His Perfect Bride?. Louisa HeatonЧитать онлайн книгу.
his ears and two rats perched on his shoulder, trying to sniff the hair on his head. She scooped them up easily and placed them back in their cage.
Olly let out a big breath and then brushed off his shoulders. ‘Thanks. So, Anubis … what is he?’
She looked at him slightly askance. ‘He’s my big challenge.’
‘Challenge? Why?’
‘Because I’m scared to death of him, and as I’m determined to beat all my fears I’ve borrowed him from a friend until I get over that fear.’
Olly gave a single nod. ‘And that fear is called …?’ Though he had a suspicion.
Lula removed the blanket. ‘Arachnophobia.’
In the small tank, amongst some wood and soil, was a large, very dark, very hairy, red-kneed tarantula.
He peered closer. ‘It’s bigger than my hand.’
‘Isn’t he a beauty?’
‘I thought you were scared?’
‘I am. But I can still appreciate how gorgeous he is.’
‘And it’s your aim in life to pick this thing up?’
She nodded. ‘One of my aims. Eventually.’
Olly shook his head. ‘You’re madder than a boxful of circus clowns.’
They both laughed, but then Lula shivered and headed over to the fire and stood with her back to it, hands stretched out behind her. ‘Freezing!’
‘Shall I get the rest of the boxes?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind?’
‘It depends … Are there any more zoo creatures in Betsy?’
Lula smiled. ‘Just woolly jumpers.’
‘Safe enough. Though you might have warned me earlier that I was handling livestock.’
They’d unloaded all the boxes, and Lula had put her clothes away and freshened up, when Olly’s phone rang. The out-of-hours doctor service informed him that one of his older patients in the area was suffering from chest pains. Could he go?
‘It’s Mr Maynard. He lives out on one of the farms. We’ll take my car.’
Lula nodded. It would be best to start with, until she got to know her way around—where the best roads were, what shortcuts there were. And this was a good way to meet some of the patients who couldn’t make it into the surgery for various reasons. She was particularly drawn to find all of those patients who tried to keep themselves hidden away and make sure she saw everyone.
As Olly drove he filled her in on Mr Maynard.
‘He’s eighty-two years old and lives alone. His farm was a dairy once, but he never married or had kids and during the nineties everything just fell to pieces. He had to sell his herd and now he lives in the farmhouse alone.’
Lula thought it sounded a very lonely existence. ‘How does he get out and about?’
‘He doesn’t. His arthritis is bad, so he doesn’t drive. Molly from the village shop goes up twice a week with his shopping and drops it into his kitchen. He generally looks after himself.’
‘Any other health conditions I ought to know about?’
‘He’s got high blood pressure, but he’s on medication for that.’
‘Ramipril?’
Olly nodded. ‘And a diuretic.’
The diuretic had been included to help reduce fluid in the body. The more fluid there was to be transported in thin arteries, the higher the blood pressure, so a diuretic helped to reduce fluid build-up.
Driving through the village at night was quite surreal. Everywhere was covered in snow, and yellow lamplight lit the way every thirty yards or so, until eventually they hit the outskirts of the village and the lamplight disappeared. They had to rely on the four-wheel drive’s headlights, and with thick snow still falling it was very slow going.
Lula wondered how on earth Molly at the shop would even get to Mr Maynard’s farm with the ground covered like this. Did she have a four-wheel drive?
A sign appeared—’Burner’s Farm’—and Olly turned into its driveway. They were bumped and jostled along as he drove down the pitted road and eventually an old stone farmhouse appeared, surrounded by old barns and outbuildings in a crumbling state of decay. It was hard to see the property’s true state at night, but Lula could see that there were sections of roof missing from the barn due to the snowfall, and that all the old machinery was decaying from lack of use.
Alighting from the car, Olly grabbed his bag and he and Lula trudged through the snow to the farmhouse door. Olly banged on it quite hard, before pushing it open and calling out. ‘Mr Maynard? Donald? It’s Dr James and Dr Chance.’
‘In here,’ a croaky voice called back.
The hallway was dark, but at the end of it was a brightly lit room from which warmth poured. Lula was glad he had a coal fire on the go, and was keeping warm at least. Their patient was sitting in a chair with blankets round him, and at his side were the remains of a hot dinner and a glass of red wine.
‘Donald? This is Dr Chance—she’s new at the surgery. How are you?’
Mr Maynard peered past Olly at her and beamed in a giant smile. ‘Well, hello, dear, and what a pretty little thing you are!’
‘Hello, Mr Maynard. How are you doing?’ She sat down beside him, instantly taking in whatever information she could—the colour of his skin, whether or not he seemed clammy, his respiratory rate—but he looked good. He was a healthy colour, not out of breath and with no signs of sweating.
‘I’m all right now. They just panic at the other end of the phone, don’t they?’
She felt sure he was referring to the people who manned the out-of-hours doctor service. She herself didn’t think they panicked, but they had to respond urgently if a patient mentioned chest pains. It could be life-threatening.
‘What made you call in tonight?’
‘Well, my chest was hurting, my dear, and when you’re all alone you convince yourself you’re about to kick the bucket at any moment so I rang up. But I had a damned good belch and felt a lot better. Just indigestion, I think—all stuff and nonsense. No need for you to have come out and checked on me.’
She shook her head, smiling, and patted the back of his hand. ‘There’s every need to check on you. Now, while we’re here, let’s check your blood pressure and pulse—is that okay?’
He let them do their tests, and he seemed quite well. His blood pressure was in the normal range for him and his pulse rate was steady and strong. He had no pain, and they could see that he’d eaten a particularly strong curry, so perhaps he was right and it was just indigestion he’d experienced.
‘You’re on your own out here, Mr Maynard?’ Lula asked.
‘Call me Donald, dear.’
‘Donald.’ She smiled.
‘I am. Been this way for years—lost my Teddy eight years back.’
‘Teddy?’
‘The dog,’ Olly said. ‘Gorgeous Border collie, he was.’
‘That he was,’ said Donald.
‘Don’t you miss getting out and about, Donald? You must get bored, being here in these four walls all the time?’
‘I do … but what am I going to do? I don’t like bingo, and I don’t like going down the pub—it’s not my thing. I like a bit of culture, me, and there ain’t no culture in Atlee Wold.’
Lula nodded in understanding.