It was Rob, so I ignored it. I was practically home anyway and didn’t trust myself to speak to him. Seconds later a text pinged through, checking where I was, as it was getting late. What time should he put supper on?

  I looked up into my frightened eyes reflected back in the rear-view mirror and tried to calm myself down, forcing myself to breathe deeply. It was just beginning to work when, in front of me, illuminated by my stationary headlights, I saw a movement to my left, in among the shadowy trees. I froze, and screamed, as something burst from between them and a bloody great deer leapt into the road. It stopped and eerily stared right at me, head lifted on high alert as the lights shone into its shiny black eyes, ears cupped forward and body stiff. Just as abruptly, it broke right and wheeled off into the thicket on the other side of the road, vanishing ghost-like into the dark.

  I pulled away immediately, utterly unnerved. I just wanted to get home… but then I imagined myself telling Rob what had just happened at the house call and automatically took my foot back off the accelerator.

  I’d told him the man in Ibiza was a stranger. I’d not even hinted about his age. How could I tell Rob, a mere four days later, that, not only had I just seen him again, in our home town, I also wasn’t one hundred per cent sure, but he might be sixteen, or under.

  The car began to slow as I pictured Rob’s face: disbelief and disgust at this very different kind of betrayal. I had to know exactly how old this boy was before I said anything to Rob. I needed to be dealing in certainties so I knew what we were facing.

  Sitting up a little straighter, I swallowed. A possible minor. Cold stillness settled over me. I began to feel oddly composed. I knew this was not going to go away and I had no intention of trying to pretend it would.

  I couldn’t deny being at the Days’. Christy’s call was logged on the practice system; Jen had documented it and put it through to me. I’d called back. The Days had witnessed me in the boy’s presence, while he was wearing school uniform. I would not be able to argue, going forward, that I was unaware of his age.

  I was already committed.

  I thought back to the Ibiza hotel room as I drove steadily past the Forestry Commission clearing and round the last bend before our cottage. In truth, I remembered very little about the act itself, I’d been so drunk – but we had definitely had sex. Being in the club and kissing him was only marginally clearer in my mind. I could almost hear a barrister asking, in disbelief, ‘and you’re a family GP, Dr Inglis? A mother yourself?’

  I reached home, pulling straight into the drive because the gate was open, turned the lights off and sat for a moment in the safe, quiet car. I would wait and not say anything until I’d looked at Christy Day’s record in the morning. Then I would decide what to do and what action I needed to take. There was a chance that he could possibly be as old as seventeen, or even eighteen. Still horrendous, but legal.

  The front door opened, and Rob appeared, frowning curiously as he waited. I tried to smile, reaching for my bag and phone, before taking a deep breath and getting out.

  ‘Too tired to stand up?’ Rob said sympathetically as I reached him. ‘You look shattered. I’ve made you some food and it’s almost ready. Come in.’

  He bustled off into the kitchen, and I kicked my shoes into the understairs cupboard before removing my coat and slinging it over the bannisters. True to his word, Rob had laid the table and was carefully dishing up a stir-fry when I appeared in the room.

  ‘Long day, then?’ he asked conversationally.

  I hesitated and, in that split second, despite all of my reasoning, I almost told him the truth, but was distracted by something on the table that caught my eye; I paused, reached over and picked up another picture.

  ‘I know,’ Rob sighed. ‘More Maisie “happy family” drawings.’

  I looked at the smiling Mummy, Daddy and daughters – all holding hands.

  ‘Do you think she’s picked up on some of the tension over the last three weeks and is trying to communicate her anxiety about it the only way she knows how?’ Rob looked at me worriedly.

  Oh Maisie. My eyes flooded with tears. What had I done? I heard myself on the phone to Rachel saying so blithely that Rob and I were going to put all of this behind us and move on. ‘Probably, yes.’

  ‘To be fair to us, I don’t think it’s only that,’ Rob said. ‘She asked me if she could look at my wedding ring while we were having tea and said: “you and Mummy always wear your married rings”. Like she was checking, or something. We had a chat and it turns out Polly’s parents in her class are getting divorced. We talked about what that meant, and she asked me if I’ll always keep loving you, and you’ll always keep loving me. I said of course. I promised her we won’t get divorced. Because we won’t, Al.’ He looked across at me. ‘Don’t cry. It’s true.’

  I nodded and tried to wipe away my tears. Would he still be saying that, if he knew?

  We ate tea; we watched some TV. We went to bed and, for the first time since Rob had told me about Hannah, we had quiet, under-the-duvet sex.

  ‘I love you,’ Rob gasped, afterwards.

  ‘I love you too,’ I said, and I meant it. It was one of those moments where actually saying the words wasn’t enough to explain the depth of what I felt for him.

  * * *

  I admit that I initiated sex that evening, which does not prove I was ‘excited’ at having seen the boy again. I wanted to be close to my husband. I wanted to pretend everything was going to be all right, but mostly I wanted to pretend that none of it had happened in the first place.

  3

  Dr Alexandra Inglis

  Unsurprisingly, I didn’t really sleep and was up well before Maisie and Tilly, anxious to get out of the house so I could go straight to work and look at Christy Day’s record. By half past seven, we were strapping the kids in the car; breakfast done, packed lunch for Tilly made, teeth brushed, shoes on.

  ‘You’re sure you’ve got everything?’ Rob asked doubtfully, bending over to kiss Tilly. ‘Have a lovely day, sweetheart.’ He straightened up and closed the door, calling across the car roof to me, ‘you picked up Maisie’s reading bag?’

  ‘We’re good to go.’ I smiled back at him tightly. Come on, come on…

  He walked round to kiss Maisie. ‘You have a good day too, darling. We’ll do something fun tomorrow all of us, shall we?’

  ‘Minor Mania?’ they both said instantly, and Rob rolled his eyes. ‘Soft play? Oh good. Well, we’ll see.’

  He closed Maisie’s door, and I began to climb into the front seat.

  ‘Hey, hang on.’ He put a hand out to stop me, leant over and kissed my mouth, briefly.

  ‘Sorry. I’m only rushing because I’m duty doctor today and I want to get in early to get sorted before the chaos,’ I said quickly. Somehow trying to explain why I hadn’t thought to say goodbye properly only made it appear even more significant.

  ‘It’s OK. Long week, I know. Nearly there, Al. Almost the weekend.’ He gave me an encouraging smile.

  We were being so achingly polite it hurt.

  I quickly got in the car and barely waved as Rob watched us pull off up the drive.

  ‘Right, off to breakfast club we go!’

  ‘Where’s Daddy working today?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘At home,’ I said, looking both ways and turning left.

  ‘Who’s getting us from school?’

  ‘Me, sweetheart. I’ll come and get you from after-school care.’

  Maisie slumped. ‘Again? I don’t want to go. Mummy, you won’t ever take off your married rings, will you?’

  My heart skipped a beat but, without a moment’s pause, I replied brightly: ‘No, darling, of course I won’t. I promise.’

  Well, what else could I say?

  We hurried into breakfast club in the nursery attached to the main school, to find several other stressed parents herding their children into the cloakrooms too.

  ‘Morning Tilly! Hi Maisie!’ said Melissa, one of the other mums I saw regularly at drop off. She was stood behind her son Zack, who was slowly fumbling with his zip. She shook her head at me. ‘So slow’ she mouthed, looking pained, and glanced at her watch. Zack glanced up at her, and she smiled brightly: ‘Keep going, darling, you’re doing really well!’ As my girls wriggled out of their coats, let them slip to the floor and galloped off to the main room before I could stop them, Zack finally succeeded and passed the pesky jacket to Mel before running off to join the others.

  ‘I hate rushing him all the time, but to get out of here, back to the car park and then get over to the office…’ She stepped back as I bent over to grab the girls’ coats from the floor, then we both hung the stuff up together. ‘When did life get so busy, Ally?’

  ‘I know. It sucks.’

  ‘Morning! Morning!’ Another mum, Catrin, burst in, grappling with slipping lunch boxes, a PE kit and two coats. ‘Thank God it’s Friday. I had Harry dressed in a Mike the Knight costume until ten minutes ago when I realised I’d got the date wrong and their castle trip is next week. That is right, isn’t it, Al? I lost the “advance notice of dates for the rest of term” letter the first week back.’

  I smiled. ‘The castle trip is definitely next Friday. I’ll Whatsapp you the letter when I get home tonight.’

  ‘You’re a star, thank you. Right, I’m out of here.’ She shoved everything on pegs then looked down at herself, confused, starting as she realised she’d hung up her own bag too. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ she breathed, looking at Mel and I. ‘It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it?’

  Despite being accosted by one of the teachers on the way out, to sign a consent form I thought I’d already dealt with, I still managed to arrive at work before everyone else, bar Cleo, the practice manager. I said hello to her, disappeared off to my office, started up the computer and logged on. Pulling up Christy Day’s record, I went straight to the cohabitants section, so I could see everyone living at the address and their dates of birth:

  Gary Andrew Day, 23.11.65

  Ruby Claire Day, 11.01.97

  Jonathan Christian Day, 23.09.99

  I stared at the names, until it dawned on me that I’d got everything completely wrong. Yes, the Days had a daughter, but she was twenty. Too old to be in school. She wasn’t the girl I’d seen.

  They did, however, have a seventeen-year-old boy; Jonathan.

  He was the Days’ son?

  I thudded back in my chair in horror. OK, so he wasn’t underage, which was the main thing – but he was still my patient, and his parents were too.

  Jonathan Day.

  I had no recollection whatsoever of seeing him full stop at the surgery, let alone one-on-one in this room. I could, of course, check immediately – his notes were a click away. But I was well aware of the guidelines. I needed a legitimate reason to view his patient record, and the second I opened it, the access would be logged, a trail started and questions asked.

  I had to close my eyes for a moment to try and take it all in. I was in no doubt about the General Medical Council guidelines for all GPs, which are very clear; relationships between current patients and doctors are unethical. We are expected to maintain professional boundaries at all times and never to exploit the ‘inherently unequal’ balance of power between a patient and doctor. The more vulnerable a patient is considered to be, the more serious the abuse of power, and the greater the threat to my position as a doctor.

  Jonathan Day was only seventeen and would be considered a young adult – certainly vulnerable – but as I’d been totally unaware of his identity in Ibiza, sleeping with him couldn’t possibly be a punishable offence. It did, however, present significant problems that I was now going to have to deal with.

  I leant forward and put my elbows on my desk, head in my hands, rubbed my temples and across my brow with my fingertips and tried to think.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  ‘Bit early for that sort of language, isn’t it?’

  I jumped guiltily and swung round to see my practice partner, David, standing in the open doorway, smiling, which quickly turned to a frown. ‘You all right? You look like someone just died.’

  ‘I didn’t have time to put enough make-up on this morning, that’s all.’

  Embarrassed, he smoothed down his tie. ‘Sorry. Have you got five minutes before kick-off?’

  I hesitated. ‘Sure. I’ll be through in just a second.’

  He looked at me curiously for a moment longer… but I stayed silent, made myself smile brightly and waited for him to go, until he shrugged and disappeared.

  First things first. I turned back to Christy’s record. Christine Jane Day.

  I took a deep breath and began to type up my notes.

  Written retrospectively, home visit, seen 14.09.17 at 18.37. Patient had requested home visit as unable to come into surgery because of severe D&V. Unable to keep water down, day three of symptoms. On arrival, Mrs Day was dressed, mobile and on visual assessment appeared in good health. She offered me one of three glasses of poured champagne in her kitchen. She admitted she had ‘been a bit naughty’ and had called me out to discuss her Botox business. Her husband Gary Day was present and they verbally offered me paid employment. Mrs Day confirmed she felt that had she approached me ‘legitimately’ I would have refused to meet her, because it might represent a conflict of interest. I declined their offer and Mrs Day became verbally abusive, referring to me as a ‘snotty bitch’. I informed Mrs Day that as she did not require medical attention I would be leaving. I accidentally dropped my bag on vacating the property and damaged their floor, for which I apologised. I did not offer to examine Mrs Day, due to her aggressive demeanour.

  It was a fair and accurate account, except, was ‘verbally abusive’ too strong? But then, she had sworn at me, and I needed to make it clear why I hadn’t examined her, other than giving her a visual assessment. I made no reference whatsoever to her son’s presence – because it wasn’t relevant to anything that had happened, nor at the time did I know his identity.

  I exhaled heavily and went through to David’s room, pausing to knock on the open door.

  ‘Hello,’ he said absently, eyes on his screen and shirt sleeves already rolled-up. ‘Have you had login issues? I’m getting a system error message. I can’t access anything. Bollocks, bollocks.’ He reached under his desk and his screen went black as he turned it off at the wall. ‘When in doubt, switch it off and on. Techies get paid a lot of money to come out and do what I just did. Cross your fingers.’ He flipped it on again and peered anxiously at it. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You seem stressed to beyond and back. It’s coming off you in waves.’

  Deeply dismayed to hear that, I sat down. ‘I do actually need to run something past you that happened last night, just so you’re in the loop.’

  ‘Thought so,’ he said. ‘Go on then, hit me with it. Oh, this bastard system. Cleo!’ He yelled like a major general. ‘Are we completely down – or is it just me?’

  ‘Hang on,’ came a shout back from her office down the corridor. ‘I think it’s everyone. Bear with me.’

  David looked at his watch. ‘Eight minutes until the phone lines open. God. So, what are you about to tell me that’s going to make this morning even worse?’

  I cleared my throat. ‘I did a home visit last night, a woman with D&V. I’d tried to persuade her to come in, but she wouldn’t. I got there, and she was sat in her kitchen with a glass of Champs on the side for me, at which point she tells me she’s made-up the D&V and wants to offer me a job in her new spa, doing Botox and fillers.’

  ‘Bloody cheek,’ David snorted. ‘Her, not you. Why do I never get house visits where people offer me booze and lucrative private work?’ He pressed the enter button on his keyboard repeatedly. ‘Oh come on!’

  ‘So, I tell her I might have thought about it if she’d been upfront, but now, not so much, whereupon she tells me I’m a “snotty bitch” and that she thinks she might have made a mistake after all.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said David. ‘CLEO?’

  ‘I DON’T KNOW YET, DAVID!’ came back the equally cross bellow.

  I continued manfully. ‘Her husband is there, trying to talk me round, but I go to leave and then—’

  Cleo stuck her head round the door. ‘It’s the whole system, and we’ve got no Internet connection either.’

  ‘Fuck, shit and arse,’ said David. ‘Have we been hacked? Is it just us or bigger?’

  ‘No idea, but can we all just come through so everyone knows how we’re going to handle this and it’s not complete carnage this morning?’

  David jumped up, my situation already forgotten, and followed Cleo out to the main reception. Within a couple of minutes, all seven of the GPs, the two practice nurses and reception staff were congregated.

  ‘We’ve no active records, obviously,’ Cleo explained, ‘so you’ll be pen and paper, and retrospectively updating as soon as we’re back up and running. Reception will tell you who you have for your next appointment when you ring through to say you’re clear from the last. Alex, you’re duty doctor today, aren’t you?’

  I nodded.

  ‘OK, reception, can you draw up ONE list of the emergency slots, keep it at the front desk and block them out as the calls come in? Please make sure you work from the same master sheet so we don’t get any double bookings.’

 

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