Saving Dr Gregory. Caroline Anderson

      Polly watched him out of the corner of her eye, and saw him pick up gloves, look at them and then replace them on the shelf.

      ‘OK, let’s have a look,’ he said, returning to the couch with a smile. Mrs Robinson turned her head to the side, but Matt ignored her indrawn breath as he folded down the blanket and laid his hands gently on her chest above the breast, working slowly and steadily across it with a gentle, even pressure. When he had finished, he pulled the blanket up over her and tucked it round her shoulders, to restore her dignity.

      The skin seems fairly elastic, and because of the amount of tissue that’s been removed it’s obviously much smaller than the other one, but luckily your nipple wasn’t removed. I think you might get away with it, especially if the surgeon reduced the size of the other breast as well. It could be worth a try, if you want. OK, Polly, would you help Mrs Robinson dress?’

      He turned away and busied himself with the notes, as much to give her privacy as anything, and Polly smiled reassuringly at the woman.

      ‘What would you do, Polly?’ she asked.

      Polly shot Matt a quick look, and gave a small shrug. ‘I don’t know. Get counselling first, I think. You really don’t look that bad to me. There are plenty of women who are naturally that lop-sided without surgical intervention.’

      ‘But I’m mutilated——’

      ‘No!’ Polly and Matt both spoke at once, and Matt continued, ‘You are far from mutilated. There’s nothing off-putting about your appearance. Believe me, I’ve seen far, far worse. I don’t think you need reconstructive surgery, and if you were my wife I’d move heaven and earth to prevent you going through any more suffering. What you need is help to come to terms with who you are now, both inside and out. Surgery will change the outside, but the inside is far more badly hurt, Helen. You need to learn to love yourself again. Of course I’ll refer you if that’s what you want, but please try the counselling.’

      She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Polly laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

      Matt continued, ‘I’d like to see your husband, as well, if you can talk him into coming to see me.’

      ‘He won’t come. He doesn’t care.’

      Matt smiled at her, tenderly and with great sympathy. ‘Are you sure? Please ask him. If he really didn’t care about you, why is he still with you after seven years?’

      Matt patted her hand and stood up. ‘Polly, have you done a smear?’

      She shook her head. ‘Perhaps Mrs Robinson would like to come back later in the week and we’ll finish off the tests and things? I think you’ve probably had enough for now, haven’t you?’

      She nodded. ‘I think I’d like to go home and have a bath and an early night. My husband’s away until tomorrow, so there’s no need for me to stay up. I’ve got a lot to think about.’

      She took Polly’s hand. ‘Thank you for being so kind to me.’

      ‘Oh, Mrs Robinson,’ Polly said with a slight smile, ‘you’re welcome. I’m always here—come and have a chat if you need to. Don’t bottle things up—if you need an answer, come and ask one of us. That’s what we’re for.’

      Polly showed her to the door, and turned to find Matt watching her from the doorway of her surgery.

      ‘Well done,’ he said quietly, and Polly burst into tears.

      ‘Oh, Matt,’ she whispered, ‘why are we so horrible to each other?’

      He handed her a tissue and stood patiently beside her while she blew her nose and pulled herself together, then he waited while she found her bag and put on her coat, and locked the surgery behind them.

      ‘Supper,’ he said, and with a wink, he hobbled over to his car and climbed in. ‘Can you remember the way?’

      Polly nodded. ‘I’ll see you back there.’

      As she followed his Volvo estate out of the car park, she thought it was typical that he would have a car like that—big, solid, reliable, safe—just like him. Husband material, she thought again, with a heavy sigh. She wondered what his wife was like.

      ‘She’d better damn well deserve him,’ Polly thought with a protective urge, and then laughed, a little weakly. She realised that her laugh was just a short step from tears.