‘Oh dear.’ Alice knew too well what that could mean. A speedy response was imperative in preventing the spread of a stroke. She’d read the woman’s notes. Kellie’s had been a hard road to recovery, going through months of treatment to help with her aphasia as well as intensive physio to improve her mobility. She’d only recently stopped using her wrist splints and foot orthoses and was currently prescribed supervised circuits which the group would complete together today as part of Alice’s clinic.
‘The hurdles she’s facing now,’ said Gracie, ‘are mostly mental ones. Lost her confidence, as well as her job and her flat in Kirkaldy. She’s back at her mum and dad’s in Cairn Dhu.’
‘Got it,’ Alice said, with the familiar twinge of sympathy in her chest.
‘Who else have we got?’ Gracie was saying, standing now so she could see Alice’s patient list.
‘Don’t expect to seehimtoday,’ she said, pointing a long blue acrylic nail at one of the names. ‘He’s one week into a fortnight’s holiday in Malaga, and I happen to know this one’s got a Baltic cruise lined up, so you won’t be seeing him for a while.’ She ran her nail down the list. ‘Andshe’sgot her sister from Arbroath visiting so she’ll be a no-show, andthis one’salready installed in the members’ bar at the hotel watching the curling championship qualifiers. Saw him queuing up for opening time.’
‘Sorry?’
‘His brother’s a professional curler, and he never misses a match.’
‘Got it. So… only two patients today?’
‘Probably for the best that your first one’s not too crowded.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Are you inviting them in, or no’?’ the secretary said.
‘Oh yes, of course.’ Alice bounded to her feet. ‘Come in!’
The door opened and a face appeared. Grizzled cheeks, shaven hair on top with straggly lengths at the back and with sad eyes. Gracie went to the door and held it open for the gaunt man.
‘Mr Forte?’ she asked. Somehow, from Gracie’s description, she’d expected a sweet old grandfatherly fellow, but this man was in ancient biker gear and a Harley-Davidson t-shirt that had seen better days. He smelled of cigarette smoke and his skin was sallow.
‘You’re not Dr Millen,’ he said.
‘No, I’m Alice,’ she said, offering him her hand which he didn’t take.
‘A nurse?’
‘GP.’
He didn’t look like he believed her.
‘I’ve only ever had Dr Millen. Is he here?’
Alice knew she had to get this handled swiftly. She’d experienced it on the wards; it went with the job as a young female medic, but in her own clinic it could be a bigger problem. ‘He’s handed the group on to me, but I assure you, I’ve read all your notes and…’
Mr Forte was scanning the room, looking for something, his eyes landing on the plate of custard creams. ‘Didyoubring those?’ he interrupted.
‘Uh…’
Gracie, behind his back, was nodding vehemently.
‘Yes. Yes, I did. Your favourites, aren’t they?’ Alice said with a smile.
He made a disgruntled sound that said he’d be no pushover.
‘Have a seat, Mr Forte.’ Gracie hustled him into a chair, his teacup at the ready – a real teacup, not a Gracie special, Alice noticed. As soon as he was sitting, she set it – along with the biscuits – on the low table before him. ‘Dr Hargreave’s come from a hospital in Manchester,’ Gracie was telling him. ‘Top of her class, too.’
Alice might have wondered if Gracie had peeped at her CV, if only for the fact that she absolutely hadn’t ever been top of any class. Gracie was just trying to help her gain his trust, which, given his mutterings and scowling, wouldn’t be easy.
Over his knuckles in faded ink Alice saw tattooed the name Rosie. He was in mourning for his wife and recovering from a stroke. She had to go gently.
‘You’re not going to make us kick that around, are you?’ he said, spotting the sponge ball on her desk.
