Snowed in at the Practice Page 18

  ‘So,’ Tilly said, tugging down her miniskirt to cover her thighs as she perched on the chair beside his desk, ‘I went over to the Pickwick Estate the other day for some home visit Alice gave me. I suspect she had an ulterior motive actually, but that’s another story. The point is, when I got there, well . . .’ She looked uncomfortable, twisting her mouth to bite at her bottom lip. ‘I wasn’t being deliberately nosey. I just had a little look around.’

  Dan waited, knowing only too well there was no point prompting this disclosure.

  Tilly leaned across and typed May Fowler’s name into his computer and the patient file opened automatically on the screen.

  Dan quickly scanned the notes. ‘I’m not all that familiar with her case. Holly handed her over to Alice.’ He scrolled down the screen, the various entries painting a picture of ill health going back decades. Often help never sought until extreme measures were required. He looked up. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘No,’ said Tilly simply. ‘And I spoke to Alice about it, but we both decided this needed wiser minds than ours.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Actually Alice was supposed to be here with me to do this, but she got held up with Cassie Holland in reception.’

  ‘And when you say “this” – what do you mean?’ asked Dan. ‘Is it time to think about residential care, do you think?’ His glance flickered to May’s list of prescribed medication and the frequency of the refills. ‘If she’s needing this much pain relief, then there are better ways to manage her discomfort if she’s in the right place.’

  A tentative knock at the door and Alice slipped inside in time to catch the end of his sentence. ‘That’s what we thought too, but then you have to consider May’s granddaughter, Louise. Her mum – May’s daughter – Keira, is still in hospital and, speaking to her oncologist, is looking at a move towards palliative care. We can’t get May the help she needs, without leaving Louise without a guardian.’

  Dan clicked through page after page, the computer system making it cumbersome to link up family members. ‘Louise is three?’ he checked. ‘How on earth has May been taking care of a tot all this time without Social Services stepping in?’

  Tilly glanced at Alice. ‘Well, I think it’s because she’s an adoring grandmother who is very, very convincing at telling people what they want to hear. When I got there, she was expecting me, and everything seemed fine. But about half an hour after I’d left, I realised I’d left my phone there, so I went back.’

  Dan sat back in his chair, realising in that moment how tempting it might be for someone to close their eyes and ears to this situation. To turn away from anything that might force a hideous decision. ‘And?’ he prompted.

  ‘And they were both crying,’ said Tilly, choked up even saying the words. ‘Not snivelling or anything, I mean May was actually on the floor sobbing and the little girl was screaming blue murder from her playpen. Her nappy had fallen off and there was . . . Look I know, all parents have bad days too, but this wasn’t that. This wasn’t, I don’t know, normal.’

  ‘She’s not coping,’ Alice cut in. ‘I went back again this morning just to be sure. Unannounced. Louise hadn’t been fed, hadn’t been changed. May could barely open the door, her hands were so swollen, and she was still in last night’s clothes. The lift’s still out. They haven’t left the flat in weeks, according to the neighbour that buzzed me in.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Dan, breathing out slowly. ‘As if that family hasn’t got enough to deal with. And there’s nobody else, no other relatives? What about the dad? Is he in the picture?’

  ‘Never has been apparently. I checked with Records. Unknown,’ Alice said. ‘I’m not saying this lightly, but I think we need to make the call.’

  Dan nodded. ‘I’ll pop round first. If we’re going to be the instigators in pulling this little family apart, then I need to see this for myself.’

  ‘Steel yourself,’ said Tilly. ‘I’ve seen some awful crap in my time, but that little girl just looks heartbroken. She has a mother and grandmother who love her to bits, but somehow, she’s still all alone.’

  ‘Come with me,’ said Dan, all thoughts of firing Tilly forgotten. ‘We can go together.’

  Chapter 21

  Connor took a deep breath, knowing he was running indecently late, and jabbed repeatedly at the mobile phone on his dashboard, as he wondered just exactly how long the vet would wait before she gave up on him as a timewaster. ‘Popping out to buy pig feed’ had turned into a ridiculous farce of missed junctions and three-point turns.

  No signal.

  Not even a single bar. The urbanite in him howled in despair, but a small part of his brain registered that this kind of seclusion was exactly what he’d been searching for: no constant Twitter updates, no calls from his manager, or his PR firm – just living.

  If he could even call it that.

  Keeping busy was one thing; this frenetic activity of late was another. He knew, on some level, that Holly had rumbled him – had even been poised to throw himself on her mercy and tell her the pathetic truth of the matter. He’d felt sure that she would understand, could possibly even help, but then his stupid pride had prevailed and he’d walked away.

  Alone in a crowd.

  There was probably a song in there somewhere, if he could muster the enthusiasm to pick up his guitar, he thought to himself with a wry smile

  He put the Range Rover back into gear and pulled away, trying to ignore the metaphor that presented itself, lyrics forming in his reluctant subconscious, even as he attempted to navigate the network of tiny lanes that all looked uncannily similar to his untrained eye. The story of his life these days, or so it seemed: trying to find his way home.

  Taking a tiny left-hand turn beneath the shadow of some ancient horse chestnut trees, light flurries of snow already dusting the bare, sweeping branches, Connor gave a start of surprise when he recognised how close he’d been to Larkford all along.

  Metaphors, confirmed his subconscious smugly. Everywhere.

  He blinked hard, as he parked the car, wondering whether meeting somebody new today was actually a good idea while he felt so fractured and disorientated. Making conversation, being polite, even when talking about building his herd of goats for the farm, somehow felt like a reach this evening.

  A reach too far, perhaps?

  Striding towards the pub, he stopped dead in his path. A rush of adrenalin spiking his pulse, thudding away at the base of his throat in a way he had almost forgotten.

  It winded him for a moment, and he paused in the doorway, unwilling for this to be the first impression he made on the girl who sat inside waiting for him, her face tipped towards the fire instinctively, coltish legs folded under the pub table and an oversized Aran jumper swamping her delicate frame.

  She turned, as though alerted by his gaze. ‘Hi,’ she said simply, with a smile. ‘I’m Kitty.’

  ‘Connor,’ he managed, stepping forward and holding out his hand, finding himself unwilling to let go.

  She gave him a curious smile. ‘You’re so not what I was expecting. I mean, putting aside the diva timekeeping . . .’ She gently let go of his hand and pushed a half of local cider towards him across the table, conversation in the pub garden merely adding a blurring backdrop to her words.

  Connor gave himself a little shake as he sat down opposite her, suddenly feeling like a gauche adolescent in her company. She was everything he never looked for in a woman and yet . . . He couldn’t stop staring at the slightly crazy-looking bundle of hair on the top of her head, which fell gently to frame her face with natural, blonde-streaked tendrils. She certainly didn’t meet the somewhat, dare he say it, heftier mental picture of the bossy lady vet he’d been prepared for and he found himself both chagrined and immediately off balance. Not to mention completely out of his depth.

  Women like Kitty Clarke didn’t cross his path that often.

  If ever.

  *

  As the pub filled around them, and the soft blanket of snow silently deepened
outside, their conversation flowed easily and hours later, Connor couldn’t exactly recall what they’d even talked about. Goats, certainly. Larkford, of course. But it was more a sense of having found, against all odds, that single, meaningful connection that had been so markedly missing in his life. She didn’t seem to mind his notable lack of witty repartee or hopeless lack of interest in current affairs; she wasn’t obviously enthralled by his looks or wealth either. She just, well, listened to him as though she truly heard what he was trying to say. It was awfully intoxicating.

  Kitty ripped open a bag of crisps, shrugging as he refused her offer to share. He was quietly impressed, he realised, by a girl who was unfazed by a Pickled Onion Monster Munch.

  And who knew that was even a factor in how you felt about somebody? Kitty’s natural ease of movement and confidence was seemingly born from a complete disregard for appearances or status. It was something he himself could only aspire to.

  ‘So, do you have a plan?’ she asked, breaking into his thoughts. ‘Beyond the goats and the bees?’ She gave him a wicked smile. ‘Everyone here has heard all about your bees!’ She nodded her head over to where Cassie Holland was holding court at another table.

  Connor shook his head. ‘She’ll be the death of me, that woman.’

  ‘Ah, she’s all talk and no trousers. Mostly,’ Kitty reassured him. ‘She just likes to get on her high horse about some things. Obviously, you seem to have piqued her interest, though. Sorry about that.’

  ‘Not the best start to my plans,’ he agreed. ‘Although, hopefully she won’t object to the goats you’ve found for me. I mean, they’re pretty tiny and inoffensive, right?’

  Kitty grinned. ‘Well, you’re going to be the one getting up close and personal with them. So I guess we’ll wait and see. Perry’s herd are kind of adorable, as well as high-yielding, so you’re probably safe.’

  ‘Well, obviously, it was adorable I was aiming for,’ Connor said, even as he wanted to kick himself at the clumsy, slightly teasing tone that had crept into his voice.

  She just shook her head and smiled. ‘You’re okay, you know? I was all braced for a wanker in leather trousers mansplaining animal husbandry to me, but you’re all right.’ She clinked her glass against his. ‘You just need a little confidence in your plans if you’re to see off the Cassie Hollands of this world. Stop apologising for every decision you make.’ She reached across the table and squeezed his hand supportively. ‘Your farm, your choices.’

  Connor nodded, wondering whether he could extrapolate that advice across the board. Own his decisions a little more assuredly and stop the doubts creeping in.

  ‘Let me run something past you . . .’ he began.

  *

  It didn’t make any sense whatsoever, to be spilling all the details of his closely guarded secret to a woman he’d only just met, but then, nothing about this evening made any sense at all. True, the heady feeling of making a connection was undermined at every step by an insistent thud of guilt for dropping his guard and allowing himself to enjoy a little company, but somehow that wasn’t enough of an incentive to walk away.

  ‘So, in my mind’s eye, it’s a Winter Solstice celebration, a family festival,’ he explained to Kitty, his voice low and confiding, as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a brightly coloured flyer: hippy-dippy artwork and bubble writing loud and clear on a glossy page of A4. ‘This is just a draft copy, but I want it to be something really special – music, books, food, glamping – the works. I want to really put Larkford on the map.’

  He stopped, waiting for her reaction, hesitating when none was forthcoming. ‘What do you think?’

  She nodded, taking her time to read the flyer, before looking up with a smile. ‘I think it’s ambitious. I think you’re slightly mad to take on so much at once. But . . .’ She smiled warmly. ‘I think if anyone can do it, you can.’

  He felt the give of tension releasing in his shoulders. Quite why he hadn’t confided in Lizzie or Holly he couldn’t say, but having Kitty Clarke’s approval suddenly felt crucial to the entire endeavour.

  He knew it was a little gung-ho – festivals happened in the summer months, everyone knew that – but he just didn’t have it in him to wait until next year. This winter was his brand-new, fresh start – a new house, a new business and, now, a new way to be in show-biz that didn’t require endless touring and hotel rooms with his band. ‘At Home with The Hive’ was too good an idea to ignore. And once he’d stumbled across the remains of the tiny stone circle at the peak of Blackleigh Farm, its ancient presence had seemed like a sign. A sign he couldn’t ignore.

  ‘I know it’s a lot to take on, what with moving house and setting up the farm,’ he said, ‘but I’ve already got some headlining bands teed up, and it will be the perfect opportunity to launch my new honey and cheese brands. I’ve even got a commercial sponsor lined up – “Bee-you-tiful”? You’ve probably heard of them?’ He paused. ‘I’ve thought this through, Kitty – it isn’t a whim,’ he added for good measure, as much to convince himself.

  She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t judge you if it was. But don’t underestimate how much time and energy goes into setting up a new business, especially where livestock are involved.’

  Connor nodded, knowing she had a point, but also accepting that nobody in Larkford really knew him yet. They knew him as a widower, a theoretical rock star and as Will and Lizzie’s friend. They hadn’t met Connor Danes in his professional and driven persona – they had no idea what he was capable of achieving when he put his mind to it. You didn’t top the Billboard charts on three continents simultaneously without having a certain drive and determination, after all.

  He just needed to find a way to harness that again.

  To find his way back without losing the plot entirely.

  He was out of practice on so many levels, he realised, watching Kitty as she carefully folded her empty crisp packet into a perfect, tiny triangle.

  How did one even begin to ask a girl out these days?

  Always supposing that was a good idea in the first place.

  He opened his mouth and closed it again, suddenly assailed by a raging gamut of emotions. He gripped his empty cider glass so tightly it was in danger of imploding, breathing out gently but surely to release the panic. ‘I ought to be going,’ he said abruptly.

  The flicker of disappointment on her face reassured him more than any words.

  ‘I’ll pop over tomorrow when Perry delivers the goats to Blackleigh Farm,’ she said, switching back to the professional with an almost audible sigh. ‘You’re going to love them, Connor. He’s named them all after the Larkford matriarchs, and to be honest, it’s kind of fitting. You’ll have to show them who’s boss right from the start, or they’ll run rings around you, okay?’ She stood up, passing him back the flyer. ‘Maybe the same applies to your festival plans too, eh? Own it?’

  Connor just nodded, words eluding him momentarily, feeling conflicted and confused. ‘I’ve had a really lovely evening,’ he managed after a moment. The first in a very long time; but she didn’t need to know that. Stepping outside together, the sweeping reality of Larkford under snow somehow made their evening feel all the more surreal and he instinctively reached out to take her hand. The wrought-iron street lamps cast pools of light amongst the whitened shadows and every sound was dulled by the layers of whispering snow that continued to fall.

  ‘I’m glad the two of you have hit it off,’ interrupted Clive Shawe gruffly, stomping over to them and making them jump, just as Connor was considering whether a kiss on the cheek was inappropriate, professionally speaking. ‘You’ll be seeing lots of each other, no doubt, with all the waifs and strays that this one is gathering for his homestead.’ Clive chortled, his role as Connor’s ‘agricultural adviser’ having given him free rein with an opinion of late.

  Connor smiled weakly, only cheered by the notion that Clive might indeed be right, glancing at Clive’s companion as though his life had in fact taken a tur
n for the surreal, or that second pint of cider had been a mistake.

  ‘This is Nigel,’ said Clive, by way of introduction.

  ‘Hi, Nigel,’ said Connor automatically, a little shocked to receive a breathy kiss for his trouble.

  ‘You’ll be needing Nigel on your bit of land, if you want to keep those goats in check,’ said Clive.

  Connor squinted at the rather tufty donkey critically. ‘Is this another one of your wind-ups?’ He held out a hand towards Nigel, who planted his velvety muzzle in Connor’s palm and snuffled affectionately.

  Clive merely offered him the lead rein. ‘He’s been feeling a little lonely since his missus passed over, so keeping a herd of goats in check should keep him happy. Not to mention the roof on his stable isn’t up to this.’ He waved a hand vaguely at the snow, as though it were a perfectly logical reason to bring your donkey to the pub of an evening.

  ‘Right,’ said Connor, still poised for the punchline, glancing at Kitty for reassurance.

  ‘Good plan,’ said Kitty easily, nodding. ‘And look at him – what a sweetheart.’ She buried her face in Nigel’s furry coat, crooning adoringly into his neck. ‘You lucky, lucky boy,’ she said over and over, before emerging with dust on her forehead and her hair even more dishevelled.

  Connor looked from one to the other, a flicker of doubt that he was being had still nudging his subconscious. After all, hadn’t Lizzie warned him about potential hazing from the local farmers as they struggled to accept Connor’s ‘boutique outfit’ as a going concern?

  In that moment, though, he decided he didn’t really care. He and Nigel clearly had a lot in common. And by the looks of it, Kitty was already a fan of his ridiculous overbite and floppy ears.

  ‘Kitty’s vetted the goats for me this afternoon,’ Connor told Clive, suddenly feeling the responsibility to carry the conversation, even though Nigel’s arrival had completely thrown him. ‘So we’re all sorted for tomorrow.’

  Clive just nodded, thrusting Nigel’s lead rein into his hand. ‘Weather permitting,’ he said, before turning abruptly and walking away.