pointed at the book they were reading. ‘You know how in the story Harry lives with his aunt and uncle?’
Rosie nodded.
‘Because his own parents aren’t around any more?’
Another nod. ‘They’re dead,’ said Rosie.
‘Well, you’ll be doing that one day. Living with Grandpa Doug?’
She seemed to think about it. ‘But I won’t be in the cupboard under the stairs, will I? I’m having my own room.’
‘That’s right.’ He smiled.
‘And Grandpa Doug is nice to me. Not like Harry’s family.’
‘Grandpa Doug is very nice. And he loves you loads.’
‘And you’ll be gone away?’
He swallowed hard. ‘That’s right. I won’t be able to come back, but you’ll be able to see me in here.’ He touched the side of her head. ‘And in here.’ He pointed at where her heart was.
Rosie seemed to think about this for a while. Then, ‘Who’ll read to me at night?’
‘Grandpa Doug will.’
‘But he doesn’t do the voices.’
Cameron kissed the top of her head and smiled to himself, loving it that her greatest concern was the right voices for her story. If that was her greatest worry, then it would be fine. He was happy with that. He could carry all the other worries by himself.
That was how it should be anyway. She was too young to be burdened by the world. And he didn’t want to tell his daughter he was going to die. How could he?
‘Right—hush, now. One more chapter and then it’s sleepy time, okay?’
‘Okay, Daddy.’
And she snuggled into his side and listened until she fell fast asleep.
* * *
It was raining, and the roads were slick with water and puddles. Beneath the endless grey sky Bethan parked her car, right outside the surgery door, ready to do a day of home visits after she’d collected the medical files and any equipment she might need.
She liked it that the practice had a whole day to do home visits. Not every practice offered this service any more, but she’d always enjoyed doing them. You didn’t always get to understand a person’s home-life and true situation from an eight-minute consultation in the surgery, so it was good to see people in their own environment. And there were quite a few people who couldn’t get to the surgery, so it was a worthwhile opportunity for them all.
She merrily chirped a hello to Janet on Reception.
‘Good morning, Dr Monroe! How are you today?’
‘Good, thank you. How are you?’
‘Bonny, Doctor, always bonny.’
She smiled and passed on through to the office to collect her schedule.
Cameron was already there, checking the files off against a list. He looked up when he saw her and she was struck by how pale he looked today. He was pale anyway—the standard complexion for someone with such beautiful red hair—but today that paleness had an ashen quality to it. And the shadows beneath his eyes looked darker than they had before.
Had he had a bad night’s sleep? Was he still recovering from that bout of flu?
‘Morning, Dr Brodie.’