a nice boy, though. You might surprise yourself and like him.’ She looked at the hand still hidden behind the child’s back.
‘Are you Toots?’
The little nose curled again with delicate disdain. ‘My real name’s Alice.’
‘Well, Alice, why don’t I put the kettle on and make us all a cup of tea? Or you could have milk or orange squash or whatever you usually have, and we can all have some of those biscuits you’ve got there.’
The child pulled the biscuits out and looked at them as if she’d never seen them before in her life. ‘These biscuits?’ she said innocently.
Judith hid the smile. ‘Mmm. Would that be a good idea?’
Alice looked at her with guileless blue eyes and smiled. ‘OK. Has Daddy got many more patients tonight?’
‘About three,’ Judith told her, ‘but I’m sure you won’t have to wait that long to have a biscuit—’
‘Hi, Toots, what’re you up to, tinker?’
Alice threw herself across the room into her father’s arms and hugged him. ‘Hi, Daddy. I helped Judith find some biscuits for us all,’ she lied, and gave him the benefit of her megawatt smile.
He melted like ice cream in the sun. ‘Well, what a nice idea. Are we going to have tea? Can you manage to put the kettle on, Toots?’
‘Course I can.’
Hugh looked at Judith. ‘I’ve dealt with Mrs Fraser. Mr Parkin isn’t here yet, but he’s so often late I’m not surprised. How’s it going?’
‘Fine.’ She smiled. ‘Excellent, I think. I hope I haven’t made any howlers.’
He grinned, shedding years in the process and doing her blood pressure irreparable harm. ‘I doubt it. Look, I tell you what, why don’t you and Woody stay for supper and let me go through the ropes with you so you’re all ready for Monday?’
‘Oh.’ She smiled weakly, still busily in the grip of her heightened blood pressure. Supper? Was that such a good idea? Good grief, girl, get a grip, she told herself. It’s hardly a date! ‘That would be very sensible, but I’d hate you to go to any trouble—’
‘That’s OK. We’ll get a pizza delivered—we often do. Housekeeping isn’t my best thing. Then we can really concentrate.’
There was a crashing sound from the hall and the kitchen door was hurled back on its hinges. ‘Anything to eat in this place? I’m starving.’
Hugh raised an eyebrow a fraction. ‘Hello, Martin. Good day at school?’
‘Passable. Can I have a sandwich—hey, Toots, where did you get the biscuits from?’
‘I helped Judith—’ She caught Judith’s eye and amended, ‘They were in the top cupboard.’
Judith gave an almost invisible wink of approval, and Alice grinned just a tiny bit. Good, Judith thought. She knows I don’t approve, and she also knows I won’t rat on her.
Martin was looking at the sofa as he ripped open the biscuit packet. ‘Where are the cushions?’ he asked curiously.
‘In the garden, drying off. I washed them,’ Judith explained.
‘Why?’ Alice asked, as if washing anything was a totally foreign idea.
‘Because that’s where Christine had her baby,’ Hugh explained, ‘and they got a little bit wet. You remember what I told you about babies in tummies being in a sort of paddling pool? Well, when the baby’s born the paddling pool empties—’
‘Oh, yuck, Dad, all over our sofa?’ Martin said theatrically.
‘It was the tiniest bit, and I did wash it well,’ Judith hastened to reassure him.
‘Even so,’ he groaned.
Judith stifled a grin. Let Hugh deal with this one. She was on the point of escaping to the reception desk when there was a bump against the kitchen door and Woody entered in in his wheelchair.
He stopped abruptly as he saw the children, and Judith saw the familiar shutters come down over his features. He looked almost desperately at Judith. ‘Are we going home soon?’ he asked in his slow, rather fractured speech.
‘No, not yet. Mr Barber’s got a couple more patients to see, and then we’re going to stay to supper so he and I can talk about the job.’
Oh.’ He looked a little uncomfortable with that.
‘Is that a problem, darling?’
He shrugged. ‘No, I suppose not. Is there a loo?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Hugh jumped to attention and turned to Martin. ‘Marty, this is Edward Wright, Judith’s son. He’s in the same year as you at school. Woody, my son, Martin, and my daughter, Alice, better known as Toots. Marty, would you take Edward and show him where the cloakroom is, please?’
Judith looked at Martin to gauge his reaction, and her heart sank. He had that ‘Oh, no, I’m going to have to talk to a cripple’ look that so many people got with their first contact with Woody. Mutinous, slightly appalled, uneasy.
‘I’ll show him,’ she said, starting forward.
‘That’s all right, Martin can manage. We’ve got patients to deal with. Marty, make a pot of tea for us all when you’ve done that, could you?’ He took her arm and steered her up the hall, and as they turned the corner he said softly, ‘Don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine.’
She chewed her lip. ‘He hates meeting new people.’
‘So does Martin. They’ll be fine together. Ah, Mr Parkin, come on in. How’ve you been?’
‘Funniest damn thing—got caught in the dog’s lead and fell over and, d’you know, I do believe my back’s been better ever since?’
Hugh laughed. ‘You don’t say? Come on in, let’s have a look at this miracle cure.’
They were out ten minutes later, Mr Parkin looking as pleased as punch and Hugh looking slightly relieved.
‘No charge, Judith. As the man says, he’s cured. Give me a ring if you don’t stay better, now.’
‘Will do—thanks, Doc. I don’t suppose you want to buy a dog—instant remedy?’
Hugh laughed. ‘No, thanks—and I shouldn’t go trying it again. You might not be so lucky next time.’
She watched him go and turned to Hugh with a smile. ‘Cured by the dog, eh? That won’t do your reputation any good!’
He chuckled. ‘There ought to be a law against unlicensed practitioners.’
‘Absolutely—especially the canine variety.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve got a minute or two—let’s grab a cuppa and some of those biscuits, if the kids haven’t finished them all.’
They went back to the kitchen and found the three children in there, sitting round the table. The television was on in the corner but the atmosphere seemed tense. Superficially they looked like a bunch of kids watching the telly, but there was an uneasy and almost rebellious silence underlying the canned laughter on the programme.
She looked at her son and read the misery in his eyes, and turned to Hugh. ‘Look, do you mind if I get Woody home to bed instead of hanging on after your last patient? He’s had a long day and we’ve still got to do his physio before he can go to bed. Perhaps we could spend Monday lunchtime going through the job instead?’
He looked a little taken aback—and disappointed—but he disguised it quickly. ‘No, of course not. Go now. I can manage. I wasn’t really thinking. Sorry, Woody, is your back giving you stick?’
He