do understand.’
‘No, I’ll do it. It sounds like fun.’
‘It is,’ Zoe said.
They lapsed into silence, but it was companionable rather than awkward. When they reached Zoe’s terrace, they stopped outside the gate.
‘I’d ask you in for coffee,’ Zoe said, ‘but…’
‘The boyfriend wouldn’t like it?’ Brad guessed.
‘Something like that.’ If she had a boyfriend. Not that she wanted one. She was perfectly happy with her career as a paediatrician.
‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’
For a moment, she thought that he was going to lean down and kiss her, and her senses went into overdrive. She could almost feel his mouth on hers. Soft, a little unsure at first, and then coaxing as she responded. And then—
What’s this? You’re…Oh, God. I’m sorry, Zoe. I can’t do this…
The words echoed in her mind, the words that had haunted her for ten years. The words that brought her back to the real world every time she thought that maybe it was time to drop her self-imposed ban on a relationship.
Damaged goods.
No. She was never, ever going to suffer that mixture of pity and revulsion in another man’s eyes. That meant no kissing—because kissing led to touching, touching led to removing clothes, and removing clothes would reveal the scars that nobody in London City General knew about, not even Holly and Judith. The scars Zoe kept well out of sight beneath long-sleeved, high-necked tops, or shirts that didn’t even have a hint of sheerness in their fabric. The scars that meant any man would reject her.
‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, slipping inside the gateway and closing the wrought-iron gate firmly between them. ‘Thanks for seeing me home.’
If Brad had noticed Zoe clamming up on him, he didn’t make an issue of it, to her relief. He was completely normal with her at work over the next couple of days, treating her as a valued colleague. A doctor, rather than a woman: which was just the way she wanted it. That was who she was. Dr Zoe Kennedy, paediatrician. Everyone’s friend. And nobody’s lover.
‘Can I borrow you for a minute, Zoe?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’ve got a case of suspected osteomyelitis,’ he said. ‘Little boy name of Andy Solomon. Aged six, soccer fanatic. Anyway, a couple of days ago he turned down a game of soccer in the park with his pals. His mum thought it was a bit strange—thought maybe he’d bruised himself as he’d been limping and his knee looked a bit swollen. That night, he developed a really high temperature. He’s flushed, restless—and she said the pain’s been getting worse. The GP referred him to us for an X-ray, bone scan and blood tests.’
‘Have you examined him?’ Zoe asked.
Brad nodded. ‘He’s still got a fever—even though his mum’s been giving him infant paracetamol—the swelling and redness is obvious, it feels warm around the area and it’s clearly tender because he shielded his leg when I tried to palpate it.’
‘So you want blood tests—white blood cell count, erythrocyte sedimentation rate and C-reactive proteins. If it’s been going on for a few days…X-rays and an MRI scan? And a culture so we can see what’s causing it? Though in eighty per cent of cases it’ll be Staph aureus.’
‘You know your stuff.’ He gave her a quick smile that had her knees turning to jelly, despite her resolution not to let herself go all weak at the knees over him. ‘Can you start him on IV antibiotics?’
‘Broad spectrum until we’ve got a definite fix on the bacterium, then penicillinase-resistant synthetic penicillin and aminoglycoside if it’s Staph aureus?’ she suggested.
‘Perfect.’
‘OK. I’ll sort him out and let you know when the results are back. Have you and Jude sorted out your set list for next week yet?’
‘Nearly. Any requests?’
No way. Having a man singing to her—especially one as gorgeous as Brad—would be way too dangerous for her peace of mind. He’d probably thought she’d been fishing, so she’d better make it clear. ‘Not really. I like all sorts of music,’ she said. ‘Sing whatever you like, as long as you make us a pile of money.’
‘Sure. Have you sorted out the menu yet?’
‘Nearly. Any requests?’ The words were out before she could stop them. Rats. She was definitely letting him get to her. She should have told him yes and stopped there.
‘Now you come to mention it…Yes. Proper American brownies. I haven’t tasted one since I’ve been in England,’ he said.
That brought up all kinds of suggestive thoughts. Like sitting on the edge of his desk while he reclined in his chair, his mouth open, while she fed him tiny bites of brownie. In between kisses.
Absolutely not. They were colleagues, they might become friends, but they could never be anything else. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Right now, she needed to escape. And he’d given her the perfect excuse. ‘I’d better go and see Andy Solomon.’
She found little Andy and settled him into his bed.
‘I don’t know where this has all come from,’ his mother said. ‘He was fine. Then suddenly, bang, he doesn’t want to get up for school, doesn’t want to take his football in with him, he’s off his food…’
‘Has he had any illness recently—a cold, a runny nose, a sore throat?’ Zoe asked. Osteomyelitis was a bacterial bone infection and the bacteria could come from a nose or throat infection as well as through a puncture wound.
‘Nothing.’ Mrs Solomon shook her head. ‘He’s never ill. Yeah, he gets all the usual bumps and scrapes any other six-year-old boy has. Climbing trees, falling over in the playground, that sort of thing.’
‘Any scrapes recently?’
‘A month or so back. But, well, all his vaccinations are up to date. I made sure he had his tetanus and that. And grazed knees don’t make you this unwell, do they?’
‘They can do, if bacteria get in the wound,’ Zoe said. ‘Sometimes the bacteria can lie dormant for weeks and something just sets it off.’
‘I’ve always cleaned him up properly,’ Mrs Solomon said, lifting her chin. ‘He has a bath every night, too.’
‘It’s nothing to do with hygiene,’ Zoe reassured her.
‘So you think it’s this osteo-whatever, too?’
‘Osteomyelitis. It’s a bone infection. What we’re going to do is some tests to find out what’s causing it and how much Andy’s bone has been infected. Once we know that, we’ll know how to treat it properly. I’ve got him booked in for an X-ray, and I’ll need to take some blood and a little sample of the tissue round the bone.’ She smiled at her small patient. ‘Do you like planes?’
‘Yeah,’ the little boy replied, sounding completely unenthusiastic.
‘Come on, Andy. You know you love going down the airport with your dad,’ Mrs Solomon prompted.
‘Well, I’ve got some special plane stickers. Holographic ones,’ Zoe said. ‘And I only give them to my bravest patients. So if you can stay really, really still for me while I do this sample and start the antibiotics—look at your mum or me, not at my hands—you’ll get a sticker. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ the little boy replied seriously.
‘OK. Here we go, then. Now, tell me, who’s going to be top of the Premier League this year?’
‘Manchester United!’ the little boy said. ‘They’re my team. Dad’s going to take me to see them.’ His voice