Questions of Trust A Medical Romance - By Sam Archer Page 0,5

her sigh.

‘Tom... how late?’

‘Just leaving now. I should be ten minutes. Fifteen max.’

‘Since when did it take you ten minutes to get across town in this traffic?’

‘I’ll get there by magic carpet if I have to.’

‘This is, what? The fourth time now?’

‘Hello... hello?’ Tom rubbed his cuff across the mouthpiece to simulate static. ‘You’re breaking up.’

He put the phone away, dropped into the front seat of his car and took off.

In the event, he pulled up outside the nursery at six twenty-two. The place was deserted apart from two figures in the front garden: Megan, the nursery manager, and a little girl of four. As always, Tom felt his heart leap, doubly so as he climbed out and she caught sight of him and yelled, ‘Daddy!’ in a voice of unfeigned delight. She ran to him, a tall child for her age with her fair hair in a plait – one of the staff must have done that during the day, as Tom certainly hadn’t when he’d got her dressed that morning – and collided with him like a missile meeting its target.

As his daughter babbled excitedly in his ear, cramming one anecdote about her day into another so that they made little sense, Tom winced an apology at Megan. The nursery manager looked exasperated rather than angry.

‘The last time,’ Tom said, having to raise his voice to make himself heard. ‘Promise.’

‘You said that before,’ chided Megan, fishing her own car keys out of her pocket.

Embarking on the journey home, with Kelly strapped into her seat in the back but still chattering unstoppably, Tom drew deep breaths, trying to force himself to relax. Megan was right. He’d promised before, and he couldn’t guarantee he’d always be on time in the future. Two days a week he collected Kelly from nursery in the afternoon, and left her with a babysitter later when he went to do his evening surgery. Those days weren’t a problem. It was the three days on which he had to be there before the nursery closed at six that were becoming increasingly difficult to manage. He could, he supposed, ask somebody to pick his daughter up from nursery on those days, but Tom had an aversion to the idea, and felt he couldn’t trust anyone to fetch her and bring her home safely. It was irrational, he knew, but it was there nonetheless.

Single parenthood. He’d heard it was difficult, had sympathised with those of his patients who found themselves in a similar position… but his understanding of it had been merely theoretical before. Now, living the life, he had a new appreciation for those who coped with it for years on end. Did it get easier as one became more accustomed? Well, he supposed he’d find out in time.

Tom found himself thinking about the new patients at the practice today, Chloe Edwards and her son Jake. Mrs Edwards herself was a lone parent, Tom assumed, otherwise her husband or partner would have registered at the same time as the rest of the family. She’d seemed distracted, harassed even. Had she too found herself recently left to raise her family single-handedly? Or was her unsettled air simply the result of the upheaval of moving house and the numerous hassles, minor and major, that inevitably came with such a big life event?

Tom didn’t think he was a particularly self-deluding man, and he recognised immediately that his thoughts had drifted to Chloe Edwards not just because of what they perhaps had in common. He had to admit she was an intensely attractive woman, even with her slightly offhand air. Thirty years old (he felt a twinge of guilt that he didn’t need to guess her age because her date of birth was on the registration form she’d filled out), there’d been an elegance about her despite the casualness of her clothes, a thin black sweater and jeans. Long, straight dark hair, a deep black, framed her pale, unlined face, and her eyelashes appeared naturally thick and highlighted the hazel of her eyes.

‘Now, now, Dr Carlyle,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Behave.’

He pulled in to the short driveway at the front of his house and, freeing Kelly from her seat and helping her down, he started rummaging in his mind for ideas about supper for them both.

Chapter Two

The email was waiting for Chloe when she logged on.

Dear Ms Edwards, it ran. Thanks for your submitted articles, which we enjoyed very much. I particularly liked the one from the Camden Express about the