The Brooding Doc's Redemption. Kate HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
of mine at the university is doing a study on the effects of diet and exercise in people over thirty-five. He can lend us activity monitors, so we can get our at-risk patients to wear them for a week and we can show them a baseline of what they actually do, and then we look at how they can boost their activity, when and where.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘I thought we could repeat the monitoring at three-month intervals to see how the activity patterns of our patients have changed, and tie that in with weight, blood glucose and cholesterol checks. It’s a win-win situation. My friend Jay gets people in his target group for his study, and we get to help our patients. And the monitors won’t cost anything, so Leigh won’t be on my case about budgets.’
‘Ah, the joys of budgets. The key to getting people to do regular exercise is to find out what they actually enjoy doing,’ Marc said.
She was pleased that he’d hit the nail on the head. ‘That’s why I want to get the local gyms and sports clubs involved, to set up taster sessions and beginners’ classes. Once our patients find out what they enjoy doing, then we talk them into having an exercise buddy who goes with them to whatever the activity is.’
‘So they feel they can’t let their friends down and they stick to a programme,’ Marc said. ‘That’s a really good idea.’
‘Sam says you have an interest in sports medicine.’
‘Yes.’ Though Marc didn’t volunteer any information about himself or what experience he had in sports medicine, Laurie noticed. Clearly he preferred to keep himself to himself. OK. She could work with that. She’d seen how he was with patients, and that was more important.
‘So would you like to be involved in the project?’ she asked.
‘I can’t really say no, can I?’
‘Of course you can. I understand if you’re too busy.’
He looked thoughtful, and for a moment she thought he was going to say no. Then he nodded. ‘OK.’
‘Thank you. When’s a good time for you for a meeting?’
‘After surgery?’ he suggested.
Not when she had a pile of paperwork and then had to take the dog out and do the school run. ‘Is there any chance you could make an evening meeting at my house?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Your house,’ he repeated.
‘Because I’m a single mum,’ she explained. ‘It’d be a lot easier for me to discuss work with you at my place after Izzy’s gone to bed. If that’s a problem for you, never mind—I’ll ask my mum to babysit.’
Something in her tone told Marc that wasn’t her preferred option. ‘But you’d rather not?’
‘Mum helps me out quite a bit as it is,’ Laurie admitted. ‘I try not to ask her unless it’s really desperate, because it’s not fair to keep relying on her.’
Discuss the project at her house.
A family home.
It was something Marc had shied away from for the last couple of years; since the accident, he’d quietly cut himself off from friends who had children. But right now it didn’t look as if he had much choice in the matter. Given that Laurie had already explained why she didn’t want to ask her mum, he’d feel mean if he pushed her into getting a babysitter. And he didn’t want to explain why children were difficult for him, outside work. That was his business. His burden.
‘If it’s a problem for your partner,’ she added, misreading his silence, ‘then she—or he—is very welcome to join us. We won’t be discussing individual patients, so we wouldn’t be breaking any confidentiality.’
His partner was welcome to join them.
Marc just about managed not to flinch.
‘I don’t have a partner,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice even. It was something he’d just about come to terms with over the last two years. But he still couldn’t forgive himself for Ginny’s death.
Laurie grimaced. ‘Sorry. You must think I’m being horribly nosey. I guess that’s the problem with growing up in a small town—you know everyone and everyone knows you, and if you don’t know something you tend to come straight out and ask. It wasn’t meant maliciously.’
He understood that—he’d already worked out that Laurie Grant was warm, bubbly and incredibly enthusiastic—but he didn’t want people knowing too much about him. If they knew the truth about his past, they’d despise him as much as he despised himself. ‘Uh-huh,’ he said neutrally.
‘How about this evening?’ she suggested.
‘That’s fine. What time’s good for you?’
‘Izzy goes to bed at seven. So any time after that.’ She shrugged. ‘Unless you’d like to come for dinner? It’s nothing fancy, just pasta and garlic bread and salad, but there’s more than enough if you’d like to join us.’
‘Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check if you don’t mind.’ He didn’t want to be rude to his new colleague; but he was also guiltily aware that in other circumstances he would’ve loved to share a meal with her. There was something about Laurie that drew him; she wasn’t a conventional beauty, but there was a warmth and brightness about her, and her smile made the room feel as if it had just lit up. Though, for his own peace of mind, he knew he needed to keep himself separate. And in any case he’d guess that, as a single parent, her life would be complicated enough without adding someone like him to the mix.
‘No problem.’ She scribbled down her address on a piece of paper, added her phone number and handed it to him. ‘Just in case you get held up. See you later.’ She smiled. ‘Enjoy your first morning, and welcome to Pond Lane Surgery.’
The rest of the morning surgery went fine. Marc went home for a sandwich and ate it in the kitchen. He stayed out of the dining room, because it contained a stack of boxes he hadn’t been able to face unpacking. Boxes full of memories he couldn’t handle.
Maybe he should’ve taken up his sister’s offer of help, instead of being too proud and telling Yvonne that he was fine and he’d be able to sort it out. Because he wasn’t fine. And he couldn’t sort it out.
Still, he’d brushed her offer aside, so he’d have to live with his choice. The boxes couldn’t stay there for ever, so he’d have to make himself do it room by room.
One step at a time.
CHAPTER TWO
MARC wasn’t in the mood for cooking when he got home from an afternoon of house calls. He made himself a salad and ate it listlessly—food nowadays was fuel, rather than a pleasure—then looked up Laurie’s address on his satnav. Her house was totally the other side of the town from his, far enough to justify using the car rather than walking.
When he parked his car outside and walked up the path to her front door, he wished he’d thought to bring her some flowers or something. OK, so this was a work meeting rather than a social event, but it was still being held at her house, and he felt uncomfortable turning up without anything. Then again, would flowers be making the wrong kind of statement?
He shook himself. Oh, for pity’s sake. He needed to be professional about this. But he was horribly aware that this whole situation was throwing him. He was about to walk into just the kind of home he could’ve had if the accident hadn’t happened. A family home. One with children.
But the accident had happened. He had a bachelor pad, not a family home. And he only had himself to blame.
He knocked on the front door. There a brief woof and a ‘Shh!’, and then Laurie opened the door. A chocolate Labrador with a wagging blur of a tail was desperately trying to barge past her. There was a smudge of flour on Laurie’s face and several of her dark corkscrew curls