Neurosurgeon...and Mum! (7 page)

A
FTER
their agreement on friendship, things settled down. Amy still found herself looking at Tom and wondering what it would feel like to kiss him again, but she kept herself in check. It was the wrong time for both of them. Maybe if they’d met in other circumstances, things would have been different, but, here and now, she knew that friendship was all they could offer each other.

Perdy’s friend Alexis came over after school on the Thursday; they made white choc-chip cookies to have with home-made strawberry ice cream for pudding, and Amy was surprised by how much she enjoyed the domesticity of it all. In London, she never had time to bake or potter around in the kitchen; and it was just as well her flat didn’t have a garden or it would be overgrown with weeds. Whereas, here, she found that she actually enjoyed twitching weeds out of Cassie’s garden and watering the tomato plants in the greenhouse.

It was odd to think that, had things been different ten years ago, her life might have been more like this. She might have been living in Boston or maybe back in London, but she wouldn’t have gone home to an empty flat every night. She would’ve come home to a family. Even if
she did love her flat and it was in a smart riverside development, she had to face the fact that it was still empty.

She’d pinned everything on her career. And now that was over…what did she have left?

Maybe her boss was right, she thought wryly, and she did need counselling.

Perdy and Alexis were playing in the garden and Amy was about to call them in for a drink when she overheard Alexis ask, ‘So is Amy your mum, then?’

Uh-oh—she really should’ve asked Tom how he normally dealt with questions, so she could step in and protect his little girl.

But Perdy seemed matter-of-fact as she answered. ‘No, my mum caught a fever and died last year when she was helping sick people in Africa.’

So it wasn’t a divorce. It was much, much more final than that. Amy’s heart bled for her. How did you get over that kind of loss, at such a young age? But there wasn’t a catch of pain in the little girl’s voice; it sounded as if she’d come to terms with things. Perdy seemed a lot more resilient than Amy herself felt right now. Or Tom, for that matter.

‘Oh. So you haven’t got a mum,’ Alexis said.

‘No, but it’s OK. She never used to be around much anyway. Dad’s cool,’ Perdy replied. ‘He tells the best bedtime stories.’

Amy stored that away to tell Tom later, when Perdy was asleep, knowing he’d appreciate the compliment. And maybe it might help to heal him.

‘So is Amy your dad’s girlfriend?’ Alexis asked.

Amy froze. Had Alexis heard some kind of gossip in the town, or was she just asking a child’s direct question?

But Perdy didn’t seem in the least bit fazed. ‘No, she’s our friend. We met her last week. Her aunt and uncle own
the house and she’s come to stay for a bit to help us look after Buster.’

‘That’s cool,’ Alexis said, stooping to rub the dog’s tummy. ‘I wish I had a dog.’

‘We couldn’t in London because our garden was too tiny,’ Perdy confided. ‘But Buster’s brilliant. Did you know he does proper tricks? Amy showed me.’

Amy relaxed, glad that the conversation was back onto less difficult topics, and went out to ask if the girls wanted a drink, pretending that she hadn’t overheard a thing.

Later that evening, when Perdy was in bed, she told Tom what she’d overheard, while being careful not to cross the boundaries and offer him sympathy on the loss of Eloise—or to make a comment about Eloise’s parenting skills. She had a feeling that Tom had had more than enough of sympathy—just as she had, after Colin.

‘Ouch. So you were right about the grapevine.’

‘No, I think it was just an obvious question for a little girl wondering who I was and where I fitted into things,’ she said. ‘But that wasn’t why I told you. I thought you’d like to know that Perdy’s clearly very proud of you. So even if you don’t think you’re doing a good job, she thinks you are.’

‘Thank you for that,’ Tom said. And she could see in his eyes how much it warmed him.

Over the next few days, Amy and Tom fell into a routine of talking in the conservatory over a glass of wine in the evenings, watching the sky darken and the stars come out. Tom was careful not to ask her anything more about her job, though he did tell her that Mrs Cooper was feeling a lot more reassured. Instead they discussed medicine as it had been in Joseph’s time.

‘Can you imagine?’ Amy asked. ‘No anaesthetics, no antiseptics—the pain those poor patients must have gone
through. And the only way you could operate on them was to get them completely drunk.’

‘Meaning they would’ve woken up afterwards with the most horrible hangover as well as the pain from the operation,’Tom said. ‘I’m glad we don’t have to do that nowadays.’ He paused. ‘So was Joseph a family doctor or a surgeon?’

‘A surgeon,’ Amy confirmed. ‘There’s a bit in one of his earlier diaries about how he learned from one of the surgeons who’d been involved with the Resurrection men.’

Tom blinked. ‘The body snatchers, you mean?’

She nodded. ‘I know it’s shocking, but I can understand it. Before the Anatomy Act of 1832, students could only dissect bodies of convicted criminals—and obviously as medicine grew as a discipline, demand outstripped supply. Joseph studied under Sir Astley Cooper. I think that’s how he met my great-great-great-great-grandmother, actually, because Astley Cooper came from around here. She’d been invited to one of his parties in London in her debutante year.’

‘Small world,’ Tom said. ‘It sounds fascinating. So what are you going to do with his casebooks? Get them published?’

‘Transcribe them, for now, then talk to Dad and Joe and see what they think we should do. Though bits of me would love to write his biography. The way he talks about trying to learn more, wanting to find new ways of helping people…it’s inspiring.’ And it had reminded her, too, of how much she’d wanted to be a doctor.

Until the operation that had gone so badly wrong and wiped out her confidence.

‘So has there always been a doctor in your family ever since Joseph?’ Tom asked.

‘Every generation,’ Amy confirmed. ‘Most of us have been surgeons, too; Joe bucked the trend by becoming a family doctor.’ She ignored the fact that she would have
bucked the trend, too, if she’d continued with her original studies. ‘Dad’s a cardiac specialist; Granddad was a general surgeon, and so was his father. I never met him, but I do know he served as a medic in the First World War. And one of my great-whatever uncles was at the Crimea.’

‘I bet his casebooks would be fascinating. Heartbreaking, but fascinating,’ Tom said.

He looked as if he was about to ask why she’d chosen neurosurgery as her specialty, and she swiftly changed the subject to avoid the awkwardness. ‘Have you had a chance to explore the coast yet?’

‘Not really.’

‘The beaches stretch for miles and they’ve been in all kinds of films, and then at Hunstanton there are the famous stripy cliffs. That’s where lots of the fossil-hunters go.’

‘Perdy would like that. She had a real dinosaur phase when she was five,’ Tom said with a smile. ‘Every Sunday we had to go to the Natural History Museum to see the dinosaurs.’

Millie had loved dinosaurs, too, Amy thought with a pang. ‘They found a mammoth in the cliffs just down the road at West Runton when Beth and I were teenagers. We spent hours on the beach here, trying to find our own mammoth.’

‘I take it you didn’t?’

‘No.’ She laughed. ‘But it didn’t stop us trying.’

Tom suggested it to Perdy, the following morning. ‘That’d be so cool!’ the little girl said, her eyes widening.

‘Want to come with us, Amy?’ Tom asked.

The invitation was casual enough, but Amy knew she was already getting dangerously close to them both. Better to put a little distance between them. ‘Thanks, but I’ve been slacking on Joseph’s papers, and I did promise Joe.’

It was a feeble excuse, and she knew Tom saw straight
through it. He looked slightly hurt, and he didn’t join her in the conservatory that evening, pleading pressure of paperwork—as flimsy an excuse as her own had been. And Amy was annoyed with herself for feeling hurt in turn, when she knew that keeping away from him was the sensible thing to do.

They kept a polite distance until Wednesday morning, when Amy noticed that Tom was wearing an old faded T-shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms instead of the suit he usually wore first thing.

‘Are you not in surgery this morning?’ she asked.

‘I’m doing afternoon surgery today—so I’m glad that Perdy’s going to Alexis’s house after school again today. Saves me having to split myself into two,’ he added softly, clearly mindful that his daughter was only upstairs, brushing her teeth.

She remembered the last time Tom had come back to Marsh End House after dropping Perdy off at school. When he’d kissed her.

Oh, for pity’s sake, she had to stop this. Be sensible. Hadn’t they agreed that they would be just friends?

‘I thought I’d take Buster for a run after I’ve walked Perdy to school,’ he said casually.

‘Have fun,’ she said with a smile, then headed for Joe’s study to work on Joseph’s casebooks.

Mid-morning, Amy was having trouble deciphering the cramped script—no wonder his copperplate handwriting had deteriorated to a scrawl, she thought, given that his wife had just had twins and his practice was expanding—so she went to fetch her camera from her room. She was pretty sure that, if she took a photograph of the page and magnified it on the computer, she’d be able to work out some of the more illegible words.

But as she stepped onto the landing Tom walked out of the bathroom. Clearly he’d had a shower after taking the dog for a run because his hair was still damp, and he’d changed into jeans and a different T-shirt. She could smell the clean citrusy scent of his shower gel; and without his glasses he looked different. Less vulnerable. Touchable.

Amy had no idea what possessed her to do such a crazy thing. But she found herself reaching up to touch his face, resting her palm against the curve of his cheek. And then Tom moved, turning his face into her hand; she felt the lightest, gentlest pressure of his lips against her skin.

What happened next was a blur, but then she was in his arms, her own arms wrapped as tightly round him as his were around her, and he was kissing her properly. Just as he had the other morning, his mouth sweet and yet hot and demanding at the same time.

She gave in to the need and slid her hands underneath his T-shirt; his muscles were firm and toned and felt like heaven.

And then his hands slid under her own T-shirt, the pads of his fingers moving in tiny circles against her skin. Amy felt as if she was burning up with need and desire; she couldn’t remember wanting anyone so badly.

Neither of them could drag their mouth away from the other’s for long enough to speak, but by silent consent they both moved towards her room. She knew nobody could see into her room at the back of the house, but all the same she dragged the curtains closed. Who removed whose clothes, she had no idea, but at last they were naked and he was lifting her onto the bed. He kissed his way down her throat; she arched against the bed, offering him more, and he kissed his way down her breastbone, so slowly that it drove her crazy. She slid her hands into his hair and drew him closer, wanting more. His hair was so soft and
his mouth was hard and hot, the perfect combination; and then at last his mouth closed round one nipple, teasing it with his tongue and his teeth. She heard herself whimper his name, and he paid similar attention to the other nipple, driving her crazy. He nudged one thigh between hers; if he wasn’t inside her in the next five seconds, she knew she was going to implode.

But then he tensed.

And stopped.

‘Tom?’ Her voice was so ragged she barely recognised it.

He dragged in a breath. ‘We have to stop. While I can still think straight.’

What? Why? Her head was all over the place.

‘I don’t have a condom,’ he said.

That was it? The only reason? Relief flooded through her. ‘I do. I think,’ she added. She really, really hoped she did.

‘Thank God—because I feel like a teenager right now, hopelessly unprepared.’

She loved the fact that he admitted it, instead of going for macho posturing and pretending that this was something he did all the time. And there was something about him that made her feel like a teenager, too, full of desire and no idea how to handle it.

She slid off the bed and went to the zipped compartment in her handbag. Please, please let them be there, she begged silently as she opened the zip. To her relief, there was still a small packet of condoms there. And there was one left. She checked the date and blew out a breath. ‘Thank God.’

‘That you have one?’

‘That it’s still in date,’ she corrected. ‘If it hadn’t been, I think I might just have imploded.’

‘That makes two of us,’ Tom admitted, and held his hand out to her.

She took it; he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. Kissed her until she felt utterly boneless and she couldn’t think straight.

She heard him rip the packet, then the unmistakeable sound of the condom being rolled on; and then, at last, he was kneeling between her thighs again, nudging them apart.

Slowly, slowly, he eased into her, giving her time to get used to his weight and the feel of him inside her.

Strange how such an unfamiliar body could feel so familiar. So right. So perfect.

For a moment, she felt as if she’d been waiting for this for her entire life.

But that was insane. Of course she hadn’t. This was just mad, crazy desire and this would get it out of their systems—and then they could go back to normal.

Couldn’t they?

To stop herself thinking, she kissed him again; he responded, lifting her hips so he could push deeper into her. Right at that moment, the empty space in her life seemed to flatten and fade away; her entire senses were filled with Tom.

Warmth spread through her body, coiling deep inside her, and then suddenly she was falling over the edge. She felt Tom go still as her body rippled round his; clearly he, too, had hit the peak.